Raider Pam,(I think I'll think of you as a pirate from now on) the first Christmas after my grandmother died(my mother's mother) my mother, her sister and I were all in the kitchen of her sister's house. We were having coffee. I reached up into the cabinet and grabbed a mug. My grandmother's mug.
We all broke down for a good hour. Others ordered out of the kitchen and all that. We finally composed ourselves and got by.
That's how grief is. Overwhelming, crushing, so damn bad you want to do anything to escape it.
Well, we have a history of escaping life. We drink. It numbs the pain, tempers the grief. And slowly kills us the more we lean on it for relief.
We have to take the pain in order to live, Pam. It will pass, I promise. Love.