(Note: this is one of the first Adulting entries; reprinted because I still think it’s useful even if you don’t feel like scrolling through 30 pages of archive)
This is the most difficult and important thing to accept if you wish to be a grownup: You are not a special snowflake.
Wishing, wishing, wishing that this wasn’t true. Wishing I could just go to her house and she’d be sitting on the couch like she always was. Wishing that she was still here. I wish I knew what happens after we die, if anything. I wish I knew if she was okay where ever she is, if anywhere. I know it sounds ridiculous.
I weep for every single thing that is given away, not because I don’t get them, but because of the fact that they have to be given away. I wish we could keep renting out her apartment and leave all of her belongings, everything she treasured, where it belongs. I keep hoping that maybe she’ll come back.