There is no kidding around. Last week was one of the hardest weeks in terms of grief this past year. When I lost my Dad, I grieved heavy the first year. I could not talk about him without tears dripping down my face. For a few years after, my voice quivered when I spoke about him. Then things got easier and I was able to talk about him.
The intensity of the grief faded. There is not a single day that goes by that I do not wish to see him, touch him, hug him, hear him. Those feelings will not ever pass yet they fade. When we spread his ashes in Rishikesh, the intense grief came back. I remember vividly crying the gut wrenching tears that my then husband bravely and compassionately nurtured in a hotel room far up in the Himalayas.