Getting Used to Grief

I read a lot. One to two hundred books a year. I also read magazines, newspapers, articles on-line, just about anything I can lay my hands on.

This past week I read a murder mystery and one of the characters was talking about grief. “You don’t get used to grief,” he said, and went on to say his therapist said the best you could do was adapt to grief as a permanent presence in your life. (I’m sure I haven’t stated this anywhere close to how it was phrased in the book, but I think I’ve put in the essence.)

Adapt. One year, eleven months and seven days.

Adapt. An unwanted way of life.

Adapt. Realize just how alone I am.

Adapt. Greg’s laughter no longer in my life.

Adapt.

Am I? Or merely drifting through life? Existing, futilely missing what can never return nor be replaced.

I know I need to move ahead; Greg wanted me to. I cannot determine how to do that when I know Greg’s love for me is something so precious that there is no substitute for it, no equivalent love to be found. 

About all I feel I can do right now is adapt to grief; I am sure not getting used to it.