The Human Condition

I feel guilty.

When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.

I think of her, and I miss her, but she isn’t on my mind all of the time anymore. 

How is that possible?

I love her, but how can that be true if she isn’t on my mind forever? If I don’t feel the pain of losing her, am I honouring my love for her?

I have questions and I have grief, but they don’t rule over me anymore. There were times when the heart ache was so agonising that I wished for it to be over. Now, I have ways of coping with it, that makes it no less painful, but makes it more bearable.

The human heart is not incredible, it is not beautiful, it is not powerful, like I used to think. It is just stoic. It’s just doing its job. It simply forces you to survive.

It keeps pumping, it keeps your blood moving, it keeps you functioning. The human heart is resilient.

It can be ripped open, with blood overspilling from it, beating slowly, steadily, in a graveyard of twisted and broken ribs. 

Yet somehow, it heals. And becomes thickly woven with scars. 

And yet somehow, it began to get easier. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. 

I know that I don’t think I will ever feel completely healed after losing Mummy, but it gets easier, slowly. There are still some days where I swear I feel my heart breaking. A physical ache deep in the cavities of my chest. The loss and the weight of the world just seems so unbearable, and I relive everything. Tears fall so thick and fast that they hit my chest and I scream at the silent sky. 

Yet somehow, these days are less frequent now.

It makes me feel sad. I still feel the lonely void of missing my mum. I wish she was here, but I’m accepting that I won’t see her for a long time. That makes me feel guilty because… how can I just accept that? Why aren’t I fighting harder, why isn’t the world crumbling to dust, have I just given up?

My heart keeps pumping. 

I keep living.


Copyright © 2019 The Grief Reality. All Rights Reserved

27 thoughts on “The Human Condition

  1. shellteacup – Hi. I'm 49 and busy setting up a vintage china hire and afternoon tea business. I have three grown up children and a baby grandson. I live with my husband and our three dogs in a house we are currently renovating from top to bottom. My dream is to buy a chateau in France and run a guest house.
    shellteacup says:

    Powerful words about how we just keep going because what other choice do we have? It doesn’t mean you didn’t love someone enough, it just means your brain is focusing on the here and now so that you can go on living. Xx

    1. Vernon – Vernon loves to reflect on life and God's word. He's an inspiring motivating speaker and writer who uses his painful truths to help others. With this blog his hope is to share with you those experiences and possibly influence those without direction to take another look at themselves through biblical principles.
      Vernon says:

      This post reminded me of when my mother passed. My mind would tell me I must don’t love her because I wasn’t acting like it was the end of the world.
      Yes I grieved, and I still do, but my relationship with her was while she was her has a lot to do with me accepting it. I miss her, and I told her I would before she passed and she told me to keep doing what I’m doing because she will see me again. And I know I will.
      Thanks for sharing the hope.

  2. I pray that God will help you with the guilt that you feel. It’s difficult to move on, you feel like by not missing them every second of the day that you have let them down. I don’t think you’ve let your mom down. Clearly she raised a caring and compassionate daughter. The other posts on your blog are proof of how hard losing her was for you and still is for you.

  3. christiansredballoon – My name is Cara Martinisi. I am mother to three boys and a wife to my high school sweetheart. Up until three and a half years ago, I lived a mainly charmed life. I married the first boy I fell in love with, had three easy pregnancies and three healthy boys. Family and friends were plentiful and amazing. There were bumps in the road, like with anyone else. For the most part, though, I had lived my life with everything falling neatly into place. This all changed after living 35 years in this manner. On July 3rd 2014, our house got struck by lightening. It was a scary experience, which resulted in a fire. Our entire family escaped the fire safely. Our home needed to be gutted and rebuilt, but we realized just how blessed we were to all be safe and sound. Fast forward exactly eight weeks later, to the end of the summer, August 28th. Our entire world was changed in a matter of minutes. We were living in a rental home, where a freak accident occurred. The supporting pole in the garage was not secure. It fell on my six year old son, Christian. My then three year old son and I witnessed the entire scene. This has irrevocably changed who I am as a person in every way. I am now a bereaved mother. It may be one of my titles, but not my identity. My family will never be the same. We are left to move on, while we are not whole. The trauma, shock and pain resonates daily, in one way or another. My mission, now, is to help others who have joined this undesirable club. My mission is to carry on my son’s message, which was kindness. My mission, now, is to make a new normal. I hope you get some inspiration from my posts, whether you are a bereaved parent or not. Grieving a child teaches you lessons that one can never learn in any other way. As always, love to heaven...
    christiansredballoon says:

