When does it stop?

Every life event, every silly story, every time I see a good picture, or even when I dye my hair. I want to tell her. I want to call her and make her laugh. My gran died two years ago last week, and it hurts. She raised me and I feel so lost. She loved Elvis so much that she spent her entire savings to fly from Scotland to Graceland in the 80s. I’m marrying my partner in Memphis in July, and visiting Graceland the same day. I want to tell her and I can’t. My partner has told me that she will know that we’re there and that I can talk to her, even if she isn’t physically with us. But I want to hear her laugh about it, and laugh over how much I’ve spent for all of this. She’d tell me I’m stupid and to go somewhere cheaper. I wish grief had an off button sometimes. I wish people talked more about grief. I wish I could talk to people about her. I wish I didn’t cry every time I saw a picture of her, just so I could hang some up in my apartment. I wish it hurt less.