Eventually the things I could control I over-controlled and micro-managed every step of the way.
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.
Sometimes, making plans for the following week seems like a great idea – and sometimes it is – but other times, you just have to cancel because all you need to do is gather your strength at home.
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.
I remember a page where I just scribbled “WHY”. One word which took up the whole page. I scratched it in so much the letters were thick and black but each time I drove my pen into the paper I felt a release.
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.
I’m running towards a finish line I simply can’t see, crowds and crowds of people clapping for their children, and I know my mum is still cheering for me.
Grief is not a one-size-fits-all experience. If you are grieving, be gentle with yourself. Know that everyone copes differently. And when you do fall apart, know it is normal. Make room for it.