It can be a dull ache in my arms, a tightening of my rib cage that doesn't let me breathe, a sharp pain in my heart. When my fingertips go cold and sweaty and a sudden lightheadedness makes me take a seat, it is called grief. Grief, at times, is physical. And there is no pill for that. It exists and I can't pretend otherwise. I don't love it and I don't hate it, I simply live it. And it's not as bad to me as it sounds to you.
On the contrary, I find this physical grief is what makes me feel alive and see the beauty in the world. Sometimes people ask me when am I going to live again, that I should try to move on. Move on from where? Live what? If I didn't live, I'd be with my daughter, and I am not, so I live. Grief makes sure that I am acutely aware of being alive and of the time's passing. I never stopped living. My life changed and now I live a new life, but that doesn't mean I don't live.
The key to grief is accepting life for the lessons it brings.
Love & Light