💙 Loss of Family

It’s been a year. Or two. Or five. The condolence cards are long gone. The casseroles stopped arriving months ago.

Some impulses in grief are about presence — the casserole at the door, the card in the post, the text

His side of the bed is still there. That’s the thing about losing a husband that nobody outside of it

He built things. That’s what you keep thinking about. Maybe it was literal — he was the one who fixed

Her number is probably still saved in their phone. That’s one of the quiet, brutal things about losing a mum

Sometimes you want to do more than send words. You want to give someone something they can hold. Something that

The food bowl is still on the floor. That’s the part nobody prepares you for. Not the big grief —

You didn’t choose each other. Not at first. You were assigned to each other by genetics — thrown together at

You knew the moment he arrived. Something shifted. The conversation got louder, or more interesting, or both. Someone started a

She had a different set of rules. Not no rules — just different ones. She was the one who let