I don’t wonder why they behaved this way, but I ask myself why I responded. I put this individual’s behaviour down to them having a bad day and I forgive them. Yet I can’t forget the fact that they saw me at my most vulnerable, and strangers must have seen me as weak.
When life slips down the hill, Katie and I often turn to each other and ask each other the same question: What is the point? With our feet slipping, trying to stop everything from falling, our arms aching and our bodies covered in mud, we scream WHAT IS THE POINT IN TRYING SO HARD?
What alarmed me most was the vacantness in her eyes as if being present was too much to bear.
I thought I knew grief but this was different.
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.
Friends are like stars: you don’t always realise they are there, but they are always shining.