I have my therapist. But I don't know how to talk about 23 years of life and make any sense of it all, whether it's with a therapist or not. I have months where I am okay. Where I can say he lived a happy life, even though he was sick. But now that the anniversary is coming up I am questioning everything and telling myself he isn't really dead. He'll come home. He wont, but I wish he would.

You're right in what you're saying. I just think it's already destroyed me.