When I googled “grief,” here’s the definition that I found: “deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death.” Deep sorrow? Doesn’t sound all that bad. That’s not good enough for me. Not even close. Grief is a crappy journey without an end date. Grief is living in a miserable fog that won’t let you think straight. Grief is losing your memory, your personality, and your ability to function in public. Grief is having absolutely ZERO tolerance for drama and bullshit, but living in a world full of drama and bullshit. Grief is sad. Grief is feeling bipolar. Grief is being in a decent mood, then hearing one line of a song and crying all afternoon. Grief is exhausting. Grief is trying to raise kids by yourself and having no idea how to do it. Grief is seeing that look of terror in your kids’ eyes every time you cry. Grief is people worrying about you. Grief is people pitying you. Grief is people thanking God they are NOT you. Grief is a fun-stealer. Grief is trying to honor the greatest man you’ve ever met and simultaneously move forward with your new, not-by-choice life. Grief is not being able to sleep. Grief is not wanting to wake up. Grief is feeling dizzy and confused. Grief is losing your identity. Grief is feeling lonely in a room full of people. Grief is feeling terrified every single day. Grief is feeling like a failure, even when you know that is far from the truth. Grief is losing all sight of your hopes and dreams. Grief is not wanting to be alone but not wanting to be around people. Grief is not being comfortable in your own skin. Grief is the complete inability to concentrate. Grief is smiling like you’re okay when you are the absolute opposite. Grief is wanting to change every facet of your life so the memories aren’t as painful. Grief is feeling horribly irritable. Grief is being grumpy to the people you love most. Grief is feeling wiped out all the time. Basically, grief is a dirty bitch.

Coming from someone considering herself to be fairly positive, typically seeing the silver lining in most clouds, that sounds cynical. It’s not. It’s just the truth. Getting through the most excruciating moments of your life isn’t pretty. You just do it. Most of the time not very gracefully, but you do it the only way you know how.

My name is Kristie Osborn. I used to have a pretty amazing life. Sounds boring, I am sure, but I loved it. Married for sixteen years, two kids, 13 and 9, a dog, two rabbits, a half-completed house on 2 acres. The biggest trouble I had in life was not having air conditioning. Then it all came crashing down. My tougher than nails, 40-year-old husband broke his leg on a Friday and was dead by Monday. On the front porch of our newly purchased, work-in-progress dream home, I had to stand with my devastated in-laws and tell my kids that their dad would not make it through the night. That was just the first of many heart-breaking moments. I’ve learned the hard way, over and over, that grief is a dirty, dirty biotch.