I want you to know I’ve been quiet because I am busy.
Lest you think I’m over it all. Or like,
healed.

It’s just — I don’t have time really to think about it. Or you. Much.
That’s what grief does, right? Ebbs with time? Or is it flows?
Today I saw a post: it’s been 5 years since 2020.
And I wanted to send it to you. Maybe add a wink, an LOL
Then I reminded myself that you aren’t that you.

It’s just — the other day I had to explain why I wasn’t going to see the school play and that’s a tough story to cram into a minute and today we started planning for our classroom’s Valentine’s Day and I had to stop my mouth from saying, “Oh, Valentine’s Day – the last time I thought I had a Valentine he was actually sneaking his mistress into the basement while I was at a conference…
5 years ago.”

I didn’t say it, but usually I do.

It’s just — the stories are so good! In a terrible, horrific, awful, traumatic and hilarious way. I laugh when I tell them now somehow.
But it means that the stories are still in my brain, like stuck on the edges, knocking at the walls.
You are still in there
stuck on the edges, knocking at the walls.
5 years dude.

It’s just – 5 years.