Grief. It’s such a little word really isn’t it? Five little letters form a single word that is meant to capture what it feels like when someone dies. When the journey is complete. When there is no more living that can be done together. What does it capture I wonder? Does it suitably capture, in its five letters, how it feels each day to be further away from your love, ever more naked as you stand alone with your emotions on a distant shore? Does it capture the whirling, swirling, constant noise of loss and reminders of what once was as the world keeps turning but you long for stillness and quiet? Does it explain what it is to hear her laughter amongst the rustling leaves and know you will never see her smile again? I’m not sure that it does. Grief. Too small a word for such immense emotions. Instead, it becomes bigger than itself, wider, higher, further in and further up. Cloaked in grief. That ethereal cloak that we wear when our loved ones are gone. Made of memories, lined with love, and stitched with tears. A cloak to be pulled tight in the witching hours of a sleepless night, wrapped like a second skin as Grief sits patiently waiting for you to wake and feel her again. A cloak of comfort to keep you safe in the daylight hours when you stride through with determination, knowing that because she died, you must live. Live with your grief, learn with your grief, be with your grief. Because that’s where Grief comes into its own. It’s your own. It owns you and you own it. Your grief. A powerhouse of a word, a maelstrom of relationship reminders to drive you through the pain, past the privilege, on to that tiny pinprick of peace between the horror and the beauty, between the sorrow and the joy. It’s much bigger than its five letters. She’s been dead 622 days now. There hasn’t been a moment when I’m not aware of her absence. But she left me with my grief. With our grief. With all the grief imaginable. I’ll be grieving for a while yet. Because it is as deep as the love itself and for that, I am grateful. ❤️💔❤️