It's been just over 9 months since Ana died, and yet, I still find myself on occasion gritting my teeth with anger over the unfair-ness of her death. I still have moments where something reminds me of a pleasant memory of her, and while recalling the memory, I think of her face . . . her voice . . . her kindness . . . and a feeling of utter disbelief overtakes me. No, she can't *really* be gone. That kind of thing only happens to other people.
She's still the first person I want to call when something really good happens in my life. I wish that split second of joy that I feel before remembering she's gone would last a little longer. During that split second, my mind is on how proud of me she is going to be after I tell her whatever good news I have to tell her. And then I remember, and I feel my heart and my joy sink, causing me dull physical pain in my chest and upper abdomen.
At the domestic violence shelter where Ana was employed for 20 years (and I, for 8) hangs a plaque. It states that part of her wish for all who pass through the doors of the shelter is for them to be "warm and fuzzy."
I always did feel warm and fuzzy there, too. It was Ana that gave that gift to me and so many others.
But right now . . . without her, I have a hard time even remembering what it feels like at all. And when I do have those moments where I start to feel again, I have the urge to share my joy with none other than Ana. And then the remembrance, the sinking, the anger, the sadness. It's a cycle I can't seem to break.
It's been 9 months, and I still don't know how I'm going to make it through the rest of my life without the person I've always looked up to more than anyone else. Time heals all wounds they say . . . I'm not so sure about that.
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