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I’ve been to more funerals than weddings.
For a long time all I could think about was, “please dear god, don’t let me have to bury anyone else. I can’t handle it.”
but I did, somehow. for the eighteen years I’ve spent alive, I’ve buried loved one after loved one with no reprise wondering when would I ever catch a break. The answer is.. well never.
I’ve always dreaded funerals, I’ve never been good at saying goodbye. It’s too permanent, too real, and some part of my brain cannot comprehend that I won’t see this person again.
It doesn’t feel real, I wonder if it ever will.
I try to think of funerals now as a way of celebrating someone’s life, rather than losing them to whatever comes next. It provides little solace for the hole they leave behind, but a small comfort nonetheless.
I look forward to the day I can think about them and not have my breath hitch, the panic setting in, and think of them fondly without breaking down. maybe that future will never come for me.