I can’t help but wonder: does my memory serve me? Or, have you have been gone so long that I can barely find the memory?
Mommy loves to tell the story of the day I was born. As soon as I was all cleaned up and looking beautiful, they handed me to my Daddy. Of course, I was yelling my fool head off as babies tend to do. He smiled, patted my rear, and snuggled me close.
Yet when it is me, in my dark moments I tell myself not to reach out. Who would want to hear it? I will lower someone’s mood. I will make people worry. I will stress someone out.
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.
But mum was right. Sooner or later, I have to find my way back to that gentle place. It’s scary and it’s vulnerable and it can die a billion times between each victory…
We never had any Big Talks. But over those three months we slowly rediscovered each other. Nothing magical (unless you count being able to laugh together again magical). Just us.
One of our most inspiring bloggers, @bereavedsingledad , has agreed to write a guest post for us about the loss of his father when he was younger. It is a lovely post, and we are very grateful that Gary was able to write for us. Here is the link to his blog, so you can give him a read; grab a cup of tea, because you’ll be reading for a while! As soon as you start, you won’t want to stop.
The snowflakes fell thick and fast, and I don’t even know how to handle myself. I had never seen snow like it. The flakes looked dark against the white sky.
We need to see our whole complete teen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty something selves and we need to love each and every version of us.
For many of us, we live in hope because those who have lost someone still can’t comprehend it.