Six months. Half a year.

Some days are okay. Most days are okay.
Then, I feel guilty for being okay.
Then, I’m not okay.

Grief is weird. I can be perfectly content, then a thought will pop in my head. A memory. Something about that last day he was alive.

I still have a lot of things I wish I would have said over the years. Funny how the last three months that we had, they didn’t seem like important things to say. Now, I wish I would have said thing. Asked questions that are pulling at my heart.

But, yeah, most days are okay.