So I survived the Year of Firsts: First full moon, first new moon. First Father’s Day. First Birthday (my dad’s and then mine). Developmental milestones were met without me being able to share them with one of my favorite friends, my dad.

Grief is an ass-kicker. It’s a fickle bitch. It is many things, most of which is personal and unique to each individual experiencing it. It’s an attachment loss, it’s neurobiological, it’s somatic, it’s painful, it’s fragmenting, it’s expansive.

I watched someone I pledged my love to slowly die from his own hand over a period of years. I thought I knew about grief, felt pretty smart about it. And then I placed my right hand on my dad’s heart and intertwined my left hand with his hand as I looked into his eyes and watched my dad take his last breath. And then I felt myself leave myself, and those pieces have slowly been reintegrated, maybe not in all the same places and definitely with jagged edges, but I’m here nevertheless.

The Year of Firsts.