450 days sound like a lot of days.
15 months.
One and a quarter year.

It’s a myth.
Time does not heal.

At the blues concert this evening, I looked at the drummer and intensely missed Saagar. I could just picture him sitting there playing the drums, as I had seen him do many a times. What would he have thought of this music, this drummer, this band, this venue, these people, this atmosphere? I just wanted to have him next to me. It is still not fathomable that he is not here. How can that be?

Will I ever be able to enjoy anything anymore without these thoughts? Will anything ever be whole and complete in itself?

Si stretched out his hands and held mine. He looked at me and smiled. We had a lovely evening. He gets me. He has patience with me. He talks to me. He helps me put one foot in front of the other everyday in many different ways – by making me lots of tea, by making me go to the gym, by making sure we eat well and get enough rest, by making me laugh, by letting me cry as much and as often as I like, by walking with me every step of the way with love and understanding.

What we call ‘support’ is in fact love. It has come to me in the shape of friends (virtual and real), family, SOBS(Support group for survivors of bereavement by suicide), hugs, e-mails, messages, letters and cards. I have never needed as much support as I have done over the past 15 months. I don’t think I would have survived without all this love. Thank you very much!

Love heals.