I feel as though I am slowly sinking into thick black tar. My clothes feel like lead, pulling me under even more, weighing heavy against my lungs making it difficult to breathe. I don’t have the strength to put out my arm and reach for help. I feel completely overcome with grief for my mum. I feel debilitated.
Wish that I could’ve frozen time Halted it completely in its tracks Made it that the bells wouldn’t chime That you wouldn’t fade to black Wish I…… Read more “As Told By Ken”
The intensity of your grief is in direct proportion to the deep love you had for them. This is not something you can skip over, ignore, or run away from.
Most of all, I don’t want to be the odd one out among a new group of friends. So, I avoid the conversation and protect them, myself, my mum, and my grief.
We have settled on the fact that we will look back on lockdown like an unlikely friend. It sure was life changing.
I don’t wonder why they behaved this way, but I ask myself why I responded. I put this individual’s behaviour down to them having a bad day and I forgive them. Yet I can’t forget the fact that they saw me at my most vulnerable, and strangers must have seen me as weak.
‘Gently, My Mother’ is a small poem I wrote on a sunny Friday which made me miss my own quite terribly.
Grief is not a one-size-fits-all experience. If you are grieving, be gentle with yourself. Know that everyone copes differently. And when you do fall apart, know it is normal. Make room for it.
I decided I enjoyed being bad at yoga. Of course, I was bad at yoga. I’m a clumsy girl. Yoga is reserved for a different type of elegance, one I can’t even begin to harbour.
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.