Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

I feel that my grief is an oddly beautiful thing. Beautiful in it's easy, graceful waves of hate, sadness, and emptiness. The way it washes up around me and embraces me in feelings so raw and bare that I can't tolerate the pain. Then retreats, waiting another moment to take my breath away, to bring back the tightness in my throat and the pain across my chest.

My hate, oh the hate. I have embraced you. Right now you and I are inseparable. If you see one of us the other is not far behind. I am so full of you, hate. I am so fucking mad. Mad at Tony. He wasn't supposed to leave me. This wasn't my life. This wasn't our life. We were working on things. We were getting our shit together. We were celebrating 20 years together. We were supposed to have a party. A big celebration of our life together and what happened?! Well, you left me. Hell, you left us. We all miss you. Instead of having that 20th anniversary, I planned your celebration. The celebration of life, what a fucking joke, we all know that I planned your funeral. Your goodbye. It's not how things were supposed to go and dammit, I hate.

Oh, sadness my oldest friend. You are here and in your glory. For once in my life I am allowed to fully embrace you. I am allowed to wallow in you. Sadness, you are part of what makes my grief so beautiful. The way you cover me and weigh me down. The way you show in my face and in my movements. The sound of you in my voice. Sadness, enjoy this time because you won't always be welcome. One day, sadness, you will be replaced.