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It’s been a while since I’ve written. I did not know what going into the second year after Michael’s death, the third year after his seizure, would mean to me. This is uncharted territory.

I think that in the first year after his seizure, when I knew I was losing him, I still spent a lot of time organizing, leading, learning, caretaking. The year after his death I spent most of it in a grief-filled haze. Like nothing was ever going to be right again. I knew I would survive and I might even be happy, in moments, but nothing would ever be the same again.
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