Sometimes words don’t cover it. Grief. Grieving. They don’t really touch what you feel when you lose somebody who is a part of you.

M-W.com defines grief as

“deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement.” 

That makes it sounds like the pain somehow stays inside, though. Like it’s cutting deep, but that cut is within you.

Real grief runs even deeper–it’s like a bullet hole that goes in almost clean on one side, but on its way out, it destroys everything and leaves a gaping hole on the back. It’s a pain that cuts through you.

It’s been six months since D. died.  Six months today.  I feel like a survivor of that bullet blast and the surface wound has started to heal and some scar tissues is forming, but I’ll do one thing wrong…like pick up a picture of my baby brother and it’s all new, all over again.

The good news is that I can go days without crying.

The good news is that people are moving past that stage where they walk on eggshells and ask in that nervous tone…How are you doing?  Because that, while people mean well, puts me right back there to that day.

Christmas is going to be hard. My husband and I, my kids…together as a whole, I think we came through this stronger for it–I feel like I’ve forged in the fires of hell now.  But my family as a whole hasn’t done very well and that is going to make the holidays even harder.

I’m trying to get back on schedule with regular stuff, though.  As much as I can.

One thing is for certain…death happens.  And the world keeps on turning.