Betty reached into my soul and brought renewed vigour, emotions and memories out. Thank you, Tiffany McDaniel.
Time to prepare for his funeral/memorial service. Time to get his financial affairs in order. And even time to give in to anticipatory grief.
In my sleep, I descend the stairs and you rush past me, telling me to hurry up, people are downstairs and they are waiting for us. I’m confused, my jaw opening and closing like the door you just came through; swinging on its hinge at a loss at your presence.
In an anxious mental health slip, I decided the best thing I could do was strip my day back to bare minimum.
I would like a conversation, where we talk about life and living and what it all means. Maybe after, my brain will turn into liquid and drip into dreams.
How could I still be listening out, just in case Mum needed me?
It makes me feel bad that my family have had to look after me so much. I hate being a burden, boring and a frustration. I hate that they had to wake up in the night to help me with medicines or when I was throwing up.
I wish he was here. Such is the nature of grief.
I wondered if it would be okay, me living alone. Waking up, cooking, watching TV. I was afraid I would be like that man from Up.
Promote growth wherever you can.