..if I don't keep blowing air into it.

After Ryan died I signed up for grief counselling and waited 8 weeks for the class to start.

I put so much on the counselling; everything, in fact. I thought it was going to fix me.

When the day finally came, I was dropped off at Rockyview Hospital where it was being held in the chapel.

It wasn't the same hospital that Ryan died in, but from now on, all hospitals will feel like the same hospital.

I was early so I got a coffee from Good Earth, and as I put sugar in it, realized why I was feeling so giddy. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Somewhere deep down in my subconscious, I had decided that he was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere and I was finally going to get to see him again.

The subconscious is a motherfucker.

"You think you're going to see him, you stupid stupid girl".
What they don't tell you is that it doesn't just happen once, it happens over and over again. 

So I walked my mind through what it had wanted. Me and my coffee walking down the hall to his room, and strolling right in. But that's where my dream ended. 

It makes sense. That was where I left him. I missed him wholly; my life was upheaved, and now I was back where I'd left him and I was going to finally see his beautiful face.

Grief is fucked. I lost it. Losing it in a hospital, however, is sort of ok.

Grief counselling, although not what I expected, was helpful. It reminded me that death is everywhere, and my complete world destruction was not unique, only a part of life. This was a necessary piece of advice, because grief can be harmful when full-strength.

To the land of the living grief is sadness, but I can tell you it's also selfish, delusional, irrational and mean.