I know you -- the heartbroken. I've been there recently, and plenty before. I know you better than you think I do. I know heartbreak as well as I know the taste of the ocean in my tears and the way my breath gets stuck in my heart instead of my throat. I know you'd assume I would say that I wish I didn't.
Today would have been Grandma's 91st birthday. She was supposed to have nine more years -- she was supposed to live to be 100. That's what I always had planned for. But she died at 89, fighting her way to the grave, relentlessly arguing with the unforgiving bright white light that took her away from me.
Over the course of the weekend, I start feeling - not great. I'll just put it out there. I get constipated. I'm feeling weird, like you know how your stomach gets tight, you're walking around full because all that food is on your lungs? Then I decide l can't take it anymore and what does my dumb 22-year-old self do? I give myself an enema.