And here we are, with a whole life in plastic bags.
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.
Today is one of the days where I kneel humbled by my grief. I am not bowled over by it, I am not stressed about it, I am simply shaken by it.
If you get night terrors; you are not a freak. You are not a freak for feeling anxious, or because you have experienced trauma, or any other reason.
Self care can be defined as this: an activity that helps to improve your mental health and wellbeing without causing stress or anxiety.
After all, I was widowed now! Wasn’t I supposed to be sad all the time?
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.