October 16th, 2025
It’s been five whole years today.
I just can’t.
I’m doing totally normal things to cope: keeping myself so entirely busy with school and clubs and work and my writing career that I see “burnt out” tiny in my rear view mirror, now that I’m several towns past.
When we lose someone, we often turn to others who have lost someone to get some guidance. The people who really know will tell you: there is no path. Grieving is wildly inconsistent, which is why we build our metaphors on top of waves and rollercoasters.
Weirdly enough, though, my last five years have been defined by one consistent feeling:
I don’t miss her any less today than I did yesterday. And I don’t think I ever will.
That feels like a hard-earned universal truth to me.
And that’s all I got today. I miss you, mom. I miss your ridiculous laugh and constant humming and the way you mispronounced words and how you hugged me like you would never hug me again, because eventually that’s true for everyone.
Love you all. Be as kind and patient as you can today, and every day.
I totally understand if you just can’t, though.
The Den 