Here’s the thing: losing someone you love is like having a broken favorite mug. You can’t glue it back perfectly, and the cracks will always be there. But you can use it to hold your coffee, or your flowers, or even your spare change. It’s still useful. It’s still beautiful.
You are not broken. You’re just carrying a little extra weight, like a backpack full of love. And that backpack? It’s full of inside jokes, movie quotes, and the memory of that time they made you laugh so hard you snorted milk out your nose.
So go ahead—play that sad song. Eat that tub of ice cream. Wear their stupid hat around the house. And then, when you’re ready, laugh at how ridiculous life is. Because the people we lose don’t want us to be stuck in the mud with them—they want us to dance in the rain.
You’ve got this. And I promise, the sun is still there—even if you have to squint through the tears to see it. Now, go hug someone (or hug yourself, you sweet, brave soul). The good stuff is still here. And so are you.
