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.
When I was a teenager, I had the opportunity to see Ben Howard live for the first time, I remember trying to convince a friend to come with me because "You aren't going to remember the time you saved £25.00, you're going to remember the time you were front row at a Ben Howard concert!". Needless to say, we had a great time. It's something I've always been mindful of. And now, after losing my mum, memories have never been so valuable to me.
She was my hero, and my best friend. She would always look after me, help me and guide me, and it strikes me that twelve, thirteen years later, I don’t have that.
When you hold your thumb, try and think of a safe and calming space. This could be a place that you imagine, like a beach with the sound of the waves, or it could be a memory where you remember feel particularly calm. For me it is lying back on the trampoline, feeling warm by the evening sun, at about 12 years old.