Eclipsed (again) by the Shock and the Horror

By Emma Pearson

June 22, 2024

5th November 2018


When will I really “get” that Mike is dead?
When will the knowing finally sink in?

When will the remembering not punch me full force in the gut? As if I didn’t already know.
When will the pavement not open up with a chasmic (?) hole as I wander innocently about my day?

When will Mike’s email, with his smiling face in the Gmail icon, stop being the first one to come up when I send something off my phone?

When will the transition time from joy to grief stop being less than a millisecond?

When will the crushing loneliness in my present and for my future stop gripping me in its vice-like hold?

So many moments each and every day

Swings and roundabouts and see-saws and rollercoasters

I have been on a high

At my Camp Widow convention of 200 widows this past weekend

Learning, living, laughing, crying, dancing

I scroll through photos on facebook

There’s a lovely one of me dancing, looking happy, grinning from ear to ear, the smile really reaching my eyes as well as my ears

I genuinely look good

It makes me smile to see me looking good

I click on the next photo… it’s Mike, looking at me warmly, lovingly, admiringly

Our last ski holiday

Pure love in his gaze

I crumple

I crumble

I collapse



My mind boggles

I shake my head as would a cat shaking off the rain

I don’t get it

I simply cannot comprehend

Still not

Not 18 months ago

Not 18 weeks ago

Not 18 days ago

Not 18 minutes ago

Not 18 seconds ago

Still not

The shock and the horror of it all is more than I can conceive of

Life as I know it eclipsed

About Emma Pearson

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