We always feel so much better after a good cry. How about you? Katie & Evee
or just a moment that ache stills and I feel no pain and that is because I know they are no longer in pain, they are free, and they are dancing with angels.
I think the thing with grief is that I always want to know the 'why' or the 'what'; Why did I break down after a perfectly nice weekend? What was the trigger? On Sunday night, I went to bed and woke up 23 again, in 2018. I woke up with all of the fresh pain and the memories of my mum passing away. I felt frantic and only wanted to speak to the people who were around me then.
Look at the menu bar on top of this page and you will see a new tab labelled “As Told By You”. We want to hear more from you about your experiences with grief. This can be in anyway you so wish to express yourself; perhaps through poetry, art, one word or a sentence that begins with “Grief is …”. Perhaps you’d like to share a whole post as Bereavedsingledad has done recently. Grief is messy and painful. Grief can feel awkward and heavy. Grief can leave you feeling isolated and alone. Let this space be your empty void to scream into, to feel a little lighter and get the pain off of your chest. You’ve read plenty of posts as told by Evee and myself, but this page is your space for your grief, as told by you.
Crying is a natural response to the world. Yet, here we are insisting it takes place behind closed doors, and it is something we should be embarrassed about.
The vet nurse called Daisy a naughty torty, and I quite liked that.
Today, I chose to take a “Grief Day” – a term I use to coin a day entirely devoted to feeling grief. A day when I turn to myself for the home comforts just as my mum used to on those sick days from school.