To say the last 6 weeks have been hard would be an understatement. For those that read my tribute to Bella, followed by her journey from this world, you can imagine why. Bella wasn’t just a cat. She was a furry friend. She was my best friend. She was family. She was my loyal companion through the best and worst parts of life. And now the worst part of life has come and she’s not here.

Today marks 6 weeks without her. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago. I am still so, so sad. The grief hasn’t lessened. It feels like a piece of my heart was taken with her. My whole heart really.

I recently described it, “I’m not always sad, but I’m never happy.” Truthfully, inside, I am always sad. I never forget. And I can laugh or smile, but it comes without hope or happiness.

Perhaps you’ve heard of disenfranchised grief. “Disenfranchised grief, also known as hidden grief or sorrow, refers to any grief that goes unacknowledged or unvalidated by social norms.” Everyone has been so kind. But it doesn’t change the fact that at some point people expect you to move on. It’s not considered normal to cry every day. You can’t talk about it in every conversation, nor do you want to. You can’t hole up alone, though you do want to.

My last 2 posts I shared. This one purposely not. I suffer alone because there is nothing anyone can do or say.

Grief does change though. Most of the time it’s no longer a stabbing pain. The kind where you have to catch your breath. It does still hit you out of nowhere though. Mostly now it’s a dull pain. Like a headache that will never go away. You’re always aware of it, and because it’s in you, you can’t escape it.

And so, I do what we all do. I put one foot in front of another. Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll never be the same, but with enough tomorrows, I’ll be okay.