Returning to the office for the second time, almost two months since my world shattered. The familiar hum felt deafening, the air heavy with unspoken grief.
Your faces were beacons of warmth in this darkness. Your words, "brave," "strong," rang hollow in my ears, and offered a lifeline I desperately clung to. The truth is, I felt adrift, a ghost haunting a world that's lost its vibrancy.
Your empathy was a sticky plaster on a wound that may never heal. I could see the unspoken questions in your eyes, the hesitation to approach this abyss of sorrow. If you felt awkward, know the feeling was mutual. Each encounter felt like a tightrope walk, a fear of shattering in front of you.
But know this: your silent understanding, a shared memory, a simple "thinking of you," these were anchors in the storm.
Tomorrow marks exactly two months since he slipped away. Time may soften the edges of this pain, but the love we shared will remain in my heart.
As I gaze upon Windsor Castle in the distance, the sailboats on the reservoir, I know that life continues, even with this heavy sorrow. And with your support, I'll find the strength to carry on, one step at a time.
As I walk past the office Contemplation Room, a wave of longing washes over me. If only I could lock myself away in that quiet space, escaping the demands of the day and giving myself permission to simply grieve. But for now, I'll carry that quiet longing within me, knowing that each small step forward is a victory in itself.
