I have been asked by OurWomensWrites to write about reading and grief. It was a joy to write about one of my biggest passions, and I hope I'll continue to do so for TheGriefReality! This is the post I wrote, but please visit OurWomensWrites to show your support for their blog 🙂 ~ As a … Continue reading Reading Through Grief
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.
Behind each name is a grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, sister, brother, child, vividly experiencing the harsh grief we talk about so fervently on our platform. It does not stop in America; it does not stop in the UK. The world grieves their loss. The globe hurts.
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.
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.
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.
And here we are, with a whole life in plastic bags.
I get stuck in my head a lot. I think and think and think, and sometimes the words I want to say just dry up in my mouth, and I keep everything inside. It’s not that I actively choose to not talk about it anymore, I just can’t express myself.
I thought I’d never be able to endure this loss. But I suffered my biggest fear over the last 10 months and I’m still surviving it now. More than that, I finally feel as though I am in a position to start living again and putting myself back together.
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.
