Reading this still feels surreal:
Trevor Batenga
December 17, 1971 – March 24, 2011
Two weeks after and I am still hoping that this is a bad dream and that I would wake up anytime soon – like now. I have kept what happened at Midnight on that day in box and tucked it away in the furthest corner of my mind. I cannot deal with it, I cannot face it, I cannot breathe when I think about it.
It is so unfair that when my chance at something good finally happened, the rug was snacthed away from underneath me. It is painful, it is weakening, it is maddening.
How can someone survive the death of a person that they love so much? People keep saying that I will be ok. What is OK? It’s definition has escaped me. They say that time heals – what is “time”? Time can be days, weeks, months, years.
My heart has died with him, my hopes and my dreams. My only source of strength and joy has left. How do you build strength and joy from scratch?
People around me are moving on – getting on with their lives while I stare at the pieces of what was my life not knowing how to pick them up. I stretch my arm to grab the life passing by me but I only catch air.
My longing transmutes to pain, my heartache breaks me down. I am devoid of color, devoid of music, devoid of everything. An empty shell.
All I have left is my prayer…
Dear God, I am but a speck of life on this earth. Hear me plead. I beg you ease my pain! Wrap your comforting arm around me. I will not question your purpose, I will submit to your will. But please dear God, my heart is dying, and only you can heal it.
eskarf 