I know that feeling things is processing, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t hate it. Even now it’s hard to sit in a room alone and talk with you, before the holidays, on the day of your birthday. I’m not sure if I made the right choices. I know it was the best I could do. Maybe you understand now, or don’t — I can only talk to you now in dreams. I miss you so much. I hope you know that. I’ve only imagined grief until now, and the real thing is so much worse — I can feel the pain in my bones.
I miss you. It feels like you are a million miles away but still right here beside me. It felt that way when you were alive, too. We are strange-shaped people, not in a bad way. Just difficult to know. Difficult to hold. I know now that you must’ve felt the same way, too.
Sometimes I talk to you when no one else is here, because they tell me it helps.
Feeling things is not easy, especially the older I get. It’s like scar tissue covers over the nerve endings. Maybe it’s a type of resilience, a numbness, or wisdom, but I don’t really know. “We’ve seen this one before,” I say to myself. Did you feel that way too? Just living day to day is hard — I get that, I do. I didn’t know you then, but I feel like I do better now. I remember wanting to know you so badly, but some things, they just can’t be explained. Especially how you felt — how I feel.
