It keeps going. It doesn’t stop for one to grieve. It doesn’t halt it’s process when we lose someone. It simply keeps on moving, forcing you to either move with it or watch it move by.

When you have children during widowhood, you have to gather every bit of strength you have to guide them through it. You still have to bathe them, and feed them, and help them with homework. You have to get up every morning, and ignore the nasty slap of reality that hits you directly in the face: Good morning! Your husband/wife is dead. You are still alive.

You have less time to shut down, and absorb the shock of missing that spouse. It’s not that it’s worse, because it isn’t. But it’s hard. So hard to fake it everyday, for the little faces who don’t quite understand what death means. And for the little one’s that do.

Aurora is growing up, and I planned on having “The Talk” with her before she leaves to visit her dad. Jon would have taken Weslee off my hands for the day. Instead, I get the flu, spend most of my day barfing in the toilet and Aurora wonders what the heck I mean by “The Talk.” I need Jon to get me some Gatorade. I need him to rub my back and hold me until I fall asleep. I need him to take care of the girls.

Those needs will not be met. Instead, my mother is here, and is trying to help me. But she is sick too, and we’re struggling to keep the girls occupied while we alternate trips to the bathroom.

I slept most of the day. Aurora helped take care of her sister. When I woke up, grief hit me hard, because I reached out for him for the first time. I almost called his name, and asked him to go to the store. But I remembered. I remembered that he’s gone.

Life is cold. It doesn’t need blood to keep it warm and it doesn’t need oxygen to continue it’s pace. WE may need those things, but Life itself, doesn’t. I am simply struggling to hold on. Someday, this has to get easier.