My latest article published by Elephant Journal. :)
He found me out on the deck in the dark, crouched down to my knees in the pouring rain because my legs would no longer hold my weight.
Tears mixed with the raindrops on my face. My heart felt as though it was physically breaking in two. He crawled out of bed to come find me, and stood next to me shirtless in the rain. His shivering was the first signal to me that it was cold outside. It was November, after all.
He asked me what I was doing. I told him I couldn’t breathe inside the walls of our house.
And so he simply stood next to me. Holding space. Knowing there was nothing he could say to make this better.
My dad was dead. I was an adult orphan. And in that moment, I felt as alone and as vulnerable and as scared as infant orphans must feel. The sounds emitting from my raw, scratchy throat were not sounds I recognized. They were primal and haunting and wailed of pain.
The man standing beside me, my husband, had been through a lot with me over the previous decade. We have a long and complicated, yet amazing, story. It involves pigs flying and universes colliding—it’s that kind of story.