FamilyHealing

A Year Of Grief

It’s been a year.

One year, since you got tired. So tired of being tired, you decided that you didn’t want to wake up again. So weary in your heart and in your bones, you lay down for an eternal rest. I’ve been pretty tired too. It’s too loud in my head. You see, guilt and insomnia are the best of pals. Their games of what-ifs and should-haves have been keeping me awake at night. The only thing that seems to put them to rest is grief’s sad lullaby, melting body and soul into a heavy sleep. A sleep that leaves me numb instead of refreshed. The weight of gravity, dragging me down each morning, makes it nearly impossible to rise. But somehow, I do. Even on the days I’m not sure why.

It’s been a year.

The boxes have all been packed, the house has sold, and tomorrow the moving truck will be here. I’m not ready to go, to leave this house. We were happy here. But if I wait until I’m ready, I know I’ll never leave. Don’t worry, I’ve packed the important things. The memories, wrapped in love, have been carefully tucked away in a corner of my heart. Some day, I’ll take them off the shelf and hold them tenderly again. But right now, it hurts too much. Right now, I have to look forward. I have to believe that there is something new out there for me. Something that will help me rise on the days when gravity is doing everything it can to drag me back down.

It’s been a year.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know I can’t stay in this house or in this grief. I miss you every day, but maybe, in another year, it will hurt a little bit less.

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Anxious adventurer. Dabbles in science, architecture, and writing. Follow Maggie on Instagram or read more articles from Maggie on Thought Catalog.

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