Remember: It Will All Be Okay

Somehow a whole year passed without her, the strangest year of my life. As the first anniversary of her death approached, I decided I needed know the official date, so I could at least try to channel my grief into a specific timeframe.

By that point, too much time had passed for me to feel okay asking anyone, so I Googled it, my hands shaking as I typed her clean and classic name into the search bar. I wondered if this time I would be hit with sharp, crashing pain, but as usual it only felt surreal, a dream I couldn’t seem to shake off.

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Learning to Sit With It

You know it—not the third-person, singular, neuter pronoun but the really terrible “it.”

The “it” that is soul-cracking pain.

The “it” that is despair as deep and vast as the ocean.

The “it” that is guilt strolling hand in hand with its close friend shame.

The “it” that’s always manifesting itself differently, but at the core is the same.

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