Six months to the day and it feels like six minutes.

I don’t know how to stop this spiral. I keep thinking I’ll feel better. Some days I convince myself I do.

Then pain comes crashing in again and I lose my breathe at the enormity if it. How can I be here and you aren’t?

How could you go first? How long must I go on without you? I want a time limit. I want God to say “Okay, survive this for one year and you can come home.” Or five. Or ten. Or SOME limit. The potential for multiple decades is… unbearable.

And you know how you hear early in grief that people will forget and stop mentioning your missing piece? Stop acknowledging your pain? It’s already happening at six months.

Nobody remembered.

But me.

Grief is very lonely.