It’s three and a half months since Max died and life is settling back into a routine. I still miss him every day, but I’m busy much of the time and distracted by all I have going on. When I think of him, I’m overcome with an intense sadness. It’s as if a chasm opens up inside, one that I am never able to fill. My son calls grieving the Jet Lag of the Soul. What an apt description. Like jet lag, it wears you down and comes in waves over many many days. I find myself tired most of the time now, my sleep often broken and incomplete. I haven’t had any dreams that I can recall lately, but I know I’m not sleeping deeply because I am often aroused by the train whistle.

But with all this, I know I’m healing. The pain hits me less often and less intensely.  I can focus on the task in front of me. I am willing to involve myself in creative pursuits and outside activities. So, this too will pass and I will be leaving the grief behind me. I feel a bit guilty for it, as though I’m betraying my best friend, but how much control do we really have over our feelings?  Only what we do with them. I try not to share them with others, I’ve shared them often enough. Now, it’s time for me to find the inner strength to carry on. To move forward.

And, gradually, I am.

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