conversations with grief

can't believe it's almost been five months

I didn’t think I’d feel her as much as I do. She’s still here, just in a different form. I find myself looking over my shoulder when I’m home alone sometimes, always in the kitchen. It’s gotta be her, she loved to cook—not for herself but for others. It was like other people gave her life. Oh, but they loved her too. She never had the romantic love she deserved but, gosh, was she loved. And adored.

And she loved me. If I didn’t believe it when she was alive, I certainly do now. And I know that because my grandfather loved me and I’ve never once felt his presence in the decades he’s been gone. With her, I feel like I’m being weighed down everyday. I hope this grief never goes away.

It’s a reminder that she was here, that she was real in all her wonder. For someone who loved life, she certainly didn’t get enough of it. Yes, she belonged to the people, but she was mine and I hers. I’ve been struggling to remember her, or at least in the way she would have wanted: before the last few months of her life.

Only after she was gone did I realize how much those images of her in her last few days would come to haunt me. Recently I’ve been trying to remember her the way she would have wanted—remembering her love. It’s not hard to do since I feel it all the time ever since she died. It’s her last and final gift to me, one I take with me wherever I go.

It’s as though she poured her love into me right before she left. How else do you explain the heaviness in my heart I’ve been feeling ever since?

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If you’re experiencing grief, I highly recommend reaching out to someone to talk about it. Alternatively, if you feel like you can’t talk about it, one resource that’s really helped me process and feel less alone in my grief is Anderson Cooper’s “All There Is” podcast.

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