We hope that you have enjoyed reading The Grief Reality in April. It is a joy to have somewhere to talk so openly about grief, mental health and general ramblings.
‘Gently, My Mother’ is a small poem I wrote on a sunny Friday which made me miss my own quite terribly.
I do not see myself as a problem. I do not need to be fixed. I think I am a puzzle piece that ended up in a bag of mixed up puzzle pieces, who are simply trying to work out what the riot of reds, a sweep of blues, and garish purples amount to. It’s a hard job for anyone to do, really.
The thought of coming home to you is tantalisingly strong. I would come home in my grey blazer, soaked to the bone from cold autumnal rain. I’d…… Read more “A Memory I Wish I Had”
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.
For many of us, we live in hope because those who have lost someone still can’t comprehend it.
For 2019, I had a different type of bonfire night. It was lovely, wholesome and warm.
I cannot wait to be Evee in my new life, and for Katie to be Katie in hers. I am ready for it now.
Why do we have this self-imposed idea that throughout our lives we are meant to maintain a perfect, crisp version of ourselves? Like untouched snow, or fresh school shoes that we don’t want to scratch.
Today, I bleed. In the space of a year, everything has changed.