Every time.
Every fucking time.
I drive by the death spot and there is an accident there.
Emergency vehicles.
Traffic stopped.
Wreckage on the roadway.
Every time I catch my breath.
Every time I start to cry.
Every time I look to make sure there are survivors on the side of the road.
This moment hijacks my body.
I have no control.
I can't make it stop.
It starts with tears.
Then I start to heave.
Five years have gone by.
Five years of driving by the same spot.
Every day.
Every time I think of him.
Every time I put my palm against the car window.
Every time I tell him that I love him.
His death lives in me. Every moment of every day.
Mostly it lives in memories of love.
It lives in his smile when I close my eyes.
It lives in a profound gratitude that I had 23 years with him.
But then I drive by the death spot and there is another car accident there.
Every fucking time.
Then his death lives in me.
In a physical, visceral way.
In sobs. Tears streaking down my cheeks and dripping off my chin.
In heaving and retching. A hand pressed to my mouth.
In gasping for breath.
In a deep, aching loneliness.
Every fucking time.
I can say that love never dies.
I can say that Zac is, just not here.
I can say that I believe in eternity.
But every fucking time I lose myself.
Intellect fails and my body reacts.
He is gone, snatched from me in an instant.
Devastating loss.
Overwhelming loneliness.
An abiding grief.
Every time it takes hours to recover.
Tucked into bed in my favourite sweatshirt.
Arms wrapped around my middle.
Tears continue to leak from my eyes.
Zac is not coming home again.
Zac is dead.