Bereavement, Grief, Writing
Comments 4

One step forward….1000 back

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.

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.”


This entry was posted in: Bereavement, Grief, Writing


Mum to one beautiful girl on earth and one sweet baby boy in heaven. Privileged carer. Encourager and friend.


  1. “I know it has been 16 months and I should be better.” Why would you think you should be better after just 16 months? It has been 23 years for me and I still think of my son every day, he is irreplaceable in my life. It really doesn’t get better, we just get used to it, used to their absence. The healthy thing to do is to lean into the grief, let the tears flow, the pressure release. Grief and sorrow should be expected, it’s the cost of losing someone you love. We eventually reach the point where we stop seeing life through the window of their death and begin to return to a sense of normalcy but we’ll never really be the exact same person we once were. My advice to you is to let grief have its day now, you’ll be much better off later on down the road because of it.

    • Excellent words from Gene. Sending you love and hugs Oana – you and Alex and Emma are welcome to visit us anytime that you are in the North West – we would love to see you. xxxx

  2. You have written beautifully Oana. I was at the very same forget me not service as you were in May. For me I was remembering my little Matilda who I lost 25.10.13. I am 10 months “ahead” of you so to speak or a better way to put it might be Iv been wearing these ugly shoes for ten months longer because really time is irrelevant and meaningless to the grief of our children… I feel how you do. Many of your words could be my words. Very hard navigating through each day between your living child, your grief, your angel child, your job and the mundane every day chores. Your heart being torn in so many directions is exhausting and the grief is so overwhelming, but then how could it not be? Like you I was given medication to try to “help” but it doesn’t ever change the reason we re so sad, why life’s so difficult, why the world outside our doors and in magazines and on TV causes us so much pain even when we re trying to hibernate and build up strength to somehow open up the door and walk outside again. It’s always sore in our house but “outside” is even harder as the “flying daggers” (that’s what I call them) come at you from all angles. You are doing so well to just be “being”, to be taking one breath after the other. Sending massive hugs round your heart especially now we are so close to Christmas. It’s an extra heap of weight to carry on your heart. Sending wishes of gentleness and also floaty kisses to your George from me and my Matilda xxxx

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