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.
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.
My locket became an important talisman for me to wear when grief crushed the life out of me. The subtle gold heart became an important symbol that my mum existed, and that once I was happy. My locket became my mum’s way to witness my life as I lived it.
What they didn’t know was that I was slowly losing it. My grades were the only thing I could even begin to control. I believed the only thing I could truly count on was that in March 2019 I would be at university. The hardest thing I had to do was leave my mum curled up on the sofa to revise for my exams. Repeatedly I beat myself up for being so selfish, but I promised myself that I would have all of summer to be with my Mum.
We hope that you have enjoyed reading The Grief Reality in April. It is a joy to have somewhere to talk so openly about grief, mental health and general ramblings.
‘Gently, My Mother’ is a small poem I wrote on a sunny Friday which made me miss my own quite terribly.
I do not see myself as a problem. I do not need to be fixed. I think I am a puzzle piece that ended up in a bag of mixed up puzzle pieces, who are simply trying to work out what the riot of reds, a sweep of blues, and garish purples amount to. It’s a hard job for anyone to do, really.
The thought of coming home to you is tantalisingly strong. I would come home in my grey blazer, soaked to the bone from cold autumnal rain. I’d…… Read more “A Memory I Wish I Had”
The very first photo is my lovely mum in a blue ballgown, taken on the 14th of September, 2013. I would have been 13. The royal blue of Mum’s dress brightens and flaunts her clear blue eyes. A faint, hesitant smile has only aged 7 years with fondness and love. Her hair is short, and slightly messy. I love it, but I can imagine mum brushing her fingers through it only moments beforehand.
For many of us, we live in hope because those who have lost someone still can’t comprehend it.