We’re getting closer to the one year mark. It’s hard not to revisit all those lasts – the last time we spoke, the last time I saw him, the last time he texted. His last words to me were “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.” I never texted him back. I hope he found his good cup of coffee somewhere.
I hate thinking of his last days and weeks. I knew something was wrong but had no idea how deeply wrong it was. He was around really bad people. He was being beat. His friend turned his back on him and never reached out to us to let us know. It is heartbreaking and tragic. And it is not new in the history of the world.
I’ve learned over the last year that there are so many ways to walk this grief path. Some choose to memorialize everything and not touch a thing that belonged to their dead one. Some wallow so deep in the pool of grief that they drown over and over again. Some look at pictures and videos every day, desperate to hear their loved ones voices, see their faces. I hide. I don’t like to be around families or young men. I don’t want to see his face or hear his voice either. It just hurts so much. I’ve read so much on grief to try to find what path I wanted to walk through this. But most days I just lie down on the path and sob. I try to keep my grief path separate from the rest of my family so it doesn’t derail their day. Indie just yells at me not to be a sugar cookie. She’s trying in the only way she knows how.
A Place To Grieve 