14 months and 20 days later
It has been 14 months and 20 days since my son died but it is only recently that I have realised that grief is going to be part of my life, of me, of who I am until I die. Yes, I did read the books, listened to the stories, talked to other bereaved parents but it has only recently become obvious to me that grief is never going to leave my life and that it is here to stay. For good. That I will have good days always followed, as a rule, by bad, really bad days. That I will get ill much more often than I even did before. That my mind will never be the same; that I have become a head sieve. I forget often and I need constant reminders of appointments and meetings. Loads and loads of patience and understanding too. That I will be sad. Often and deeply and sometimes furiously. That anger will be my closest companion. An existential anger that cannot be directed at any-one, as the …