Harbor

Grief is something you carry alone, even when you’re with someone. It feels like being pulled under by the weight of it - submerged - and when you finally come up for air, you see the other person has gone under. You just hope you won’t both be pulled under at the same time.

So you do what you can to get through the days. Moving from one wave of grief to the next. It’s too vast to outrun, so you take small steps instead - go for a walk, sit on the couch, eat something, cry, sleep - again and again, in no particular order.

You’re grieving the same loss, and yet it unfolds so differently for each of you. At the same time, it’s shared. That contradiction just exists.

People often say that losing a child pulls couples apart, but that isn’t necessarily true. I couldn’t have imagined questioning our relationship in that moment. We held on, and slowly, the waves began to space themselves out.

“Harbor” is for my love - how I see him, and how I saw us in those those early days after Frida was gone.