Such a short word.
But it hurts.
Sometimes.
Other times it leaves you numb and feeling like you're looking down at yourself - a bit like you're detached from your body or waking up from a nightmare.
My lovely mum is gone. How did that even happen? Silly question. She was 88, had come to the end of her journey and ... pffft ... passed. But at 51, I wasn't ready. There was still so much to say and so much I THOUGHT I could do for her. I was wrong. Time ran out and that stinks.
So what does grief and the stupid grieving process mean to me?
* feeling like my life will never be the same again. And of course it won't.
* hating the fact that my life will never be the same again. And panicking.
* lying in a bath until it goes cold because I don't see the point of getting out.
* forgetting to get dressed. Again, what's the point?
* constantly saying sorry. 'Sorry Mum. I could have done this or I should have done that.'
* wondering when I'll feel 'normal' again.
* not wanting to feel 'normal' again.
* trying to find 'me' in a new routine.
* not having a routine.
* making excuses to myself for not going back to her house.
* (this is a bad one - don't think I'm totally evil, please) looking at old people and asking why they're still alive and my mum isn't.
* contemplating 'What's it all about?' Is she really with my dad now? Is she really finally at peace and happy?
* asking myself if I'll ever write again. How can I immerse myself in a world of fluffy fun and frippery when my heart is black and heavy.
* knowing that my mum would give me a good telling off and tell me she was proud of me and FORCE me to write again.
* praying that the 'Oh no' feeling will stop and I'll wake up one morning and see some joy again and a reason to get out of bed.
THAT'S what grief means to me.
On the upside ... I've lost a stone in weight and truly know that I am feeling this pain because I had the best mummy ever.
And she will help me find my way.
Somehow.
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| With my Mum on her last birthday |
