she's been dead for six years now; and not one fucking day goes by where i don't think about her. not one.
she was my biggest fan. my strongest supporter. my best friend.
and when she died, i was so hurt -- so damaged by the loss -- that i went into a self-destructive tailspin that stole away two and half fucking years of my life.
two and a half fucking entire years.
forgiving myself took almost as long.
i used to sit there, wasting away...
no one ever taught me about loss. no one prepared me for it.
for people who aren't ready, that shit can do some real damage real quick.
i can see how people find comfort in jesus and buddha and the whole gang. if you think your dead grandma is at a party in the sky with muhammad and jeebus, i can see how handling the death might be easier.
but i -- we -- know better. we know that all we can prove is that when you die, you're fucking dead -- erased from this existence. forever. for good.
done.
once something you hold close is lost, that something is fucking gone.
and you better handle your shit.
