the best part

 I met with a friend recently. Her mom passed away several years ago. We talked about how the second year of grieving was harder in some ways than the first. I was reminded of my own grieving with my Mom. as well as Andrew. For me, grieving my Mom's passing, at least I could tell myself she had a good life, it seems more natural...even though, with Mom's there is this pain of knowing you have lost the relationship of being a daughter. A kind of connection and closeness that can't, in its entirety, be replicated. 

With Andrew, its like that too. There is a dark hopelessness to the second year; the acceptance of he really isn't coming back. I don't want to believe it. Some days, I live in a kind of suspended disbelief.  but some days I really get he isn't coming back. The despair feels like a dark spiral down. which after a bit, I pull myself out of with action, with writing, running, exercise, doing something....

 I believe in the spirit world; energy transformed not gone... So I have felt his presence numerous times. But the man I knew, funny smart and so good at making me laugh as well as think differently about problems, is gone from this world. I miss his presence. so much. Yes, the addiction made life stressful, uncertain at times awful too. But I miss ruffling his blonde hair, hugs and talking to him. The addiction was only part of Andrew. not the best part. I miss the best part.