We both felt the anxiety building as we drove closer and closer. It had been one week exactly since I was home and a little more for my mother-in-law, Kim, and the growing realization that we soon would enter back into our home where Josh would not be waiting or resting carried much anticipation.
Even pressing the garage door button felt ominous - but what else bad could really happen.
After a few moments of shuffling in, we quickly felt the silence and the gap, where we looked around and saw everything that reminded us of Josh. For me, it all just felt like a fuzzy dream, for Kim it was hard to even be in the space where every single photos or sign had meaning and represented our stories of travel, adventure, friendship and love. She even said, "Now I know how you feel when you come to my house."
We quickly left for dinner, came back and watched a movie which I completely slept through. The weight of this grief still brings a new level of exhaustion and I am glad to be sleeping in my own bed tonight – even if it is weird.
I know the silence will feel longer on some days than others. In many ways, though there has been a lot of quiet nights since July, the big difference still, of course, is that Josh isn't sleeping soundly and I won't wake to check on him a few times.
I can't say that it feels "sweet" to be home this time but still this is our home where treasured memories and moments have happened; and there is comfort in resting here tonight.
Hi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer.