I can’t remember many things about the first few days after my husband died. There are certain conversations, and a few people and events, but it’s mostly a huge blank. Even after being told things that happened or were said, I can’t recall them, just as if I wasn’t there. There’s a song that says, the pain and ache a heart can take, no one really knows. I believe it isn’t possible to know until you face it. I remember hearing a woman where I worked answering a call informing her that her sister had died. I thought, how would I react to something like that, but could only come up with I don’t know. His death, the hardest thing I’ve yet to experience, gave me my answer. My heart had reached the limit of hard, so it took in what it could and shut out the rest, the most painful, horrific, parts of this sudden reality. It knew who I couldn’t let in, what words I couldn’t hear, and what decisions I couldn’t be part of. I’ve asked about those days, once my heart was open to receive them. I don’t need to remember everything, others do, that’s enough.