Pages of grief - by Мυηααα🥀

I had adored you so very much, so deeply, a small fear always lived at the back of my mind. But you seemed strong enough. I thought we had more time. I told myself it was not yet time. We all did. Perhaps we believed your kindness and steady presence would keep you here longer. Yet when the call came, something in me already knew. The anxiety gripped my stomach. Sleep had left me for the whole night. I was restless and heavy within. Grief sucks. It scrapes at old certainties. I used to think mourning had rules — that you talked about it, faced it, moved through it. Those were the thoughts of someone who had not really met grief. Now I am in the middle of it. I have become someone who makes boxes in my mind. I lock the thoughts away and keep my mind on the surface only. If I go deeper, the drowning comes with the pointless feeling, the question of “what is the point of anything?”. I want there to be a point. For now, denial is a kind of grace. The effort of not-looking is itself a form of grieving… right??<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/47016.jpg"/>Grief truly is pathetic. You learn how your body can betray you. That night after the call, my sides ached for days, not just from the wire on my back, but from the kind of crying that clenches your whole torso. I didn’t know crying could feel like so much work. My tongue felt bitter, dry, like I had swallowed something rotten and couldn’t wash the taste away. My chest felt weighed down. My heart raced unevenly, as if it was trying to escape what my mind already knew. I was not there when it happened. I was chasing the one thing you always wanted for me, the one thing that felt mocking in the middle of everything. The call said you were asking for me. I packed clothes in the dark, afraid. The beating came later, those heavy blows that left welts burning across my back and legs. I remember biting my lip so hard it bled, trying not to break. The journey home felt endless, my body aching with every step, because I already knew. When I finally stepped inside, the house felt dead. Wrong. Emptied. Ma was right there, her eyes hollow, reaching for me, but her love couldn’t touch the hole left behind. She tried, God she tried, but couldn’t make me feel safe again. I stood there, small and shaking, realizing I was more alone than I’d ever been.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/42752.jpg"/>Isn't grief exhausting?? The constant effort not to fall apart. The way memories can ambush you. The way the anniversary brings it all back like it was yesterday. It makes you feel so hopeless and vulnerable when you don’t want to be. It makes you strong in ways you never asked to be. I don’t talk about you much. At all even. Every time I try, my voice starts cracking, tears come, and I feel like I’m falling apart again. So I shut it down. I push the thoughts away. I don’t want pity. I don’t want to look broken all the time… so I choose silence and strength for the rest of the people I hold dear.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/46938.jpg"/>Three years on, grief has changed shape, but it has not left. Some days it is quiet numbness that dulls everything. Other days it returns sharp, like that wire, reminding me of the night I could not sleep, the beating I endured, the fear that swallowed me whole. It is love with nowhere left to go. It is missing the sound of your voice, the safety of your presence, the simple fact of you being here. Now there’s this empty space where you used to be, and no matter how much time passes, it still aches… it really does. This is what grief does… It teaches you that absence can be louder than presence ever was. It reminds you of how much is missing and the questions you keep asking to which you never get an answer to.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/42750.jpg"/> "Till memory fades and life departs,You live forever in our hearts.”

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