Being left to carry both grief and logistics feels like a cruel joke with no audience. The grocery store is full of items that still belong to a life with two adults making plans. I hate how much of love becomes passwords after death. I can keep the bills paid or I can breathe deeply, but not both on the same day. I know all the account numbers now and I would trade every one of them for one more boring Tuesday. I was not prepared to become the only adult who remembers how the whole family machine worked. There are days I am functioning so well it feels like betrayal.
The Wall
Safety and moderation
This space is moderated for safety. Posts encouraging harm, abuse, harassment, doxxing, or graphic content may be removed.
If you may harm yourself or someone else, contact local emergency services or 988 in the U.S.