When I lost my Dad I felt like a part of me had died too. Grief was a tangible object that I held in my hand all the time and couldn’t put down. Like a jagged rock. I wasn’t ready for him to leave. He wasn’t ready to go. As the months and years went by I started to put my rock away in my pocket for little bits of time. I’d always put my hand in my pocket to feel the sharp edges. They were still there.  Grief was like that for me - a constant, ever present companion that hurt…

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