An irreverent journey through bereavement & grief after my best friend (/boyfriend/it's complicated)'s suicide.
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Why is it always me who winds up cleaning up your dog's diarrhoea? This was a terrible wake up call, and of course, once again, I blame you, bootless mother-rag.
Today is a sad day. Even the sky is crying. Your dog is asleep on my couch, the music is playing, the world is muted. You're meant to be here too, sprawled across the couch. I keep looking over, like I think I'm going to see you there, but there's just Missy.
In two more days, it will have been 5 months since you left. Five months without you seems... unfathomable. You have missed so much, and life just keeps going on without you. Missy's had her first post-you vet visit. F is finally giving C the flick. M now has a worker under her that I deal with, a man. I'd rather deal with M, but he's okay. Depending what happens with my Sunday, I may have as many as 8 workers on my team, plus Dr M and Dr E. I'm having some medical tests done. Change is everywhere. You'd have hated it (change) as much as I do. But you would have walked through it with me. And damn you for leaving me to do it all alone.
It's been 7 weeks today, since I was told you died. One minute I think I'm going along okay, and then bam, it slams into me with the force of a thousand oncoming trains. You're dead. Gone. You're not coming back.
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