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.
Good luck with the next couple of days sweetie. It is over 10 years since my mum died now and I STILL find the anniversary of her death hard oh and her birthday, and mothers day although the kids help with that these days.
What you feel is what you feel, it shouldn’t need to justify it (although I understand your need too)
Just sending all my love.
You’re right. Grief is grief is grief.
It’s okay to feel terrible and sad and like you want to curl into a ball.
You love her, of course you are going to feel rotten and be missing her.
Just sending love.
((HUGS)) V xxxx
Yes grief is grief!
I still feel grief and its been decades (since ) my nan died We were so close ~ closer then my mother! Take yr time We love ya
its gonna take a long time but you will get there V
Imagine what people say if you tell that’s how you feel about losing your dog and the whole business around losing him. You had to know my hound the way I did and you had to know what pains he softened for me. See, I’m tearing up already. Been gone 8 years.
Take your time, Veronica. Look after you. We’ll wait.
Big hugs Veronica. Your grief is your own and only you know how to process it. Do what you need to do and, as Toni said, we’ll wait. <3
Sending hugs to make up for the lack of anything more helpful.
xox
Hugs are always good Sharon. You have held our hands through this from the beginning and I am grateful for your support.
Love to you honey pie.
Hi Veronica
You’ve inspired me to keep writing and blogging on those days, even when I don’t feel like it. Thank you, Veronica.
Lina
*hugs* My Mum died just before christmas 11 years ago, i’ts her birthday at the
end of this month. Expect to find me under the covers still grieving. Because some
pain doesn’t go away or get less. No matter how many years
it may have been.
You don’t have to justify yourself to anyone. Really.
What you do have to do, is let her go. Each time you think of her, she is drawn to you. I’m sure your loving nan, would not want to see you in pain. It’s hard. I know. I held my dad in my arms as he passed away. I understand the things you mentioned. My pain is not your pain, I know this. But I am actively choosing to smile when I think of him. To laugh *with* him when I hear something funny that I know he would have found funny too. When I hear his favourite music, see his favourite things, I *choose* to smile and say, “Hey dad, I hear you.”
Take care of yourself. Grief is hard and no one processes it the same way, nor should they. You obviously were very close to your grandmother and loved her dearly.
I totally forgive you. Grief is hard. Hug yourself, because my arms won’t reach that far.
Every day I think about my nanna.
Every day I think about my grandpa.
I feel blessed that I got to spend their last moments with them, but grieve for them all the more.
And it has been 6 years.
Pain and grief is not a competition, it is a club we don’t want to join but one we should support each other.
Love you sweetie.
It’s the hands like wax that get me. The skin on someone you love un-human looking.
Nothing to forgive. Take time, I’ll be here.
Yes, we forgive.
Take time
x
Oh hun, there is not such thing as “only your grandmother” . . . grandmothers are precious, special beings that we are fortunate to have in our lives.
Don’t listen to anyone who suggests that you should not still be grieving . . . they are heartless. Take your time and we will be here.
((hugs)) and love, sweety.xxxx
Pain is indeed pain. I don’t go in for the happy clappy stuff that says if someone is worse off than me, I should be overjoyed. That is ultimately what the grief olympics asks us to do. Thoughts are with you and yours.
It’s reading a post like this that brings all the memories of my Nan and Pop. I miss them like crazy. Last week I read a quote saying: “it’s not time that heals all wounds, but what you do in that time that heals”. Keep on blogging about it, Veronica. It can only help. Big hugs. xx
Sorry it is such a tough time for you right now. You are right the internet always forgives, that is why we keep coming back to our blogs.
Sending you lots of hugs.
Mich x
Take care Veronica. Don’t worry about the Internet, it’ll be here when you’re ready to jump back in.
Late in reading this … love to you, Veronica.
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