You are not gone but I grieve - is it for you or me?

You were born with a terminal disease but we hoped for a cure.

Life expectancy increased reliably over the years and we were lucky, but much as your future will be robbed from you, the same can be said for the whole family.

Life became a day to day existence and future plans evaporated.

I am delighted when people ask how you are or express interest in your condition or the nature of the disease in general. It shows they care. But I must be careful, because it is so easy to choke up on the emotion compressed in the bottle.

Your death, while seemingly still many years away lives deep in my heart, a rotting core fermenting away. The darkness is always there below the surface waiting to climb out of my mouth like a spider. If only I could sing like October Project then maybe I could let it all out.

But I can't. Or it won't. Or it won't get better anyway.

I wonder in a tired-from-crying detached way, is it you I grieve for?

or is it me?

The optimism and hopeful attitude is a mask. I usually even fool myself.