I haven’t even gotten out of bed, and I already want to cry.
Nothing happened.
Nobody said anything.
You’re just still gone.
And I’m supposed to get up and do another day knowing that. Knowing I can’t call you. Knowing every plan I make has to happen without you.
It makes me angry as hell.
Because I didn’t choose this.
I don’t want this.
And there’s nothing I can do to change it.
People want to know how I’m doing, but sometimes I wonder if they really want the answer.
That I’m tired.
That I still need you.
That some days I look at the rest of my life and think, how am I supposed to do all of that without you?
That’s uncomfortable to hear.
It’s worse to live.
Grief is in my face every day. Even when I say nothing about it. Even when I smile and give everyone a version of me, they don’t have to worry about.
So, when I do talk about it, I don’t want to soften every word.
Someone I love is dead.
There is no comfortable way to say that.
And there is no painless way to live with it.
I shouldn’t have to make it sound like there is.
If these words connected with you, you’ll find many more like them in What Remains. It’s a collection of the writings I’ve shared over the years, bringing together reflections on grief, love, loss, and the connections that continue long after someone is gone.
I hope it brings you comfort, understanding, and the reminder that you’re not alone.
If you’d like to read more, you can find the book here
Available now on Amazon
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