There's a certain amount of acceptable time you're allowed to grieve. After that time, it seems natural to publicly deny your grief, to pretend that your life has returned to normal, though normal isn't anything like what it was before. If you show signs of still hurting of still suffering from a pain so raw you can't even begin to touch it, people start saying things like "I'm worried about you" and casting their eyes aside if you bring it up. It's like there's this little 20 pound elephant in the room but we can't mention it.

Your timeline, the publicly acceptable timeline, is not mine. You cannot force grief into a rational set of feelings, nor can you hurry those along. Most days, I will cry. Some days, a little, others so much that I have to pull to the side of the road, think I'm going to vomit or can't move. I will see something that Alice enjoyed, some modifications to our house we'd made for her, the places she liked to sleep, anything and I will cry once again. I've never known a love like I had for her, getting past it to a point where I only remember the good times or can recall her sweet face with a smile is a long way off.

I will always be grateful for each day that I was allowed to know her and I will miss her every day that comes after.