Every June, I get a little trapped in my grief. June was the last full month of Sloan’s life. I typically end up retracing steps so to speak, trying desperately to remember his last days and weeks. July 3rd and it’s trauma looms overhead, waiting to meet us with its heaviness and his absence. I have not yet reached the part of my grieving, where I stop living in a state of perpetual anticipation of dates. Anniversaries, birthdays, milestones. It’s like a calendar of the worst shit ever that we have to try and make the best of. And really, who ever wants to live a life that way? “Making the best” out of death? This ended up being a really dark post, but I suppose it just shows how deeply grief can seep in to your soul, and how even with the passage of time, there are still periods of such intensity of emotion.