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We're friends, not doctors, financial or legal professionals, and we're not "grief experts." But we are here, and we've been "there."

Some days are better than others. Some days, I can keep busy, and busy in the right ways that nothing sets me off. And then some days, I think of something. And I go to look at the Disney pins, because I haven't checked those in awhile, what with how sick Howard had been. And then I see some and think, "Oh! I could totally get those and stick them on his board for him, and when he comes home, he'll see more of the new... oh." And then I break down at work again.

It sneaks up on you, in the weirdest places. And you never know when or where. But there's something, and it just tears the scar open, and then it's all raw all over again.

Any time my brain wants to "write" stupid things to itself, like "Medea was heartbroken" or destroyed, or crushed, or any one of a million other adjectives, I keep trying to remember to correct it to, "Medea was holding as best she could" or "doing her best" or something, anything, to remind myself to just hang in there.

I keep having nightmares that Me is yelling at me to shut up, that no one cares and to get over it. He told me something similar after my father died, and my brain keeps wanting to write it on to now.

I found part of a bone fragment. I was sifting through Howard's cremains for a small vial for his best friend Du, but I was keeping out the bone fragments, as they're so much a visceral reminder that what you're holding was a PERSON. And one was still somewhat blackened. It shouldn't be blackened. Black is cooked, not cremated. It made me sad. But I got a vial, and it didn't have bone fragments. It just looks like ash.

Letting him go, in some ways literally, one piece at a time. But gods, I miss him. I miss having someone to talk to about stupid things, and that checked up on me, and that cared about the cat. More than anything, I'm just lonely.

When you can't run, you crawl, and, well, you know the rest.

But what do you do when there's no one left to carry you?

Just lonely. And for the most stupid, mundane things, but still lonely.

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