Things have been a bit bumpy lately.

The anniversary of one of my best friends in the entire world, fell yesterday. He died two years ago.

Two years.

730 days.

It simultaneously feels like it was yesterday and yet, so much longer. His death traumatised and hurt me more than I ever realised possible. I’ve also realised, and am trying to accept the fact that I’ll never “get over it,” like I’ve been telling myself to, and expecting myself to. The pain won’t ease over time either. The hole in my heart won’t magically fix itself. No amount of meditating, or writing, or reading books will reveal some kind of in-the-club secret code that will allow me to figure this out and move forward. But there will hopefully come a time where I will get a little more proficient at handling my loss. Healing takes time and I need to learn to be more patient and accepting of myself.

I literally dread his anniversary.

I see the date taunting me from the calendar when the month starts. No amount of familiarity with how the calendar works takes the sting out of it when it hits. No amount of preparing myself, and working myself up to it, prepares me for having the rug pulled out from under me. It leaves me feeling like I’ve been winded. Struggling for every single breath. Struggling to function like a normal human being. As though my body has been in some kind of car accident and has sustained whiplash.

For the days leading up to, and following “the date” I get incredibly sad. I get incredibly anxious. I get incredibly fragile and a myriad of other emotions too.

There’s something about anniversaries, you see.

It’s not that you don’t think of the person for the other 364 days of the year.

It’s not that you’re not grieving.

It’s as though the anniversary itself gives you some kind of special permission, that you don’t even need in the first place, but you feel you need, to grieve openly again. Like, for some unknown reason you’re only allowed to grieve and mourn for your loved ones on the day they died – and no other. It’s ok to cry about him on the day he died, because that was the day of the trauma. It’s socially acceptable to cry on the day, but, heaven forbid I cry about him on a regular Tuesday just cause he came to mind and I miss being able to pick up the phone and message him about something inane. That’s totally not ok. Right?

Then the guilt hits.

Have I thought about him enough in the last year? Would he be upset with me being so upset on his anniversary – or would he be flattered that he touched my life as much as he did? If he were to come back from the dead today, and found me where I’m at, would he be disappointed in how I’ve limited myself in many ways and where I’ve landed?

What is it about guilt? I mean, it’s not like he’s paid me a visit a la “A Christmas Carol” and made me feel guilty. It just hits.

Grief plus guilt.

It’s a heavy load to bear.

I’m often scared I’ll forget him, too. A ridiculous notion, but I’m told a common one as well. The mere fear that I’ll forget about him serves as a reminder of him. Paradoxical, no?

There’s no real point to this post other than to mark another year since his passing. To acknowledge the deep ache in my chest from being unable to turn to him when I’m having a “moment” and say, “Hey, what stretches can I do to calm me the hell down when I’m in a meltdown over X, Y or Z?” or “My period hurts like hell this month, what disgusting and weird blend of tea I’m pretty sure you just made up, can I drink to help my hormones and aches?”

It’s a post to remind myself, and anyone else out there reading who has been bereaved, lately or years ago, that it’s ok to grieve. It’s ok to hurt and feel their absence. Whenever it hits. Experience it, let it wash over you and don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. Don’t rush yourself, or push yourself. Don’t tell yourself to get the hell over it.

I’m not quite sure how long it’ll be for me to process my emotions on this, this time. But I’ve scheduled a second session with my therapist this week in a bid to help me work through things – as opposed to my usual attempts at shoving it under a bed in my mind and hoping it goes away by itself.  

I wasn’t going to share this picture. Despite taking it in the moment with a mind to posting it on my blog.

Why did I not want to share? I didn’t want people thinking I’m posting it for attention. Why am I sharing it? In many ways I am posting for attention. However, it’s to call attention to something, rather than for people to give me attention.  Everyone’s always talking about the glossy veneer and rose tint that social media can apply to our lives. It’s a highlight reel of things that we want people to see, but rarely do we capture what people often need to see. It’s ok to experience hurt and pain, it’s ok to share it, it’s ok to show it. You don’t need to hide it. Or pretend like it’s not there at all. Those who love you most will still love you – even if you’re a crying hot mess.

Above all? This is a post to remind myself and everyone else, that life is short and it’s a gift. Hug those you love tighter and tell them that you love them when you do. To those who’ve noticed my quiet this last week or so, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reaching out and checking in. To Allyson – I’m sorry for crying at you on snapchat and talking your ear off about my big brother Taylor. I appreciate it. To Amber – thanks for being a stubborn mare and not letting me ignore you.

To those I love, I love you. Always.