Every morning I wake up and the first thing that pops into my head, most of the time very briefly, is: fuck Bret died.
Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I just think about what a fantastic guy he was. Sometimes I think about the what ifs.
I know the last one isn’t fair to do to myself. But I can’t help it. The wishes that will never come true keep coming. I wish I was closer to him.
I wish.
I wish.
I wish.
Oh well. They’ll never come true.
That fucking sucks.
Here’s an example of how weird my grief is. I’m writing this and 10 days ago I’d be sobbing. Right now I’m stoic and just writing. Though my stomach is in a knot.
Will I cry later? Probably. Will something hit me like a punch in the gut? Maybe.
I wonder if the fact that we weren’t very close that my grief isn’t as strong. I mean I’m sad as fuck. I have weight on my shoulders like a pigmy elephant is giving me a horrible backrub. 😟
But I’m not constantly upset. Just somber.
Am I the happy go-lucky guy that I normally am? Not as much right now, but that’s understandable.
There are no words to describe losing someone. Especially so suddenly and tragically.
Fucking sucks isn’t even close enough. Even though it’s the closest I can get.
Oh well… I know grief takes time. And it will definitely take time. I know that.
Miss you, Bretsky! I will always love you! 💔
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