I recently wrote on Facebook about ideas that appear and perch on your monitor, or the edge of your desk or in my case on my bookcase across the room.

Grief acts that way too, only instead of perching gently it arrives with thunder and lightning and has the power to knock us down. It doesn’t frighten me; it is a reminder to me that it will always be here. It is sneaky. It just shows up with no warning flashing its lightning and booming its thunder.

I have reached the point where I don’t allow it to hang around for hours, no I accept that it is here, I breathe through it. Then I tell it to leave because I have things to do and things to get back to that I was doing before it interrupted me. The sun comes out and chases it away.

Larry was a good man, and I often think of the saying only the good die young, but that’s not true. It didn’t happen because he was too young to die. A blood clot didn’t form that day and say “Larry, I am tired of hanging around in this lower artery, I want the big time, I want to travel up to the heights of your brain and set off a firework display so big that when you lose consciousness you will go out with a bang but don’t worry Carole will catch you in her arms.” Thank you blood clot for your consideration. Piss on you blood clot.

Larry did nothing wrong. He did nothing to deserve that stroke. It just happened.

Grief is misunderstood or not understood by many, maybe by most. We need to change that because until we do there will be many more people like me who at times have grief that arrives more like a tornado or a hurricane.

I feel judged as if people think I am stuck. I recently wrote that if I were stuck you would find me still in my pajamas, in a dark room, surrounded by crumbled up tissues, my hair a mess, and unable to get up, get dressed and get away from being stuck.

I miss Larry every day all day.

There are many days when grief storms do not happen. There are many days when I curse at his photo and say he should still be here. Where is here though?

Grief doesn’t dehumanize me.

It changed me, it reminds me to tell more people they are loved and to hope that people who love me stop to remember I am alone. I don’t have someone to put their arms around me or shelter me from the grief storms. Alone sucks big time.

Guess what? This will never end. Larry is a part of me, he lives inside me, in my heart, in my brain, in my gut and there are times when I feel him holding my hand especially when I am sad.

Larry will be here until the last person who knew him is gone.

As a matter of fact, we will always be here until the last person who knew us is gone.

That’s how it works.

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