The grief often comes in waves. Though, having grown up near the ocean, I'm not certain that's quite right either. Ocean waves are regular, seconds separating them.
I can feel the pain building up inside. I know I withdraw a little bit more. The first couple of days I had no idea what was going on, but now I do. Once that starts, it's a slow build.
It's likely inevitable as well, though time will tell if anything can cut one short.
Over the next some dozens of minutes it builds to the point where I have nothing else I can concentrate on. There isn't really any thinking at that point, just pain.
Then I'll have something that triggers. It could be anything.
It could be a picture. It could be the shirt I threw on the side of the stairs to bring up later that I knew she would have hated having lying there. A couple nights ago it was needing to make second dinner an hour after first dinner because the kids wanted to get busy playing and forgot how hungry they were. I remembered the look Hillary and I would give each other as I would grudgingly go and make scrambled eggs.
A look upwards and saying, "Oh god Hillary, this hurts."
In the angrier or more hopeless momemnts, "Why did you leave me?"
Then I'm a convulsing, sobbing wreck. Sitting on the floor or barely being held in a standing position by the walls or counters of my house.
Then I feel a bit better for a while.
With seven weeks experience now, when I feel myself building up to that point, I sometimes find myself seeking out triggers. Just to have that explosion of emotion and pain so I can have the relief that comes after it for a while.