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MidReal Story
Riley returns to San Francisco with her daughter and must
Anonymous
May 16
Scenario:Riley returns to San Francisco with her daughter and must face her late husband's brother, Alex, for the first time since the fatal car accident that took Tyler's life, as she believes Alex is the only one she trusts to be a positive male role model for their daughter.
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The headstone is too perfect, too clean.
It looks like it was put there yesterday, but it’s been almost two years.
I hate it.
It’s a reminder that my husband is dead and buried, and I hate it.
I hate that I have to visit him at a cemetery.
I hate that he’s not here with me, living his life.
I hate that he never got to meet his daughter.
But most of all, I hate that he’s not coming back.
I wish I could just stay with him forever.
I wish I could just stay in this moment, sitting in front of his grave, pretending he’s still alive.
But the longer I stay, the more it hurts.
It feels like someone is ripping my heart out of my chest and tearing it into a million pieces.
The pain is almost unbearable, but I know it will never go away.
There will always be a hole in my heart where he used to be.
They say time heals all wounds, but they’re wrong.
The wound my husband left behind will never heal.
Every morning when I wake up, it feels like a punch in the gut.
There are days when I don’t even want to get out of bed because it hurts so much.
It feels like there’s no point to anything anymore.
Like the world has lost all its color, and there’s no way to get it back.
But then I remember him.
I remember the way he made me feel, and I know I’ll be okay.
He was the love of my life, the father of my child, and now he’s gone, but our love remains.
I remember the day we met on the beach in Hawaii, the way he made me laugh when he got stung by a jellyfish, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered, and I know we’ll be okay.
I remember the little things about him—the way he used to tap his foot when he was nervous, the way he smelled like pine trees and rain—and I know we’ll be okay.
We have to be okay.
For him, for us.
Lily is sleeping in her stroller while I pack up our things to leave for San Francisco tomorrow morning.
I’m glad she’s getting some rest because she’s been fussy all day and hasn’t been sleeping well at night either.
My mom says it’s just a phase and it will pass eventually, but right now it feels like it will last forever.
She’s so little and needs so much from me, but it’s hard to be there for her when I can barely take care of myself.
The days are long but go by quickly at the same time—most of them are just a blur of feedings and naps and diaper changes—but sometimes they feel like they will never end.
Tyler has been gone for almost two years now, and I still can’t believe it happened—I still can’t believe he’s gone—but we’re going to be okay.
My family and friends have been amazing throughout this whole ordeal, and I don’t know what I would do without them.
