We cannot express enough that our blog means the world to us. When we started this page, we just needed an outlet to express our pain and loss. Two years on, we have 4,000 followers across all platforms, and we are completely blown over by it. We cannot thank you enough for all your support.
Now is the season, the time of the year towards the end of January and the beginning of February, that I get catapulted from a time of bith celebrations, into the furnace of grief – to go back through the smithing process again, for refinement.
Losing our mum aged me in so many ways, which I have mentioned a lot in blog posts before. Mum would always call me a “party girl” which used to make me cringe, but I quite liked the colourful description. I liked that people thought I was colourful and energetic.
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.
A new happy that remembers the grief that robbed my family back in 2018 but shows up anyway. A happy that gives a little sad sigh at the end of each day and says “I wish I could facetime my mum”.
I enjoy your memory. The other day my flat and I cheersed our drinks for you. I laughed and felt giddy…
For many of us, we live in hope because those who have lost someone still can’t comprehend it.
I hope I will forever be grateful, even when inevitably things go wrong; this is my life and I’m in love with it again.
For 2019, I had a different type of bonfire night. It was lovely, wholesome and warm.
When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.