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You know those people who are just so blatantly and ignorantly happy? That was me—well, for the first 21 years, at least.

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Now that you no longer live in this physical world, you might relate to what I am about to talk about, or perhaps not.

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Dear friends, if I haven’t told you about this crippling tragedy that I am dealing with at the moment, it is not because I don’t find your support helpful or that I don’t value our friendship. It simply means I am not ready to talk about it.

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I have noticed that grief is a lot like that twist on your left side when you’re running sprints. You notice the sting. Your legs halt for a moment. Is the cramp there because you were running or because you stopped?

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It has taken me five years in my journey with grief to acknowledge that I can be grieving and grateful at the same time, a paradox I have never understood until now.

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A month and a half has gone by since his death, and I am still not sure if I have even processed it, because the truth is, I never want to get over my brother.

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I’m 32 years old. I have a four-year-old daughter, a solid partner, and a job I love. I’m also planning for the end of my life.

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Anyway, you know when they say a year can do a lot to a person? Imagine 5 years. How much does that do to a person? Apparently a lot.