    Hugs to you. It is so hard to live the reality of pain and joy coexisting.

  4. bigskybuckeye – United States – Born in the Big Sky Country of Montana and now living in the Buckeye State of Ohio, Richard is the creative mind behind Big Sky Buckeye. Retired after 40 years of teaching, I enjoy writing, photography, traveling, and following a healthy lifestyle.
    bigskybuckeye says:

    The heart is indeed an incredible organ. Its persistent beat sustained us through so much.

  5. Dear Katie and Evee,
    I’ve been reading and reading and reading your blog posts. I don’t think I realized how much I needed to read about grief and about these experiences and about your story. Before I say thank you, I want to let you know that the uniqueness you’ve expressed your grief has brought me solace. We really need validation. Our feelings sometimes really need validation. Thank you for sharing your story and for your gritty honesty. I never planned to write about my mother on my blog. But being here has made me understand that sometimes we share not for ourselves, sometimes we share to spread the embrace that we’re all going to be okay. Maybe it’ll touch someone the way you’ve touched many. It is such a tough step for me, but I’m starting to believe it might bring me closure, perhaps solace that a part of your story is heard by a caring community.
    Thank you, Katie. Thank you, Evee.

    1. Hello, my sister is on her Camino at the minute, so I will reply for the both of us 🙂
      I cannot express how much this means to us. We started this blog when we were in the worst place we had experienced. Katie would often say that everyday was just getting harder and harder. We struggled so much and it felt like we were alone, and the tide never seemed to get easier, or turn in our favour.
      For us, the blog became a lifeline. I shaped my days around it and wrote so much, and Katie found so much comfort from hearing everyone’s stories and reading comments. Together, we learnt that whilst grief is the most difficult thing we will ever go through, we aren’t alone. I hope everyone that comes here recognises that too.
      Im a firm believer that we carry everything with us, and I hope writing about your mother can help you, somehow. Good luck x

  6. queadrian – Dã-Thảo is my pen name, I like reading, love writing, And like gardening, I am a pensioner. I wave to heaven or go to he'll, I wouldn't know yet, But have to wait and see. DTQT.
    queadrian says:

    My mother passed away when I was 19 years old. At that time just wanted to go and looking for her, I saw her every night in my dream, it kept on like that for three years until I got married and have the first child, I was not seeing her in my dream anymore. I still miss my mother and, I’m 75 now. I wonder if I could see her again when I die. I wish that I could.

      1. queadrian – Dã-Thảo is my pen name, I like reading, love writing, And like gardening, I am a pensioner. I wave to heaven or go to he'll, I wouldn't know yet, But have to wait and see. DTQT.
        queadrian says:

        This is my website:
        I have some articles and poems written in English, please visit my site to read and see my garden. Thank you.

  7. queadrian – Dã-Thảo is my pen name, I like reading, love writing, And like gardening, I am a pensioner. I wave to heaven or go to he'll, I wouldn't know yet, But have to wait and see. DTQT.
    queadrian says:

    I think people have the sprites, that why my Mother spirit always came to see me every night to make sure that I don’t do anything silly. So, I would like to tell you that your mom will be happy if you look after yourself very well and, do what she wants, to let her know that you love her.

Leave a Reply