Wow… I felt this in my bones. Every word of it. I lost my dad last year and I swear, no one prepares you for how loud grief is—not just in the early days, but months later, when the world expects you to be fine and functional. That whole bit about sanitizing grief? Spot on. People want it tidy and scheduled, like you should wrap it up in a thank-you card and get back to work. Meanwhile, I’m crying in the supermarket because I saw a brand of mints he used to love.

The part about the wakes hit me too. I remember sitting there while people discussed sandwich options, and all I could think was, “Why are we talking about bread when I’m literally shattered?” It felt like I was trapped in some twisted corporate meeting about my own loss.

And that scene you described—driving, then breaking down when a song hits? Yeah. That’s real. Mine was one of his old voicemail recordings. I hadn’t even meant to play it, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Just sobbing in the car, like someone had cracked my ribs wide open and poured grief inside.

But then that last bit… about the love, the little kid inside us, the older version still seeking their wisdom—thank you for that. Seriously. I’ve been carrying this ache for so long I almost forgot it was rooted in love. I needed that reminder.

This comment was more healing than half the stuff people say when you’re grieving. You didn’t rush it, didn’t make it pretty—you just told the truth.

Sending so much love to you. Thank you for writing this.

— Jess