Grief is

Grief is

Laughing loudly at something so true and real, tears can’t do it justice.

It’s moments realizing how hilariously absurdly tragic life is–the handbook under the couch cushions that doesn’t exist, but should.

Did you get a handbook when your mom died?

Yeah, it was under the couch cushions. Not easy to find.

It’s wanting to make other people comfortable as your world is redefined, recalibrated.

Re-learning and re-making every relationship you’ve ever had (sometimes your entire life).

It’s meeting your brother/sister for the first time after your mom died.

It’s figuring out how people know your person is more than how they died–but also, how we die is a source of fascination, because we’re scared and for those who have walked on or near that cliff, we need to know, what’s for us?

It’s wishing you had some belief system, or realizing you have one you never realized.

It’s TALKING about death and dying and grieving and dying and talking.

My grief is different than yours

Is different than his and hers and anyone else’s.