A morning of grief
As the sun crept over the horizon, bathing the world in a gentle glow, I sat on my bed, the events of the night before looping in my mind like a broken record. Each memory felt like a jagged fragment, refusing to fit into any sense of logic or reason. “How do we move forward?” I whispered into the stillness, the question hanging unanswered in the quiet room. The weight of a shattered reality settled heavily on my chest, and I knew this day would be steeped in pain, confusion, and questions that might never be resolved.
A Morning Of Grief
Choosing distance
The more I sat with my thoughts, the clearer my path became. “I need space,” I told myself, recognizing that while family ties are undeniably complex, the pain Dad had inflicted ran deep. His actions no longer shocked me—they simply left behind a lingering ache that refused to fade. I realized that creating some distance, even just a little, might ease the weight pressing down on me. In the end, it felt like a choice: to keep clinging to the hurt or to let it slowly drift away with time.
Choosing Distance
