So, I somehow survived the six-month mark, but it wasn't easy. The damn grief wave snuck up behind me and tossed me to the floor.
It was ugly, you didn't miss anything.
But guess what? The world didn't stop, my heart didn't forget to keep beating, and my kids made it through the day.
People might say, "Oh, six months, you should be fine now!"
I would say back to them, "You don't get to tell me how to grieve." Maybe not in those polite words exactly, but I would try my best.
But, good news; I am having longer bouts of happiness. I travel as much as I can. I work as much as I can. I love where and whom I live with, and I see friends (when they remember I am still here...) as much as I can.
My family has been rock-solid and have stood by me- even when I might not be the nicest/happiest person.
But hey, summer is coming, the grand-baby is growing and life, as they say...
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