noise dept.
â
ojovivo
Sweet Seals For You, Always
taylor price
Noah Kahan
No title available
@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
đ
No title available
blake kathryn
cherry valley forever
occasionally subtle
Not today Justin
Interview Vampire Daily
RMH
bliss lane
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from United States
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from South Africa
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from Colombia
seen from Italy
seen from France
seen from Brazil
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Myanmar (Burma)
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Brazil
seen from Mexico
@thatwritergirlsblog
writer brain is like âwhat if this story was a metaphor for griefâ
no babes what if this story was finished first
What if the real grief was the writing we didn't do along the way
What if the real grief
was the writing we didnât
do along the way
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
The morning after my mom died, I needed toothpaste.
Even at the end of the world, you still need to brush your teeth, so I headed to the nearest pharmacy, feet heavy and chest, empty. Iâd lost my heart the night before, somewhere between the hospital room bearing my motherâs lifeless form and the lonely walk to my car in the garage, paperwork crumpled in my hand. Releases. An autopsy waiver.
I still had teeth, though, and for some reason, morning came and brought with it morning breath, so I headed out to get some damn toothpaste.
Outside, the world carried on. The sun came up and the birds were singing, but my mom was dead.
There shouldâve been an earthquake, right? A storm, some sort of cataclysm that sucked the world in and everything good in it and ground it to dust barely worthy of spitting back into a cold, empty galaxy. The sky shouldnât have still been blue, the sun shouldnât have been a pale golden yellow, and my mom shouldnât have been dead.
But they were. And she was.
And as I floated between fluorescent aisles and offering too many varieties of toothpaste, I waited. I waited for someone to look at me, to know the devastation and ruin that the last twelve hours had wrought, because I felt it. It choked every breath in my chest, engulfed every nerve, every fibre of my body and as I was burning, I was certain everyone else was, too.
An old lady passed me and smiled. Down the aisle, two teens giggled at an assortment of products gathered under the âfamily planningâ section. A box of toothpaste crumpled easily in my hand but no one noticed. I couldnât breathe, but no one noticed. I was standing alone, gasping and grappling for any part of my old life before it drifted away, but there was only air. Dust, floating in the sunbeams streaming through a Walgreens window, because the damn sun was shining and it wouldnât stop.
I paid for my dented toothpaste and the cashier thanked me for coming in. I walked across pavement that wasnât broken to my car, and drove home on roads that were still in tact, through traffic lights that still worked.
Because the morning after my mom died, there were still pleasantries to exchange and birds to sing and toothpaste to buy.
The world kept spinning.
Only mine stopped.
I hope you're dancing in the sky, i hope you're singing in the angel's choir and I hope the angels know what they have⌠I'll bet it's so nice up in Heaven since you arrived.
'cause here on Earth, it feels like everything good is missing since you left.
Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.
Oskar Zwintscher
Grief (1898)
But when you lose someone, you donât lose them all at once, and their dying doesnât stop with their death. You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals.
-Sara Seager, The Smallest Lights in the Universe: A Memoir
Grief is so fucking wild. It sinks into your muscles, forces itself to be felt. It steals your appetite, floods your brain with cortisol. It makes you so, so tired.
If someone you know is grieving, telling them "just let me know what I can do" means nothing. They can't. They don't know. And the small things are too embarrassing to ask for.
Bring them a cheese platter. Pre-Cut fruit. Peanut butter pretzels. Protein shakes (like slimfast) Food that requires no prep and does not create dishes.
Do the dishes. Take out the trash. Sweep the floor. Vacuum the carpet. They won't ask you to do this, but it will help.
A bottle of acetaminophen honestly might help more than flowers. Grief really can cause muscle aches.
No amount of time with you was ever enough.
the worst part about grief is that it feels like the world should be horrendously earth shatteringly changed, and to an extent it IS but its also the same. to everyone else it's just another tuesday. the world moves on. you have to go grocery shopping.
Worst : you have to go to WORK and face your colleagues and managers and clients and IT SUCKS
Sometimes all you can do is lie in bed and hope to fall asleep before you fall apart.
â William C. Hannan
And it hurts until it eats you alive. Changes you forever in the blink of an eye. And itâs not something that just fades overnight. Itâs something that stays for the rest of your life. When you lose somebody you love.
k.b. // nina nesbitt - when you lose someone
denial
writer brain is like âwhat if this story was a metaphor for griefâ
no babes what if this story was finished first
What if the real grief was the writing we didn't do along the way
