22/12/2025
Two years.
It was two years a few weeks ago. I didn’t feel the need to mark it some dates don’t need ceremony, they simply sit with you. It isn’t a date that fades yet.
Two years carries meaning. I remember seeing a counsellor after Dad passed away. I went because I had started drinking at home not something I ever really did before, aside from my chaotic teenage years. At the time, it wasn’t about alcohol. It was about quieting the pain, about not having to face the reality of loss.
I asked the therapist when it gets easier, when it hurts less. She said grief is like a piece of string, different for everyone but that around two years in, things can begin to feel lighter. By then you’ve faced the firsts: birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases without them. You don’t stop grieving, that never ends, but you learn how to live alongside it. You adapt. You weave it into who you are.
The two-year mark came and went. I knew it was there, but I didn’t feel pulled towards it anymore. I don’t cry now, and I don’t try to understand. Some things aren’t mine to make sense of.
But still, it’s been two years.
