When Kelly first passed, a lot of people told me to be strong. A lot of people told me I was strong. I know I am nothing.
The love of my life was ripped from me without any warning, and without any reason. I could not be strong. I would weep spontaneously throughout all the days of the summer. I would scream at the indifferent walls of my now too big house. I would lay like a tantrumming-child on the floor of my kitchen, tears of sorrow, grief and yearning soaking the ceramic tiles. All the while begging to be taken too somehow. I wasn’t strong, it was never me being strong.
But Kelly, he made me get out of bed when people came by to visit. He made me give hugs and hand out beers, listen to people tell stories of the good times, of how Kelly would make them laugh. The only strength I have had is his.
I can’t explain it fully, but I knew all the while he was there. He would send me “rise and shine” messages for weeks. I heard the phrase all over the place. He sent me people, people who would open their heart to me, and become a part of a greater family with a strong and lifelong bond. He was there in the dark moments when I couldn’t really see the days passing by without him. A feeling of urging, a feeling that I needed to live.
I will say, that I had to make a conscious decision not to die myself. It was a decision made less difficult by all of these things, but still a decision. His strength became mine, and now I can start to rebuild my own. Slowly, and brick by brick, with perhaps some cracks and holes, I build my own strength back.
I am not strong, but I have strength behind me, in love and in people.