Maybe you think you should be better by now. Probably you wish you were. Both of those responses to grief are understandable, but expecting your pain to evaporate by a certain date is a means to disappointment and frustration.
About a year and a half before my husband died, we had moved to a farmhouse on a tree farm with twenty-seven isolated acres. It felt like an adventure to be experiencing nature in a new way with coyote, wild turkeys, fox, families of deer, and other creatures roaming just outside the door. There were barns, and streams, and paths through the woods. Then Bill died and I was living in this wilderness by myself.
One of the only things that offered me comfort in the early days of grief was the practice of writing letters to my late husband. I filled many journals with dated letters to him. Something about the process of writing by hand was