I feel as though I am slowly sinking into thick black tar. My clothes feel like lead, pulling me under even more, weighing heavy against my lungs making it difficult to breathe. I don’t have the strength to put out my arm and reach for help. I feel completely overcome with grief for my mum. I feel debilitated.
Wish that I could’ve frozen time Halted it completely in its tracks Made it that the bells wouldn’t chime That you wouldn’t fade to black Wish I…… Read more “As Told By Ken”
The intensity of your grief is in direct proportion to the deep love you had for them. This is not something you can skip over, ignore, or run away from.
Most of all, I don’t want to be the odd one out among a new group of friends. So, I avoid the conversation and protect them, myself, my mum, and my grief.
We have settled on the fact that we will look back on lockdown like an unlikely friend. It sure was life changing.
Grief is unpredictable. And seemingly timeless.
I decided I enjoyed being bad at yoga. Of course, I was bad at yoga. I’m a clumsy girl. Yoga is reserved for a different type of elegance, one I can’t even begin to harbour.
Today, I chose to take a “Grief Day” – a term I use to coin a day entirely devoted to feeling grief. A day when I turn to myself for the home comforts just as my mum used to on those sick days from school.