When my daddy died August 25 of 2020, I thought my world was over. But 18 months later on February 6, 2022 my life really ended. 

Covid took my brother. 

Ryan Matthew Ritchie was only 47 years old. He left behind his mother, his sister, and his two children. 

It wasn’t fair.

My heart hurt when my daddy died, but it broke in two when Ryan died. 

He had so much left to give to the world. I never met anyone who didn’t love him. His kids really needed him. His mother will never be the same.

I needed more time Ryan.  

I needed more time.

I’m stuck in my grief.

My sweet Dad went home to heaven 6 weeks, 1 day, and 16 hours ago.

And yet the world keeps spinning, groceries get purchased, laundry gets done, and my job continues to expect me to arrive with a smile plastered onto my face.

It’s like I’m walking around in a fog, slightly cognizant of those around me and irritated that they’re unaware of my pain. My heart hurts. I don’t feel happy. Instead, I feel like no one else gets it. Like they expect me to be over it.

I’m not over it. I will never be over it.

My Dad died.

I will never hug him again. I will never spend Christmas with him again. I will never be the same. I am changed forever.

My sweet Dad went home to heaven 6 weeks, 1 day, and 17 hours ago.

this is scary

i dont think im comfortable yet

sometimes i go dark

dark is safe. dark is cold dark is where no one can see me

my brain wants light but my body craves dark. sometimes i go dark