It’s Sunday night and I’m meant to be getting the week’s posts written in advance, so that I don’t have to stress about them. But this week, it’s not an easy week for me and I’ve been mired in a web of grief and exhaustion.
By Wednesday, when this is due to be posted, I will have tweeted lots, gotten Amy off to school after school holidays, possibly managed a cup of tea without anyone stealing it, or more likely, been forced to share that cup of tea with Isaac, while be obsessively asks where his sister is.
Our days are similar and they bleed into one another, a haze of come here, put that down, don’t eat that, where on EARTH are your shoes and didn’t I tell you no already? The similarity means that another year has passed, seemingly without me noticing it and here we are again, in the race up to the 24th. Time doesn’t slow for anyone and every day takes us further away from a palliative care hospital room and a death rattle. From the sight of eyes as they died and hands like wax.
I wish it were easy, but it appears that grief is not. Not for anyone and I am sick of feeling like I ought to defend my grief to the Universe, and play a game of Pain Olympics, wherein we all work out who has it worse and who has it better and why. I am sick of feeling like I should somehow be less hurt, less sad, because after all, she was ‘only your grandmother‘.
It doesn’t work like that.
Grief is grief is grief.
We all hurt, we all cry and we all breathe through our days until they pass behind us and we wonder where they went. My pain doesn’t negate your pain and neither should yours negate mine. We all walk this life and breathe the same air and feel emotion.
This is a hard week, so forgive me if instead of being online I am hiding in a corner with a book and a toddler wedged under my arm, a warm damp lump. Forgive me when I don’t have any words for you to read, or I’m more bitter than normal.
But of course, you’re the Internet. Of course you’ll forgive me.
It’s everyone else who doesn’t.









