Time to prepare for his funeral/memorial service. Time to get his financial affairs in order. And even time to give in to anticipatory grief.
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.
Chiquitita, you and I cry,
But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you.
Despite the fact that I write this isolating in my little room awaiting my PCR result at 01:00 on New Years day, I choose to believe that 2022 is going to be an amazing year. After all, we’ve gotten this far, haven’t we?
Your grief is seen and felt, even at the time of the Christmas spirit and when all is merry. You are seen. You are heard. Your loved one, nor you, is forgotten.
Usually grief is a concept pushed to the edges of Christmas along with dried out Christmas tree needles and discarded wrapping paper. I had heard of A Boy Named Christmas through flashes on screens in adverts. I thought “boy and mouse; what could go wrong?” Immediately, my heart sank as I discovered the children had lost their mother.
As a child, December was my favourite month. From the 5th to the 9th, using all of my willpower, I used to save up my advent calendar chocolates. On the morning of the 10th, sleepy eyed, I would sit in between my parents as Mum would give me my birthday presents and I would indulge in the chocolates that I had been saving for my big day.
In an anxious mental health slip, I decided the best thing I could do was strip my day back to bare minimum.
How could I still be listening out, just in case Mum needed me?
Today, I bleed. In the space of a year, everything has changed.