Grief, that little masochist

Grief doesn’t care what’s on your to-do list. She doesn’t care if you’ve got a busy morning ahead of you. She doesn’t care if it’s your birthday or Christmas morning. In fact, she prefers to visit during the holidays, that little masochist.

She’s come to obliterate your workday, spoil your dinner, run your shower till the hot water’s gone, curl up next to you in bed, and whisper into your ear as many things as she can remember about people you loved.

She's not as pretty as people said she'd be. They said she'd look like love but she looks more like irreverence. She strokes your head while you cry and then shames you for it. Oh come on, don’t be a baby. This isn't our first time.

She watches you distract yourself with books and shows and shallow conversations, and once you think you’ve gotten rid of her, she’s waiting at the foot of your bed. I’m back from the dead again, she says, and I’ve brought along more memories.

And you have to hear her out. And you have to say thank you afterwards. It’s all you’ve got left.