Grief is a blunt instrument. It doesn’t follow logic. It isn’t predictable. Then the cruelest moment comes and you discover life goes on without the one you’ve lost. That it can go on without them. All that is left is the black hole of your passing grief. You tip toe around it, trying to ignore its gravity. Trying not to fall in. Or give in.  Trying to be strong for the small people who are not ready to imagine you as anything but. Feeling guilty for healing. For smiling after tragedy. Surviving.

To wake up, scarred, and face another day which deep down you know will only pull you further from the world that knew them. And further from the pain.

Rest in peace, Aunt Patty. You were loved.

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