I would just feel lost in an abyss. Not feeling anything, not even remorse. Maybe sad sometimes questioning a higher power. But not hurt anymore.
Looking back, I don’t remember much as I was young. What I remember is the topic made me uncomfortable. I never talked about what happened. I don’t think I knew how to grieve. I didn’t know how to behave or react in front of people. I was fearful of making people more emotional, too emotional, and having to comfort them. I didn’t know how to talk about what I was thinking to anyone. I didn’t know how to comfort my mom or if my brother knew what had happened. We had just lost my dad.
Often, I felt that my grief wasn’t in my control. It paved its own way through anniversaries, birthdays and slowed and accelerated as it pleased. I could only wait for it to subside, or push back by immersing myself in activities. I knew it would never go away but I could find a new outlook towards it. There wasn’t anything I could about it except live.
To this day, I fear if I stop grieving, my memories would fade, and I would lose my connection to him forever.
People don’t talk about death as much as they should, and I request everyone to normalize talking about it. It’s a part of life that doesn’t go away. Not even with time. However, I did move on with my life. There wasn’t a lot that changed. My…
