Photo by Collin Armstrong on Unsplash

7 months, 13 days ago you left, on a Friday in June. My soul still doesn’t believe you are gone. Sometimes I pick up the phone to call. That is when the sky breaks apart; the truth shatters my heart. There was supposed to be more time. Decades more. Now, all we have is the time that came before. Every day after will be spent apart. I don’t know where you are. Some say you are everywhere, or even nowhere at all. Your exit left a crater. I almost fell inside. I must become someone else, to endure what follows that Friday in June.

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© Elizabeth Churchill Masters

Once upon a time (in the late 1900s), I wanted to be a pro illustrator. Many said that goal was impractical, yet, here I am. Today I need a new dream, a fresh start. Some may say building an A-Frame is risky or beyond reach. Renovating an existing cottage could be full of surprises. Sometimes I throw my hands up and decide that this is not worth the heartache or that no one would approve me for the construction loan. The barrier to entry is too high. How many rabbits is one allotted to pull out of her hat in a lifetime? But then someone calls back with a pre-approval. I may struggle for several years, but I am gunning for it. Having a target keeps me going. I’ve built something from nothing before.

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When you are grieving, others gather to assure you it will be OK. The world will go on. What others fail to understand, is that is an insult; one of the most gripping, terrible, unpalatable parts of grief. The world can go on without the person you find indispensable. Irreplaceable. Everything will be okay, but not for you. Everything just is. You perform normalcy for others, but it is not okay.

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Liz Masters

Liz Masters

Director of Illustration at Home Brew, Etsy Artist, cyclist, hiker, roller skating novice www.lizmasters.com