It is a hard road to walk, and a harder hand. to hold, when relief equates to grief. After 11 months of being the constant primary caregiver, I was utterly exhausted.

The home we created together is filled with memories, unfinished plans, and reminders of what was supposed to come next. Some days I want to preserve every piece of it. Other days, I want to run.

Those little logistics give me grief. They make my emotions conflicted. The deepest sorrow I have ever known. Feeling guilty and bad when I get bothered about the details.

I have been here too many times before. The ups, the downs, the unexpected tears, the unstoppable tears. Here we go again.

The dreams. Oh, the many, many dreams. I have always remembered my dreams. Since I was a child, I have been writing them down in a dream journal.

The booming thunder startled me awake as he rain pummeled down. We had not had a storm like this in a while; it was early spring. I did not want to get out of bed, not typically like me.

There is only one person who can comfort me. There is only one single person I want by my side in these treacherous times. What do you do when the only person who can comfort you is the one in the casket?

I have grieved in many ways. I have tried to escape it by running or distracting, consuming. I have isolated myself, pushing all love and support away.