weight.

Grief is such a weird thing.
It's heavy, like a weight.
You carry it around with you, and sometimes there are moments that you can forget about it, but it always comes rushing back down on you afterwards.
It sucker-punches you in the gut, and takes away your air.

Now, please let me say that I understand that all of this is not the biggest tragedy going on right now.
And really, I am moving on, and going to work, and all of that.
This isn't the kind of hurt that makes me unable to crawl out of bed in the mornings or put on clothes.

It's just...I miss her. A lot.

I keep trying to go look for her.
I'll hear a noise in the kitchen and wonder what she's crawled onto this time.
I'll open the front door as little as possible so she can't run out.

But she's not here anymore.

My lovely husband bought me a dozen red roses and had them waiting for me, along with a letter, when I got home from Utah.
I smiled, and then I cried in her kitty bed.

Sometimes I roll my eyes at myself, being so emotional over a cat.
And then other times I just keep swallowing, so that the lump in my throat doesn't crawl out and become tears.

It's gonna be okay.
We're okay.
This is not the end of the world, or even the end of the day.
Sometimes, I just want to hold her.
And I can't.