The psychic said my sister shouldn’t compare the loss of her husband of 33 years to the death of my boyfriend—the fresh death of a twin flame love.

We compare.

We compare stories and grief.

Similarities and differences.

And damn—how the hell did we get the double wham?!

Well, we did and it’s done.

For me, the grieving’s just begun.

I’m blessed. I’m broken.

He’s here. He’s gone.

I’m alone with a thousand angels.

I know it could be worse.

Still, for me, it’s bad enough I’d like to leave.

Dive into his arms on the other side.

I know I can’t go.

Couldn’t leave my sis missing me the way I’m missing him.

A hole in my heart, but maybe hers was bigger.

I watched her survive, even thrive.

I compare and know: if she can, so can I.