Feelings bounce around, pinging from heaving sobs to numbness to laughter at good memories to emptiness to weepiness to moroseness so debilitating you cannot even cry and back and forth again, like the world's worst pinball machine. There is guilt that first day when you don't cry even though you know logically that it's healthy, because you feel that means you're somehow not missing them as much since you're not on your knees. There are days upon weeks upon months and even years when you can stave off the tears and sadness, thinking of nothing but the good and happy and then it all comes crashing down because of something you didn't even know would trigger you, but trigger you it does most definitely. There are dreams that leave you feeling grateful to have had them, like you somehow got to steal an extra few precious moments with them, and those that wake you up in tears. It's all OK. It's not comfortable, it's not pretty, but it's OK.
Oh, and a middle finger to anyone who tells you differently, to those who grow weary of your grief, whose sympathy or empathy seems to be finite, because your grief isn't lessening quickly enough for them. Big middle finger...with a booger on the end.
