So, I talk about him… I talk about him, because grief doesn’t need to be experienced silently, especially when the silence is fueled by stigma and shame. I talk about him, because frankly, acknowledging him is more important than the discomfort of acquaintances. As much as I never want to alienate people, he’s as familiar to me now as the air that I am breathing. I talk about him, because it’s my prerogative. In a culture of bravely making your own choices, no matter which direction others are going in, this is mine. I talk about him, because it’s one way I process and feel. Feelings demand to be felt, I’m learning, and the stuffing and pushing aside doesn’t leave room for the wounds to heal. I talk about him, not because I’m stuck or because I haven’t moved on, but I talk about him because I am his, and he is mine, and no passage of time will ever change that. I talk about him, not because I’m constantly living in pain. I’m not anymore, but in my world, this is my normal, and I’d rather live honestly and out loud. Joy, love, happiness, and gratefulness are my everyday, but so are death, loss, heartache, and grief. Even more so… I talk about him because I’m proud. I talk about him, because he deserves to be remembered. I talk about him, because even though he’s not physically with me, he’s never far from my mind. I talk about him, because he’s part of me, a part that I could never ignore or disown. I talk about him because I love him still, and I always will. Forever. Nothing will ever change that. Always & Forever Babe, 8 years gone feels like no time has passed xxxx