Fucking hell, moments come and go. The moment we slip from normality to grief is strange, it feels so insurmountable – but we survive, as everyone has before us. Everyone in the villages, town, city has lost someone. We are not fucking unique. 

We are never more loved than the two hours after someone has heard we have passed. Our family, friends, and sometimes our enemies remember us so well, and see the best of us in those two hours. Twenty years, forty years, sixty years, eighty years – it doesn’t fucking matter – two hours of love and tears sums us up. We are the good guy, the generous guy, the best mate, dad – rarely the cunt in this period. 

Grief brings new meanings to time… all those years compressed into the few hours of initial tears, then the funeral. Grief is the piano accordion of time – in and out in moments and sometimes it sounds ugly, and sometimes it is a masterpiece. Grief is just that fucking crazy. 

If you have not felt grief, you have never tasted the best of life. You will never respect life more than knowing someone does not have it anymore. You will love your parents, kids, mates like a madman… even if they have passed, you will appreciate the notion of love. 

Grief comes and goes. Sometimes it is deliberate, sometimes it is passive, sometimes it is like a drunken punch in the face that sobers the fuck out of you. I cry sometimes and know it is grief – I never deny it. It is sometimes grief for everyone lost, sometimes it’s for someone lost, and sometimes it’s for someone yet, not lost… Grief is now…

Grief is yesterday.

Grief is today.

Grief is tomorrow.

We are not unique – grief is you; grief is me. Leverage off the cunt and enjoy that breath of fresh air. 

Be alive as much as you can. Be the best two hours that someone remembers you for.