"In the beginning, grief is a fog; a thick, dense, and never ending barrier between you and the world as you once knew it. At one point you figured it would lift, as fog tends to do, but after days and then weeks spent under its heavy cloak, you begin to wonder if it’s become a part of your everyday life. In those moments, you might have thought, “All I want is to feel better,” because you want to feel normal, whatever that may mean to you. Yet the simplicity of a ‘normal’ existence seems unfathomable. Impossible even.
Then one day you look around and realize you can see a little further in front of you, things are more colorful, and they’re coming into clarity. The days start getting a little bit easier, the nights a little more restful. The tears come a little less and things like laughter, joy, and gratitude are once again a part of your emotional repertoire. The smallest sliver of light cuts into the dark and you realize that this must be what ‘healing from grief’ looks like. You also realize, that progress doesn’t feel as sweet as you imagined.
“Something feels off,” you say to yourself. “I should feel better about feeling better.”
Grief is funny, you know? You desperately want it to go away, except for sometimes when you don’t want it to go away."
What's your grief?
You have come to the right place, and we are glad you are here. This is a safe place to share stories of love and loss, devastating grief, exhausting care-giving, memorials, advanced directives, mourning, hope, and despair. We want to hear about about what you wish you had known or done differently, what you wish those around you had known or done differently, and what went right. We will never tell you to move on or find closure. "What cannot be said will be wept." Sappho
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