I've been better lately.
My thoughts, my moods are lighter, brighter.
I'm able to be quiet again. I'm able to think about the future without sadness again. Not all the time, but sometimes.
It's starting to feel normal, his not being here. Four plates at the table. The empty bedroom. The drawer full of unused sippy cups that we can't seem to get rid of. Not good, not expected, but normal. The hole that he left is slowly being filled in by time.
I have little use for guilt. I think I struggle with it less than most. I feel like I should feel more guilty than I do, but I don't. I think that's ok.
We went to a family bereavement group last week. It's the first one we attended, and the girls enjoyed it. I found it equal parts useful and exhausting. Many of the parents there talked about guilt. About feeling so bad about moving on and feeling good that they force themselves to go back to the pain. One mom, who lost her son to a brain tumor 18 months ago, said "It doesn't get better, it just gets different."
For me it is better. I hope that's ok.