Grief
A sideways explanation for my silence
Grief is a strange beast. However much you know the event is going to take place, there are certain things you can't prepare for.
They are never far from your thoughts, the idle idea that they would like something, or wonder what they would think of so and so, or that they would love a photo of whatever you've just seen. Not even always hurtful thoughts, just the reminder of the gap where they once used to be.
Living far away makes that distance harder in a way. Their loss isn't peering over your shoulder all the time, so it creeps up on you when you're not expecting it. The reminder of them through things they gave you years ago, or clothes they liked, or the earrings you've now got which used to be theirs, the words you automatically say to include them then stutter to correct, the change in how you describe things as they now no longer own or inhabit them.
It's not always sad, just something different you're stumbling over. They are gone, but their shadow remains.
Which can be either a comfort or a torment, or both at once.