You don't get to be me

You don't get to be me.

You don't get to try and hold in tears as your Baby Girl is crying and crying because neither of you can remember the story just as daddy told it and she realizes her storyteller is never coming back.

You don't get to walk down the beach by yourself asking God over and over "Why?" and never getting a response.

You don't get to tell every new person you meet that your husband is dead. You don't get to try and decide how long you can avoid the topic before you tell them.

You don't get to be the last one to pack up because your doing it all on your own, knowing that everyone is waiting on you, knowing that when he was here you never had this problem.

You don't get to sit by yourself wishing you had someone's shoulder to lean your head on.

You don't get to wonder how you will possibly go on.

You don't get to worry about how your Baby Girl will turn out know that her daddy's gone.

You don't get to be mad at him for dying on you and leaving you here all alone.

You don't get to be thrown into solo parenting with no warning.

You don't get to try and remember how it felt when he was holding your hand.

You don't get to watch as he laughs and plays with you child, smiling at the two of them.

You don't get to wish you had more children

You don't get to be constantly vigilant about where your Baby Girl is all the time because that second pair of eyes is gone.

You don't get to have every single thought running through your head be "he's dead, he's dead he's dead"

You don't have to be "on guard" all the time because you don't feel safe in the world anymore.

You don't get to tell people "yes were doing much better" because you know thats what they want to hear.

You don't get to find agates that you know he would have loved.

You don't get to have an almost constant sore arm because you try to lift to many things by yourself.

You don't get to feel the constant indescribable pain that is half your soul missing.

You don't get to defend your parenting choices all by yourself because your backup is gone.

You don't get to hear the awkward silence when you mention your dead husband.

You don't get to hear the awkwardness in your own head when you don't.

You don't get to have people comment "you look so happy today" because thats no longer the norm.

You don't get to ask yourself when will the stabbing pain go away.

You don't get to sleep in a bed that now seems very big since half of it is empty

You don't get to feel like your being judged for not being over it yet.

You don't get to feel like you have to explain to people why you aren't how you used to be.

You don't get to battle with your own mind because you know this isn't you.

You don't get to realize every single second of every single day that he is gone, He is not on a trip, He is not home with his family. He is not simply at work. He is not just a phone call away.  He is dead. He died. He died. He died. I can not forget. I can not get it out of my mind. I can not pretend it's not true.

You don't get to be me,

You don't get to feel what I feel

Only I get to be me, only I get to do these things.

I wrote a book about my grief, you Can read it here: Carry on Castle