16 weeks

November 9, 2025

16 weeks

I woke up this morning to an alert on my phone. Bens marathon, starts in 28 minutes. Ben is not running a marathon today. Ben is dead. 

Instead of meditating, I start to cry. But not real tears, not keening and sobbing tears, just leaking and shuddering tears. I hold myself so tightly,  determined to not feel, not fall apart. 

For months I have been avoiding. I don't count the days, weeks months. I don't think about him dying every Sunday afternoon. I don't wallow in grief. Instead I get on with the business of living. I cancel his car insurance and close his bank accounts. I clean out his bedroom and collect his mail. And I do it all without fully experiencing grief. 

Instead I am angry. So angry I want to smash things. So angry I want to throw things and scream and curse. I am avoiding people. Avoiding thinking about it. Avoiding talking about it. Avoiding feeling it. 

But this morning my phone reminds me that Ben wanted to run a marathon. Ben wanted to go to college and become a doctor. Ben wanted to fall in love and get married. 

This morning is a Sunday. 16 weeks since Ben ate his last cinnamon roll. 16 weeks since Ben went on his last hike. 16 weeks since Ben decided that living hurt too much. 16 weeks since Ben took his own life. 

16 weeks of trying not to feel. 16 weeks of trying not to cry. 16 weeks of trying not to fall apart. 16 weeks of trying not to grieve. 

Today I wish that he was with us, to celebrate birthdays, to watch football, to eat Thanksgiving pie. Today I wish he was with us, to laugh, to joke, to hug. Today, I wish that Ben was running a marathon and I was there cheering him on.