Greetings, squadlings!
Grief, no matter what time it hits you, is unpleasant. There’s no denying that. It’s one of the worst feelings there is.
When you’re locked in your house, it’s even worse.
The country pretty much shut down during the third week of March. Aunt Meg died during the third week of April. Tomorrow is the last day of May. To tell you we’ve moved on would be a lie.
Yes, I am. Thank you, Mr. Biden.
It’s hard to distract yourself from dealing with death when it’s all over the news: between Coronavirus and the protests happening around the United States, it seems like death is everywhere. You can’t escape it. And every time that death toll rises, only one thing comes to mind: their family feels the same way mine does.
Aside from the garbage on TV, not being able to go out and distract yourself is pretty bad, too–I would have been working so much now that I’m graduated, I wouldn’t have even had time to think about what happened on April 23rd. Instead, thanks to COVID and the idiots who think going to bars is necessary right now, I’m locked inside, reliving that day more often than not.
That being said, when something good does happen, or I laugh over Skype/FaceTime with my friends, or I just overall have a good day, the guilt kicks in. How can I be having a good day? Aunt Meg is dead, and I’m sitting here laughing with my friends? Or laughing at a TV show? What is wrong with me? 
Not having the closure of a funeral, or that time with my family in the first few days/weeks after Aunt Meg died didn’t help, either. We need that memorial service. We just need to close that door. COVID took that, too.
I knew Aunt Meg’s death was going to hit me like a train, no matter when it happened. I knew it would. I didn’t expect that I would be forced to re-open that wound three months after her actual death, when we can hold a memorial service in July. If we can hold a memorial service in July.
Be well, squadlings.
sennajandy 