The month of May, in the great white north, is full of new life, green, and hope. At least for most people.
This May marks 4 years since my little girl died. I keep thinking it is going to get easier. Death. The cessation of living. Grief. And living through it moment by moment by moment. My tears are cleansing. I feel better after a good cry. Writing poetry is therapeutic. With that said losing a child is not for the weak of heart. The pain is deep, and often raw.
As I travel though my moments and travel through grief I see different stages come and go. I just continue. This week I have been in a deep sadness- and I am trying to explore it with curiosity and without judgement.