Grief never ends
It changes
It’s a passage, not a place to stay
Grief is not a sign of weakness
Nor a lack of faith
It is the price of love
– Author unknown –
When I came across this verse towards the end of last year it made my heart sing a little. It made me instantly look back on this sixth year without you and what that “passage” has looked like.
After a completely vile and horrendous bout of bed confining flu in February, 2018 certainly felt like a year of restoration.
Of course it continues to be so painful when fleeting “wish you were here so bad” moments catch me unawares. The silliest of things, bolts from the blue, ones I’m never expecting. Reminders, painful triggers, flashes of truly beautiful memories.
In what’s felt like a year of yet more recovery (for recovery is a passage too) there continue to be so many times when I’ve thought of you, longed for you and been forced to remember that truly brutal last week of your life.
March. As my own child shrieked at her first sight of proper deep, powder snow and life came to an incredible ‘bad’ weather induced halt, I wanted so much for things to have been different for you. Last time we had snow like that it was the day after you died. You must have known it was coming and wanted to save one of your life long work contacts, the funeral director, any hassle getting to us. Wading through deep snow this time was so, so different. It was joyful, pinch yourself for being so lucky and kick through it with gusto. No dread, drudgery or heart ache, walking to the local chip shop for lunch on January 16th 2013.
The year of weather extremes continued and the summer of 2018 was certainly sent to soothe all our souls. One special soul, Grandpa, left us. You were terrifyingly like him. Two of a very similar and special kind. Neither of you cared much for the heat and would have likely bemoaned every second we were all out there enjoying it. But you’d have taken such delight in our tales of later bed times, beer gardens and certainly found many an excuse for an extra, cooling, glass of wine.
Winter so far has been inoffensive, Christmas as small but as perfectly formed as it’s been for the past several years now. We’ve established new traditions but will never, ever stop making your mackerel pate. This year the pregnancy induced indigestion was a bit of a killer but very much worth persevering with. The taste of you; beautiful times gone by.
2019 is one of new beginnings and no doubt many new challenges. Tears flow at the same time as milk, as I write this cradling our 5 day old second daughter. Never a more beautifully brutal nod to the circle of life, eh? History’s repeated itself. Me, my two girls. Just as it was always you and your two girls. We were always The Girls. A collective. I know I would forever surprise and irritate you but the love and pride always shone through. Oh and did I tell you me and AP single handedly delivered our second daughter in our bathroom…? That’s perhaps a story for another day…
Love you Mothership. May the strength you left behind stay with me this year. I’m probably going to need it more than ever before.
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