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.
In my sleep, I descend the stairs and you rush past me, telling me to hurry up, people are downstairs and they are waiting for us. I’m confused, my jaw opening and closing like the door you just came through; swinging on its hinge at a loss at your presence.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
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 this is my world. Those were the cards I had been dealt. I have been living without my Mum for 14 months now. I have been doing okay.