Grief is a difficult thing to explain. It comes in waves. Sometimes months go by, even years, in a state of contentment. You think you have dealt with the loss. And then, suddenly, an age-old grief settles over you. Without warning. Enveloping you in its greyness, slowing down your senses. Taking you deep within it.

But am I even allowed to grieve? Is it my right? Aren’t there others who have known you longer. Loved you more. Do my feelings pale in comparison? Should there even be a comparison?

To me, grief is very personal. Like love is very personal. The people whom I love, and there aren’t too many, have no doubt whatsoever that I love them. But my love, and its loss, is so deeply personal that it hides within the conversations I have in my head. It’s rarely spoken aloud. It is felt. And cherished. And kept safe in a tiny corner of my heart.

That’s where you live too. You may not be around anymore, but in the conversations I have with you in my head, the smile on my face in an empty room when I think of something you said or did, you’re right here. And though you are deeply loved….you are so terribly and solely missed too.