With the passing of each loved one, it just doesn’t get any easier – if anything, it becomes harder. It’s like the slow accumulation of sorrow just keeps building up in your heart until there’s no where left to put it.
Granted, I’m in the middle of this now, so these feelings are acute – but this shit never leaves you. You’re always aware that the next one is waiting for you right around the corner. It’s like scar tissue on your soul – you don’t ever want to stop feeling, but it’s so fucking painful and exhausting that with each loss your heart becomes heavier and heavier.
This is the price of admission to old age. Welcome to the third act. It ends with a bang.