Grief is fucking weird. It sneaks up on you. Some days, you’re okay, dare I say… even good. And then out of nowhere, it knocks you flat like a ton of bricks.

May and June were brutal this year. May is mother’s day. June is the anniversiary of my mom’s death. I cried all the damn time. Those months came and went. I started feeling better. It’s September and I’m still feeling good. I started thinking maybe, just maybe, I was learning how to live with this hole in my chest.

Ha. Jokes on me.

Last night was a slap in the fucking face. I was home with just my son. He was asleep, my partner and daughter were at sports practice. It had been a long ass day. I needed to vent. My mom was my person to call and I reached for my phone. I went to call my mom.

For a split second, it was like she wasn’t dead. Like she was still just one call away. I almost dialed her number. The first time my brain forgot, even just for a moment, that she’s gone. And it broke me a little.

And then the next second? It was like she died all over again. Instant fucking tears.

I pulled myself together, tried to make a video about grief, and of course started crying again. Then my son woke up fussy, so there I was… holding him, rocking him, and cursing my mom out between tears. So fucking mad at her.

Does that anger fade? I don’t know. I’m not there yet.

What I do know is that grief doesn’t run on a schedule. Time is just that, it changes nothing. It doesn’t care if you’ve had a “good” stretch. It will still sneak in, rip the rug out from under you, and remind you of everything you’ve lost.

But that’s the price you pay when you love someone.