hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?
hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].
but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.
it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.
and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.
the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.
an emptiness, like you said.
but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.
you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.
he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.
but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.
how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.
the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.
think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.
i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.
but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one.
wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.
as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛
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as you sit in the empty practice room, you mutter to yourself as your fingers fly over the keys of the piano. you hum the rhythm of the piece your instructor has so kindly gifted you, clicking your tongue to keep up with the melody. on the outside, you're sure you look insane, all hunched over, eyes damn near touching the sheet music, fingers flying madly over the keys.
and then - you fuck up. on the same part you always fuck up on. groaning in frustration, you rest your hands on the keys, the piano emitting a funny sound, body deflating. you perk up though when you hear a chuckle to the left of you.
"It's not that hard once you break it down," a singsongy voice carries over to you, your back straightening as your head whips over to find the culprit that snuck up on you.
lo and behold, its gojo satoru - the music departments gifted prodigal student that is miles ahead of everyone. and just your luck, his focus is the piano (alongside the harp, violin, snare drum, and a multitude of other instruments you don't care to list anymore).
"Yeah, cause nothing's ever hard for you." you sneer at him, eyes squinted in his direction. gojo feigns a pained expression, hand over his heart as his bottom lip pouts. insufferable, you think to yourself, this man is.
"You don't think I put in the work like the rest of you guys?" gojo bemoans, back straightening as he makes his way over to you. you try to take up the whole bench, but he only moves you over with his hip and a faint, "scooch."
"Why would you? You are the gifted one." your voice is airy, holds a level of sarcasm that barely conceals the truth of your words. gojo only smiles lightly, head tilted back as he rests his hands over the keys. doesn't even warm up, doesn't even look at the music before he starts playing the section of the piece you have the most difficulty with.
and gods, do you want to be mad at him, for intruding on your solo practice time, for coming in so late, for showing you how it's done. but its hard to, when his body sways with the melody, when his pink lips barely part. his fingers fly so effortlessly against the keys, long and thin and pale, and you can see the faint scratch on the back of one of them that you gave him when he wouldn't stop putting his arm around your shoulders.
you want to hate him so bad. but its hard to, when he brings your hand up to play with his, when he knocks his shoulder against your own, when he hums the harmony, when he smiles at you.
"Is this helping you understand that section?" Gojo quietly asks you, mouth turned to your hair, but his body continues playing the piece like its second nature. you try to keep up, pouting a little, face warming when his hand grabs your own to direct you to what key to hit next.
"No, you fuckin' show off." you mutter back, to which gojo only laughs heartily at you. but still, you two play together for what feels like hours. and finally - finally - do you master that section. not because of his help though, you'd never admit it. but gojo puffs his chest proudly the day you perform it in front of everybody, and look to him for reassurance.
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