This is Daisy. She came from a nearby farm. I loved her before I met her and chose her name before Mum found the advert for her.
You aren't your grief. You aren't what happens to you in this life, you are how you deal it. You won't always feel so small.
Yes, and I am finally living it.
It's been a slow transition but I wish I could tell my counsellor that I finally stepped down from that tightrope where I couldn’t put a foot wrong. I wish I could tell her that actually “Katie does make mistakes” but I can handle them – it’s okay.
Mum would love these rainbows.
Remember how Mum would always say to break things down, and to not look at the bigger picture. The bigger picture is scary, and so is a year. 365 days seems inconceivable right now, but you can manage one day at a time. Stay in bed if you have to. You don't have to leave the house, you just have to get through another day.
I don’t feel fear like I used to. I’ve learnt that the only thing that you can actually count on in this life is, in fact, change. I don’t try and run away from it anymore; running away takes up too much energy anyway. It’s easier to face it straight on, embrace it, and jump.
We never expected to feel so supported by your comments of encouragement or simple “me too” messages or a “hang on in there, it does get better”. Knowing other people were able to survive such loss gave me hope and shined a light on a future that I thought I’d never be able to attain after losing our mum.
When my Mum passed away, I willed my life to stay exactly how she left it – perfectly untouched like the crisp layer of newly fallen snow, blanketing my life. I daren’t take a step forward in fear of altering what she had left. I awkwardly lived around her belongings, preserving her life in our home.
“In a plane crash, you are always told to put your own oxygen mask on first. You need to put your oxygen mask on before your sister’s. She’s 19, she’ll sort herself out, and you need to sort yourself out first”.