Grief is unpredictable, heavy and messy, the books say.
To know all these facts is one thing. To live them, is another…
I thought I was doing better.
I thought we were maybe out of the darkest woods.
But then, I got to the point where I couldn’t work outside our home.
It’s okay, I said the myself, I can still do things from here.
But I can’t.
I have found everything such a struggle.
I can manage a maximum of three days of work out of the five.
I get so anxious about balancing work and caring for Emma and the house that juggling all the balls is a job in itself.
I am back to waking up at night. And being so, so scared.
Of the present. Of the future.
Emma has kicked off again on Sunday.
She told her daddy that her “mummy loves one child and it isn’t me!”, in floods or tears and rage.
I went to see my GP yesterday.
This time, this one was kind and understanding.
She recommended rest. And pills. And ESA.
I am a failure. In a world that rewards performance and positivism and success, I am not the best example.
But I am doing my best.
What else can I do?
What else can I (and anyone else) expect from me at this point in time?
I know it has been 16 months and I should be better.
But the truth is that, I am not.
I live with the hope that one day, I will be.
But until then, I need to extend grace and forgiveness to myself.
I need to say to myself, in a gentle and loving voice:
It’s okay to just make it through the day.
It’s okay to still be sad.
It’s okay to not be able to do it all.
Like everybody else seems to be.
It’s okay to sit and rest for a while.
Until the fog of pain lifts, once again.”