Sometimes I start crying for no apparent reason.
Sometimes I feel so normal it kind of sickens me.
Sometimes running helps.
Sometimes nothing helps.
Sometimes I just want to call and chat.
Sometimes I just chat anyway.
Sometimes I see red hair or a dark grey SUV or hear that ringtone and forget entirely for just a fleeting moment that she’s gone.
Sometimes I can laugh at a memory.
Sometimes that same memory has the complete opposite effect.
Sometimes I’m grateful for everything that was.
Sometimes I’m just pissed as hell.
Always I miss her.
Always I love her.
Can I tell you a year further down that road some of those things don’t change? I still sometimes expect my dad to just show up on the doorstep, with a great joke that makes my mother just shake her head.
I will also tell you that the new normal does become exactly that, and you find your way along.
Hugs to you.
All of the above is part of grieving. When you love deeply, you grieve deeply. Being happy is also part of life right now, so that is normal too. Love you!
A big fat internet hug for you.