4 Months.

I've been absent from this little blog of mine for quite some time - mainly because I haven't been able to bare the thought of writing what needs to be written. I have dreaded it even though I know it may help me on some level, but putting it down in words just confirms that it's real. Part of me is still living in a daze, and while my mind has confirmed the reality, my heart is still, and probably always will be, broken and in denial.

On November 2nd, 2011, I held my Grammy's hand as she died. As I watched her heart rate slowly drop, I registered each painful moment as I felt her slip away in the ICU of St. Mark's Hospital. Words cannot describe what it's like to physically feel your heart ache in your chest. It's an ache I have somehow managed to live with, but it's with me every single day.

Being by someone's side every day for 3 months in a hospital is an eye-opening experience. While some of the things I saw have traumatized me permanently, I have no regrets. She needed me, she would have and always did stand by me through everything in my life. That's what you do when you love someone - you jump into the fire with them and you run towards the flame even though it cripples you in the process. The moments I shared with her over those months were terrifying, full of fear, beautiful and healing. Our relationship was and still is strong and unbreakable. Though I may bawl my eyes out on the grass of the cemetery, the part I love most about my Grammy - her spirit - isn't there. It's in a place where she is free from pain and watching over me. While that knowledge helps to get me through, my vocal coach said it best with this statement: "My dad has been gone for 10 years, and even though we have the teachings of the church, he's still gone. He isn't in my life right now."

Grief does a number on you. You gain weight, break out in facial acne in places you haven't experienced before, your body aches for no reason. It crashes over you in furious waves so horrifying that you can't breathe and have to force your lungs to work. I'm not okay. I will smile at people every day, say I'm fine, laugh, act normal - sometimes it's genuine, other times I'm faking it so convincingly that I want to scream. I'm not the same girl I used to be, and I will not apologize for the things I've gone through that have changed me. A part of me is gone and it will not be coming back.

To those select few who have been there for me consistently from the beginning of it all, I love you for everything you are. Thank you for holding me up when I didn't have the strength, and for loving me unconditionally. Thank you for knowing me well enough to see when I'm faking that things are fine, and for stepping in to help me when you know I won't admit it. Thank you for not deserting me like so many did. Thank you for caring, for checking on me, for hugging me when I cry in front of you, for letting me sleepover when I couldn't bear to go home. Thank you for listening, for not judging, for screaming curse words at the top of your lungs with me, and for offering your homes to me whenever I need to run away. I am so grateful for you, and you need to know that.

It's been 4 months now. I'm broken, but still standing and going about things on schedule. Life is different now and I'm attempting to find some version of a "new" normal to stand on. It's still uneven ground, and it will be for quite a while. Time heals nothing, but I'm still trying.