Carry it well

It’s been so long since I let myself fall.

Since I let the emotions get the best of me.

Most of the time I have it all together.

I keep it all locked down and I can focus on one day at a time.

But I thought I would be doing better by now.

I can’t believe that it has been 6 years since Franco died.

Six years feels like it was yesterday but also that the time has just flown by.

I’ve been feeling the pull to write.

The need that starts deep in the my core. The anxious part that is afraid to let the tears come.

Knowing that it will wreck me like a ship during a storm at sea.

I’ve been avoiding music, I put away photos. Thinking that if it was readily seen, I could start to forget the pain.

Afraid to focus on the fond memories.

To remember the adventures and the love of my best friend.

I know it looks like I’m carrying it well.

Did you even know that my smile is forced sometimes?

Can you see that I am suffering inside?

I’ve noticed how much more quiet I am.

The vibrancy and joy I had is dampened.

It’s like a painting that has fade over time. It’s still beautiful and a colorful canvas but it’s not the same.

Rico has been putting in so much effort to restore me.

To give me unwavering support, limitless patience and love.

He has brought so much laughter into my life.

He has taken on this major undertaking of restoring me.

Cleaning up a mess that he didn’t make.

Bringing the color back into me.

He reads my emotions like a book.

It can be unnerving sometimes when he can see past the facade, to the pain underneath.

The pain is always there but the love Rico has be giving me has been so overwhelming.

I’m still healing and I’ve been pushing forward every day.

I’m almost at the point to where I want to get Franco’s motorcycle back on the road.

It’s been in storage ever since I got it repaired and painted. I think by next year, I will be able to start that process.

I think once I get over the mountain of nerves and anxiety over just getting on his bike and riding, it will help me.

I think it will help me to feel connected to him again.

I always forget how much I love to ride and how quickly that love comes back.

Feeling the wind on my skin and the freedom.

I still have his ashes.

I’m not ready to let those go yet.

I have been thinking about getting a ring made with some of them so I can wear it often.

I know he wouldn’t want me to keep his ashes in a box near my bed but I just can’t let him go yet.

Sometimes I feel strong.

Sometimes I forget that he’s gone.

Sometimes I go to text him something and then it hits and it hurts all over again.

During those times, the grief threatens to crush me. It’s gotten so close.

Then other days, I can carry it well.

So well, it’s like I was never broken.

Those are the days that I treasure. That I soak in every moment. Letting the light just flow over me. Filling every crack with light and warmth.

I’ve been having more happy days than sad and maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe that’s what living a shattered life is.

Letting the light through when you can.

Knowing that broken things can still be beautiful.