She hasn't.
She has taken up residence. She is like an inconsiderate roommate that wakes me in the middle of the night with slamming doors. She eats my food, uses the last squares of toilet paper, and watches television with the volume up too loud. She doesn't pay rent, yet she roams freely throughout the house.
She washes her underwear in the sink, breaks the tip off every sharpened pencil in the house, and hides the fingernail clippers. Her wet towels lay about, her dishes grow moldy on the stairs, and her breath smells like a dumpster. She grinds her teeth, picks her nose, and belches during my favorite shows, books, and music.
Grief can really bother me at times, but I have been patient, and she has grown on me. She will sit with me when it's quiet and I am alone. She listens when I vent, takes it on the chin when I scream, and doesn't try to stop me from crying, because she knows that I need to. When I am scared, confused, and don't feel like going out, she shuts my bedroom door and guards it against intruders. I don't want her to leave just yet, because I am afraid that if she does I will begin to forget; I need her to remind me of what I have lost, and why it hurts so much.
She's kinda like Love, I think.
Again, many people expect grief to have run her course and been on her way by now.
She hasn't; deal with it.
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