I don’t wonder why they behaved this way, but I ask myself why I responded. I put this individual’s behaviour down to them having a bad day and I forgive them. Yet I can’t forget the fact that they saw me at my most vulnerable, and strangers must have seen me as weak.
I wish he was here. Such is the nature of grief.
Grief sucks but to come out the other side intact, one must go through and accept the process with the courage of a warrior.
My name is Evee. Not Evie or Eve, and in fact I dislike both of those names quite strongly.
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 mum was right. Sooner or later, I have to find my way back to that gentle place. It’s scary and it’s vulnerable and it can die a billion times between each victory…
I think a part of me is afraid to really dive into those words that have become a regular line in my narrative. I am afraid to miss my mum, because what if I miss her wrong? What if I remember something wrong? What if I drown?