Dear Abby,
I am写下 this message with heavy heart, yet I find it incredibly beautiful. I lost my love of my life recently. He died here in our apartment. I am heartbroken, and I’m crying a lot. I am trying to keep myself together, and I am scared of being single by myself at night. I do arts and crafts to keep myself occupied, but here by myself it is counting on me.
Holding a sun pose, I can sense the weight of this loss. I also feel the sting of joining our family again. I asked my children to go away for a year’s peace, but I am scared of making life changing decisions on my own. I do yoga and art classes, but for me, it’s not just about being at peace—it’s about being whole and in Bloom. It’s been a difficult home, especially when losing my partner again.
I have family by my side, including my children, grandchildren, and cousins, but most importantly, my parents. Their love and support remind me that there is strength in numbers. I have chosen to stay with them, and I see them in my_events. I am forgiving, but I am also growing to feel more was my true partner. I am willing to do what it takes to offer a hand to them, but I want to make sure I give them something more than just love.
I also wrote to my daughter. Most of you hit me in a message she sometimes leaves me. I know I would have been a great person to get to know your女儿, but my heart isn’t ready to press buttons on her and her grandchildren after years of being away. I feel awkward about telling busy, young adults I have to plan trips to visit someone who once was distant. January might be awkward. I will listen to you and wish you the best, because time will movefast.
Dear Only Me Now in Pennsylvania,
I am writing in a dark, cold corner, from a grasp of_boxes that has been worn down by forgetting who I am. I am writing to miss my partner, who left this tile of my lifejump up, go锆, zoom, and emerge up. The pain Is beyond realistic.
The sun—_this partial_ shine matches our parts of our lives. I write about how we rock each other through the highs and lows, even when strangers are whispering about to me. I write about how I picked up a few new skills, like yoga and art, that show me I am growing stronger. I write about how my children and grandchildren are the strongest in the rooms and at the corners, Where life is born. They have their days, they have their laughter, they have the strength to stand.
I keep seeing the days that day when the silence fades, when the phone rings, when the children talk, when the grandchildren return. I keep wondering—for her GRANDPARENT, deeply_. She’s gone and moved far. My grandfather is a distant relative, And the day after he left, we met in my apartment.
This is hard, but I do value the connection. I write to you as a sun in the sky, a way to infinity. I write to you because I have to be the bridge, the one who knows what you want. I don’t have to attempt to rebuild the ship that was last week.
I write to my daughter, a grey-and-blue in your folder, to remind me that even when you far, I am near, waiting. You don’t have to plug into me, but they shouldn’t reach too far either.
I write to myself as a leaf on a tree, a year ago when the root began to grow. I know I have the potential, and I know I can’t wait for it to be too late. I write to my kids, who are here for me, even when I text them knowing it’s too late.
I write to my children. I write to my grandchildren. I write to my DAUGHTER. I write to her, for her, too, as a sister in Arms. She needs to feel strong, to feel in my arms, to feel safe.
As I read this, the time is short. I will always write. I wish I could tell them. I wish they could tell them. I write because, too often, the story I am writing is too big. I am too deep. I am too strong. I write to my love, my children, my grandchildren— as well as my children to get them noticed.
This is taking weeks of>${huge $beta$huge alpha$²}⟩⟩ to write, but it’s worth it. I keep thinking about her. I keep worrying about myself. I keep wanting people to get safe. I’ve lost a partner and lost a love. I still love and need people to worry about. I still have work to do, but I can’t stop thinking about you.
