Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of Bill Joe's death.
When I was only a few months into grief, a friend who had lost her son told me, "I'm sorry. It doesn't ever get any easier, but with time, you can learn to swallow around the lump in your throat."
She was right. (Renee has since gone on to join her son.)
Missing someone doesn't get easier. It gets less overwhelming- probably because a human can't function with the stress of grief on their body for a prolonged time. Your mind builds up safety measures.
I write. I have had a need, a compulsion, to write since I first learned how to read. I don't remember if it was my own idea, or if someone suggested a grief journal to me. At first, I wrote pretty much every day. Sometimes, multiple times each day.
As time went on, the entries became fewer. I woke up yesterday, thinking I NEED to write in Bill's journal. It was late in the day before I did. I saw that I haven't written in it since before Nickole came to live with us in 2019.
I had a lot to catch "Bill" up on.
If we hadn't lived the last three + years ourselves, it would seem like the bad plot to an incredibly depressing soap opera.
There have been several highlights. Babies, brides, brothers. It wasn't all bad. It was just so... MUCH.
I am OK with the quiet, dull existence.
I love new places, and seeing new things. But I am terrible at letting go. I also love the familiar!
It's hard to believe it has been 10 years.
Today, we got four inches of snow, in about four hours. I am so OVER snow. It's pretty. Whoop! OK, that's enough of that.
I don't think I can review the past decade, today.
I hope your day is peaceful, and blessedly dull.
