Grief is just adjusting

We are still adjusting.

The house feels too quiet. Where is your loud music? The slamming doors? Your incredible knack for talking my damn ear off until I feel like my eyes have gone glassy?

The loud rumble of your bike.

That fucking bike that you loved so much. I hated how nervous it made me, but I loved how happy it made YOU. You found so much happiness riding.

I can tell that the pupper still misses you. He doesn’t know where you are. Any time Rory is here and in your room, he wants on your bed and burrows in the blanket. One of the last things that still has your scent.

I worry about Carter. He is doing better, but he still really misses you. He will be okay one minute and then something seemingly random will trigger him and he will start crying. I know that it is normal. I know that it is okay. I know that he is processing.

He asked to go to your memorial site for the first time today. He hadn’t wanted to go before today, and I wasn’t going to force him. You know him. He processes things on his own time. So after school, we went to his counseling appointment, his horseback riding lesson, and then the memorial. We added more solar lights for you. Lit your candles. Talked about you.

As we were leaving, he said, “It has been more than a month, and I am still not over it”. I had to tell him there is no “getting over it”.

We won’t just get over it. We will simply be adjusting.

We won’t get over losing you. We will always miss you. We will always have days where it doesn’t feel like real life. What we have to do is find a way to adjust to this new life.