Grief

There is no wrong way to grieve. Whatever you are feeling right now, the numbness, the sharpness, the way it comes in waves or the way it sits like a stone that does not move, that is the right way. There is no correct sequence, no timetable, no version of this that looks the way the books say it should. Grief is as individual as the person doing it, and as individual as what was lost. You are allowed to cry and you are allowed not to cry. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to laugh at something and feel guilty about it, and then be told that the guilt is unnecessary, and not quite believe that either. You are allowed to feel relieved and then feel terrible about feeling relieved. All of it is allowed. All of it is grief. What you have lost was real. The size of the grief is the size of the love, and there is no comfort in being told it gets easier. Not yet, not while it is this fresh. So I will not say that. I will say instead: you are not alone in this. Every person who has ever lived has stood where you are standing. The ones who came before you stood here and they found a way through, not around. Through. You are allowed to take as long as you need. There is no hurry here.