Truth.
178 days ago I lost a dear friend in a plane crash. She was 21 years old.
I expected my grieving process to be linear and predictable, to follow a prescribed set of steps. Denial? Check. Pain? Check. Bargaining? Check. Go through the seven stages of grief and you're done, right?
But it doesn't work that way.
The first few days were rough, and her funeral remains the most difficult day of my life. After the first few weeks I expected things to slowly but steadily get easier, but they haven't. I am constantly reminded of her by little things: wearing a certain pair of shoes that she also owned, seeing people who look like her in the grocery store, dreaming about her, seeing low-flying planes, and running across her phone number in my contact list, since I still don't have the nerve to delete it. All of these instances spin me back into grief. The cycle seems to continue forever; each time it's a little different, but it's always painful.
So where do I go from here? I don't know. I don't have any answers. But I do know that the process of grieving and remembering her has, strangely, helped me move on.
I will never forget her, nor do I want to. But I am confident that the memory of her will continue to be more joyful and less aching.
Looking forward,
Amy
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