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.
Grief sucks but to come out the other side intact, one must go through and accept the process with the courage of a warrior.
Writing on the blog is deeply personal. I imagine I sit you down, offer you tea, hold your hand and look you in the eyes. Whilst you may read this and throw it away, or never think of it again, I think of it every day. The power of you sitting with me, and giving me space to share my thoughts.
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.
The very first photo is my lovely mum in a blue ballgown, taken on the 14th of September, 2013. I would have been 13. The royal blue of Mum’s dress brightens and flaunts her clear blue eyes. A faint, hesitant smile has only aged 7 years with fondness and love. Her hair is short, and slightly messy. I love it, but I can imagine mum brushing her fingers through it only moments beforehand.
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.
Yes, and I am finally living it.