I started writing about Rob soon after he died, and checked in with myself every month just to see where I was at. I wanted to document how I was feeling and dealing with his loss, as well as how those feelings might change over the course of time. This was the first check-in:

Me: It’s been a while, Lar. How the hell are you?

Lar: Not a good sign that I’m struggling with the first question. I guess today I’m feeling OK. Yesterday wasn’t the best, and tomorrow, who the hell knows?

Me: Well, grief isn’t a problem to be solved. It’s a process to be lived.

Lar: Grief seems to be a lot of things. It’s a process; it comes in waves; it comes in stages; it can’t be controlled; it can last for months or years; it’s incredibly personal and also universal. All I know is that it sucks, and when you add it all up, none of it makes any sense.

Me: Why does it need to make sense?

Lar: My natural inclination is to search for answers, but I’m not even sure what the questions are. Trying to make sense of what Rob did isn’t going to bring him back or make me feel any better.

Me: What are you doing for yourself that makes you feel any better?

Lar: Not really a whole lot other than hanging with friends and

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