Some days, Burt is so intensely missed that I walk around in a miasma of loss.
That’s on one day, and it’s fine. It is inevitable that that feeling will come or go or both at once.
Today, I miss him but I’m digging into memories. With the memory the miasma lifts; I am not in that fog of missing-mourning-grieving that some days is paralyzing.
It will go, it will come. It’s fine. I have my memories. I know what I’ve lost, but I cherish what I had.
I was gifted a happiness that now makes me cry, tears of pain, tears of joy. It’s fine.
this is our life 