In the first weeks I was in a black hole of grief. The sides were tall and smooth. The blackness was all-encompassing and there was no escape. I wept every single day as the enormity of my loss loomed larger every day. I sobbed in the shower, in bed, on the kitchen floor.
Today the grief is softer. I still miss my little girl so much. Miss the two and a half year old she should be. But most days are easier. Then the days come where I can feel myself sinking into that black pit of despair. When that happens I just go there. I try not to fight it. I sleep if I can. I forgive myself for my inadequateness, the laundry piling up, frozen pizza for supper, the sink full of dishes, and grieve, because, after all, I have the right to grieve. Still and always. It seems to only come a day or three at a time now. I know I will catch up on laundry, cook a real dinner, wash the dishes and smile again.
The biggest difference between then and now is that now I know when I sink into the blackness, it will recede sooner or later and light will shine through again.
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