Journal Entry
I hate that you gave up on life.
It hurts so badly, all the time.
There are these tiny moments — little flickers — where I forget that you’re really gone. Gone gone.
And in those brief moments, I feel almost whole again, like the world hasn’t shattered and left me standing in the ruins…again.
I know you didn’t mean to knock the wind out of me a second time, but you did.
You didn’t mean to leave me with all of this.
I’m sitting here in the hole that was you —
now responsible for everything you left, and everything I already had:
Odin, Freija, this apartment, this life that keeps moving forward without your love, without your presence, without your support.
The train still goes by as if nothing has changed.
But everything has.
We’ve gone from four souls to three in this “home” we created, and all of us are trying to adjust in our own ways. Odin curls into me because he feels the shift. Freija pretends the world is steady. And I… I’m just trying to survive inside a reality I never wanted.
Just know that we loved you. We still love you and we still look for you.
And we will keep loving you long after you’re gone.
We’ll miss the laughter, the dancing, the playfulnest, the lazy days spent with all of us snuggled on the bed, the little adventures, the quiet, meaningful mornings, the feeling of belonging to someone who felt like home.
We’ll miss it all for the rest of our days.
Reflection
Grief keeps teaching me that love doesn’t end just because a life does. The pain I feel isn’t proof that something is wrong with me — it’s proof that something mattered. That he mattered. That the life we built, the routines we shared, the future we dreamed of, all had weight and meaning.
In these moments of writing, I’m learning to let myself speak without polishing, without shrinking the truth. I’m learning that mourning isn’t linear, dignified, or clean. It’s jagged and contradictory. It’s loving someone and resenting them in the same breath. Missing the moments that made life feel soft, while trying to survive the ones that broke me open.
I’m beginning to see that healing isn’t about replacing what I’ve lost — it’s about creating space inside myself to carry it. A quieter space, maybe. A gentler one. A space where anger and love can coexist, where memory doesn’t have to be tidy to be sacred.
And even in the ache, even in the absence, there is still some part of me whispering: I’m still here.
That has to be enough for today.
Thanks for reading –xxooC
Tell Me Something Good