When Brad first died, self-love involved alcohol and weed. I’m not proud of it, but it felt like the only way I could love myself was by numbing my feelings.
Read MoreI didn’t understand then why I craved other people’s stories of grief. It felt wrong to want the dark moments. But what I know now is that it wasn’t just about being a voyeur into someone else’s tragedy. It was about holding space for someone else’s pain and then, ultimately, feeling less alone in my own.
Read MoreI sat crosslegged on the floor of the loft. The loft that used to be ours but now was just mine. It was empty, except for the beer can that sat in front of me and the disco ball in the corner. But even in its emptiness, the space felt so very full by the life that was lived within those four walls.
Read MoreIt is inevitable we will show up in the wrong way and say the wrong thing. That’s part of being human. But that doesn’t mean we stop trying.
Read MoreI was a mourning widow and I was a 30-something with a desire to be touched. The latter felt like a betrayal to the former. I felt like a horrible human being and an even worse wife.
Read MoreI had zero interest in sharing the most affecting part of my life with this stranger, but I must admit, I did respect his complete drunken disregard for platitudes and his desire to jump straight to the juicy details.
“Cancer,” I replied, leaning away.
It’s been 18 months since Brad’s death and I still feel full of fear. Grief tends to do that - bring up all kinds of fears, some more rational than others.
Read MoreI would be lying if I said I never think about my future and the idea of possibly someday sharing my life with another person again. Because Brad taught me to love.
Read MoreMy sister recently made the comment that nobody really discusses loss and grief on an everyday level.
Even those of us that write about it (and talk about it), still do so in mostly sweeping statements about waves and universal truths and fragmented stages in time.
Read MoreI’m on my final leg of this journey. I’m dirty. I’m exhausted. I’m sore. I feel beat up and raw. I also feel powerful and proud. I found a strength and openness I didn’t acknowledge before that I will carry with gratitude as I head towards home. Tomorrow.
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