Tag: death

Grief is weird.

michelleLeave a comment

Sometimes I wonder if it belongs to me 

It comes with a lot of responsibility 

My pain is something I no longer desire to feel, but the memories are everything to me.

I wish they didn’t have to coexist all the time. 

I carry the memories for both of us, which feels like a lot of responsibility. It’s like I am the only living proof of a love that existed. 

It makes me feel like I have to defend it more, like I have to prove that it existed. 

I have never enjoyed having to prove myself, especially with something like this.

But then again, I remind myself that there is nothing to prove. The memories are memories because they happened, once upon a time, that was my current reality.

But this realization also makes me sick to my stomach because I remember that this was, at a time, my reality. This was what life was like, a painful reminder that this is no more.

My memories carry everything and the weight of all the emotions. The picture shows us smiling, but my memories go beyond the smiles.

It remembers the insecurity, the questioning of whether I was enough, if the connection was enough, and so it becomes difficult again.

It becomes difficult to feel the pain, the weight, and the grief again. It becomes difficult, and I find myself in the same cycle, waiting, waiting, and wondering if the grief belongs to me. 

Waiting for someone to give me the green light, the go-ahead to feel this pain. This loss. To break down at the reality that I hate to accept. 

I hate that the person I find myself waiting for permission from is gone.

I wish I could have talked to you one last time. If I could, I would tell you this: 

I wish we could have caught up and just sat together.

I would have told you everything; I have no doubt that you would have done the same. 

I hate that I hesitate to miss you. I wish I could ask you how much our friendship meant to you. Is it selfish for me to want to hear you say that you loved me? 

I wish I could remember every single moment we shared, even the insignificant ones.

I wish I had a recording of all the nights we spent talking and sharing things we were too scared to say in the daylight.

I hate that we never closed the gap and distance between us. I really wish we could have seen each other one last time. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. It doesn’t catch my breath and break my stance. 

But my heart throbs softly every day. Any time I remember, I feel it more 

The shock of realizing that you are gone and knowing what that means 

Knowing that you don’t walk around anymore, knowing that there are so many of us who think about you and miss you every day 

I just can’t believe it. This was not how it was supposed to go 

I love life, but I hate it at the same time. I hate that this is it. I hate that I have to just keep going 

I hate that it doesn’t stop or give us a break 

Even when you really, truly, deserve it. 

I find myself wondering what it is all for, what is the reason 

I wonder if there is any

I understand why people pray, 

why some look at crystals, 

and, why others just numb it away 

I wonder if, now knowing this, you would grant me my grief.

I am realizing that some things don’t have answers, not because there aren’t any, but maybe because the purpose is not to be understood. 

Maybe we are not meant to know; all we are meant to do is wake up and do what needs to be done. Until one day we don’t wake up.

I guess that is what it is 

I wonder if it all makes sense when we get to the end. When our timer runs out, our curtains close. Is there a moment when it all makes sense? 

I hope it all made sense to you when your curtains closed. I hope that all that felt unfinished was complete for you. 

my final remark

michelleLeave a comment

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thinking about u x”

“Let me know if you ever want to talk” 

I am cared for. I appreciate it. 

However, this feeling is hard to describe. It’s hard to feel. 

I talk to you. I talk to you often. You are the only person I want to talk to.

But today I didn’t talk to you. My mind uncemented itself for the first time since I heard. Since you left us. I existed without you, and it wasn’t horrible. I survived.

And then I thought about you. I remembered, and I broke. For the first time, I felt it. Realizing this was the moment when I really spoke to you. I was ready to say my last remarks. 

I now know what heartbreak feels like.

I felt a crack. I literally heard it as it worked its way down my heart. I now walk with my chest throbbing, two broken pieces on my left side.

I never regretted where we left off. It didn’t mean anything to me. I watched you from a distance, I saw you fall in love, and I saw you graduate and travel. I congratulated you when you got your first job. We kept tabs on each other. You checked in, too. That is why I never doubted; I knew you knew it, too. There was still love. There would always be love. 

So I’m not broken because we hadn’t spoken in a while. Not because I hadn’t seen you. 

I struggled through memories and emotions, none of them quite fit. I remembered moments and in some instances, I was stuck in space, literally. I could not move because I’d think of something else that you would miss, laughing at jokes we shared.

An avalanche of feelings and then it hit me, and then broke me. That moment I realized that we would never get to meet again. 

I would never bump into you at the grocery store. We would never see each other at an airport somewhere somehow. There would be no more coincidences between us. Our physical story ended here, and for as long as it will take for us to meet somehow in the afterlife coffee shop,

This is heartbreak. I have never been so sad. 

This is why I always got excited when you posted something new.

It’s the reason I immediately became friends with someone who knew you, too. I was getting little previews. Things that you would finally tell me when I saw you again. I knew our story wasn’t over. I loved where we left it off. I was so excited to see you again one day so you could finally pick up where you left off.

You would tell me what happened and I would tell you what happened, too. 

And we would tell each other how we truly felt. And we would laugh at each other, and then scold each other for accepting that. But eventually, we will have caught up and maybe exchanged numbers, and maybe we would see each other, no date forcing our hands. 

But I sit here with harsh reality, and I’m cold.

And my heart is in pieces. 

You are not here anymore. You are not experiencing life anymore. You did what was needed and what enough for you. Your journey in this part was through.

I remain. Trying to make sense in a word so senseless. Forcing and then taking one step at a time. 

And it’s heavy. I didn’t expect this load, this weight. But I carry it for you. And I feel despair for you.

I feel despair for myself and things I have always wanted to tell you, songs I wanted to show you, and moments I wanted to know more about. My curiosity remains. My love remains.

And I am going to miss you. So so much.

I’m going to think about you, and I will laugh at the good parts and smile at the moments when we helped each other and held each other. And for the little girls that we were.

And I’ll cry a lot not to make you feel bad. But to let you know that you were loved. 

And I will love you forever.