Stef

I’ve heard the same handful of phrases more times than I can count. "At least they're in heaven." "Everything happens for a reason." "You're so strong." "I'm sorry for your loss." If you're in the early months or years of loss, you're probably hearing them on repeat. People mean well; I have to keep reminding myself, even 23 years later. After Robert died, I heard them everywhere. "At least he's in heaven." "He was so young." "I can't even imagine." "I'm so sorry." That last one might...

People show up when someone dies. They bring food, send flowers, sit in living rooms and say the kind of things people say when there are no good words. For a while the phone rings daily; people check in and ask how you're holding up.  Then time passes.  The shift happens slowly, almost unnoticed. The check-ins spread farther apart, and conversations drift toward safer subjects. You can feel it when grief comes up in the middle of an otherwise normal conversation; a pause, a change of topic,...

I told David yesterday that the spin cycle on the washing machine gives me anxiety. He looked at me the way you'd look at someone who just said something that makes no logical sense, which is fair, because it doesn't. I explained that when the washer is full of wet clothes and hits the spin cycle, I think about how much all that water weighs and I'm certain the machine is going to break down under the strain. He nodded, slightly amused. Twenty-three years after Robert died, I still live with...