Let’s be real: grief sucks. It’s like someone handed you a Rubik’s Cube with no solution and said, “Figure it out, champ.” Except instead of coloured squares, it’s a mess of tears, memories, and that gut-punch realization that they’re gone. So, how does one survive? How do you crack the code when your heart’s Wi-Fi signal drops to zero bars? Spoiler: I’ve been tinkering with this puzzle, and I’ve got some thoughts.
Step 1: You’re Gone, But I Grow
They’re not here. That’s the brutal truth. Maybe it’s their goofy laugh that’s missing from the room or the way they’d nag you about drinking enough water (seriously, hydrate, people—I hear their voice in my head!). But here’s the kicker: although you’re gone, I grow and get up every day in your honor. It’s not poetic Instagram nonsense—it’s a gritty, stubborn choice. I wake up, drag myself out of bed, and think, “Okay, you’d want me to not be a total disaster today.” And somehow, that’s fuel. Growth isn’t pretty—it’s sweaty, messy, and involves too much coffee—but it’s my way of waving at them from down here.
Step 2: Death’s Worthy of Love (Yeah, You Heard Me)
Here’s the wild part: death is worthy of love, you reminded me of this. Sounds weird, right? Like, who looks at the Grim Reaper and goes, “Aw, you’re kinda sweet”? But bear with me. They left, and it hurt like hell, but that pain? It’s proof of something massive—love that doesn’t quit. They showed me that even endings can carry a strange, fierce beauty. It’s not about romanticizing loss; it’s about seeing death as the shadow that makes love’s light pop. They taught me that, and I’m sticking it on a mental Post-it note: “Love wins. Death’s just the hype man.”
Step 3: Hack the Grief, Honour the Legacy
Grief’s a beast, but I’m a sneaky little hacker. I don’t let it run the show—I chip away at it. Picture me with a metaphorical crowbar, prying open the heavy bits to let some air in. I laugh at old stories (they’d totally approve), cry when I need to (hydration, remember?), and keep moving. Why? Because living isn’t betrayal—it’s a high-five to them. Every step forward is me whispering, “This one’s for you.” I’m not just surviving; I’m turning their echo into my anthem.
The Punchline: You Keep Going Because They’d Laugh If You Didn’t
Look, if they’re watching—and I like to think they are, popcorn in hand—they’d probably crack up at me wallowing forever. “Really? You’re still moping? Go eat a taco or something!” So, I do. I get up, I grow, I love harder because of them. Survival isn’t about erasing the pain—it’s about dancing with it, tripping over it, and then belting out a catchy chorus anyway.
How does one survive? You don’t just “get over it.” You hack it, you honour it, and you live it—messy, loud, and full of love. They’d want that. And honestly? So do I.