People keep trying to soothe me with the idea that she is in heaven, but I'm not and have never been particularly religious. I would love to believe in heaven; that is definitely my favorite of all the proposed afterlife scenarios, and it was her favorite of the proposed scenarios, and I would love nothing more than to fall into the fantasy of maybe seeing her again someday if I just wait long enough, but wanting to believe in something doesn't make it objectively more true. A friend of mine came over this weekend and was telling me about how life after death is definitely a thing because she had a friend die and come back on the operating table and he saw the white light and felt peace flood his body and saw his family and blah blah blah. I managed to bite my tongue and not tell her that that's what studies say just happens when the brain is deprived of oxygen. I really wanted to, though. I wanted to sob harder and tell her it was bullshit.
I can't bring her back and I know that, so when I catch myself feeling sad I tell myself she had a long life. She was 87 and had leukemia and what did I think was going to happen? We got 25 good years together where she loved the shit out of me and that's better than a lot of people get so really, I should just get the fuck over it and appreciate what we had.
The sadness is okay, but the guilt is a little harder. I find myself wishing I'd spent more time with her, written her more cards and letters, sent her more pictures. My favorite one lately is to beat myself up for not going to grad school earlier so she could have seen me start, or maybe even finish if I'd really had my shit together. If I am able to stop myself mid guilt-fest, I try to go do something productive, like text a friend that I miss them/appreciate them/whatever, or I paint another layer, or I write another shitty diary entry about how dead she still is like it's still a big fucking surprise that people stay gone when they die.
I keep telling myself this is what she wanted. I don't really believe it.