My best friend passed away nearly a month ago

She was in the hospital for almost a month, sedated, but responsive. We all thought she might make it, because she was improving every day. She had just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. Things had a trajectory that they damn well knew not to stray from.

Tales of a loving God ring hollow to me. The Universe is a cruel indifferent mistress who doesn't give a damn about that little girl growing up without her mom. About that husband raising his daughter without the love of his life. About that friend living every day know she'll never hear the laugh of her kindred sister ever again.

There is no love left in my heart. I am cold and dead and alone. Every day I am still alive, I feel the weight of 1000 cinder blocks dragging me, hopefully one day to the blank abyss I deserve.

 

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you lost her. I'm sorry that little girl won't get to know her, and that her husband is mourning her. I'm sorry this is piercing pain to remind you.
This made me think about something I wrote, about 2 and a half years after losing my husband. 2 and a half years isn't raw the way 2 weeks or 2 months is, but there is still pain and doubt and missing. This is the end of the piece of writing. I hope it resonates:

So what am I waiting for? I may not know what is coming, or even what to hope for, but that doesn’t mean I have to sit and do nothing until I figure it out. I can seek after the small bits of truth and the tiny pieces of contentment I have right now. I am realizing more and more that my writing is a form of therapy. It helps me understand who I am, it helps me pour out emotions that get stuck if I try to verbalize them, and it helps me see some value in who I am and what I can do.


When I started to write my story, I suspected it would be along the lines of inspirational non-fiction, the kind of book that starts by urging you to pretend you are sitting with the author over steaming mugs of coffee. When I really started to write, I found my voice was much darker. I am less likely to invite you to conversation over coffee and more likely to invite you to scream with me into the abyss. We can listen for the echo of our screams together. That echo means there is an end to all this, and something waiting on the other side.

 

I saw this quote somewhere”Grief is a way of expressing our love... it just does not have a place to land yet”

 

Im so sorry you lost your friend. I pray that you get stronger with each passing day. I hope that you don't stay in that dark place. Hopefully you can be there for her daughter sharing stories, supporting and just helping each other get through