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.
Today, I bleed. In the space of a year, everything has changed.