This is what it looks like kids. Ain’t pretty…but is necessary.

As a grief counselor who preaches from the mount, I know that you know that I knew, but I want you to know that I know. What I’m spewing forth here is my process. It will get better. At some point I will integrate the loss into my life and move on. But first, I have to do this emotional blood letting.

It’s early in the process.

I’m full of memories that hurl toward me at a blinding pace as I wrestle with the reality that my world has been shattered. It’s what Elizabeth Harper Neeld calls “Impact.” It’s being hit with an asteroid through the middle of your soul.

It’s bringing up other losses, even ones I’ve worked through but right now my life is pretty much all Michael all the time.

My tear ducts are stinging. I did not know it was physically possible to cry this much.

I did not know you could scream “I miss you so very very much!” inside your head, 500 times a day, and each time the pain sears just as much as the last time you screamed it….

….a minute ago.

At some point the words “I miss you” are not going to bring me to my knees. But right now it does.

and I have a relentless headache.

I’m going to try to go back to bed.

Because Impact sucks.

But this is what it looks like kids. This is what it looks like.

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