It’s been almost a year and I still haven’t cried…

It’s been almost a year and I still haven’t cried.

Like REALLY REALLY cried.

The kind of BIG cry that could maybe, just maybe, make that sick feeling in my chest and the burning knot in my stomach disappear for a little while, especially when my thoughts wander to the pain he was in and how cachectic he was quickly becoming but that my eyes refused to acknowledge.

I feel anxious more often than not.

The kind of anxious feeling that I am having right now as I type this, remembering that exactly one year ago today, it was the beginning of his last decline.

A decline that would come to its final conclusion on January 22 as we all held his hand, told him that we loved him, thanked him for being a great Dad and that it was okay for him to go.

I feel anxious thinking about how we echoed each other’s “We love you” until his very last breath left his body.

It’s been almost a year and I still haven’t cried and I’m truly starting to think that something is fundamentally wrong with me.

Or am I so beyond broken that I simply can’t cry?

14 thoughts on “It’s been almost a year and I still haven’t cried…

  1. Oh Marquessa, my heart goes out to you. I am going through the same with the loss of my Dad and the “BIG CRY” hasn’t hit me yet. Tears in my eyes as I read that your last words to each other were filled with love. I’m going to be thinking of you today and here if you need to talk/shout/rant/rave…whatever it is, I’ll hold your hand through it xx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You get it Janet. And thanks for sharing that you haven’t had the “BIG CRY” either. Everyone says the same thing to me – that it will come out of the blue and likely at the worst time possible. Well, when it does come, I will truly welcome it. By the way, I read your posts and always enjoy them (including the sad ones).

      Like

  2. Maybe that cry you’re speaking about will come when you least expect it–when everything else up deeply within you about his passing and it has nowhere else to go but out.

    🙏🏾💙 I hope peace will greet you soon on this grief journey, Marquessa.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. *hugs* I felt that way for a long time after some pretty bad heartbreak. And then it came. Eventually. It took a lot longer than I expected, and the trigger wasn’t something I anticipated, but it was there. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. It’ll happen when you’re ready. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’m sure that you’ve cried.
    Tears are not really about the sentimental movie you watched, or the cute baby you saw, or about the sunrise. Adult tears aren’t about the obvious.
    Adult tears are about everything.
    And he will always be part of your everything.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. When you put it that way, I guess I have maybe cried in non-regular ways. Or as a friend pointed out, whenever I talk about my Dad, I can only smile. Maybe “smiling” is my form of “crying”.

      Like

  5. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you! When my dad died, I was so emotionally detached because of all the drama going on in my family at the time, I don’t think I had that true, hard, ugly cry until 4 or 5 years later when I wrote a poem dedicated to him (and I’m the biggest crybaby on the planet).
    Grief presents itself in strange ways—one minute you think you’re fine, and then the next it slams you in the chest like a ton of bricks.
    Reading these posts, I know you loved and cared so much for your father, and I know that “cry” will come. So don’t feel bad about it. Sending you a virtual hug! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    1. “Emotionally detached” is a fitting term. I think I have shut that part of myself down until the estate is almost complete and then maybe I can take a deep breath, close my eyes and cry.

      Like

Share something...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.