As the sun sets on New Year’s Eve, I see hope for tomorrow

As per my post earlier this month, most people will understand that this time of year is very difficult for me and trying to cope with Christmas festivities without Abi is something I (and my family) have again had to bear and get through.

New Year’s Eve is equally painful. I don’t even want to wish others a happy New Year as it feels so hard to say when I feel such grief that Abi isn’t here with us. I want to turn off all the social media updates. But I do wish us all not just a happy new year but a joyful one. One where we can all, despite our various problems and sorrows, see some joy in our lives this year.

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What my grief would say if it could talk

Grief has become both my friend and my foe since Abi died… I need it to feel close to her, yet loathe it for taking over me. What would your grief say?

Headspace Perspective

Hi, I’m Grief.

It’s nice to meet you.

I can f*ck off, it’s not nice to meet me…?

Well be like that then.

Oh, ok, I know no one ever welcomes my arrival. As if losing your loved one isn’t enough torment, as if living without the person you loved so dearly isn’t quite bad enough, I come along and make sure your life is well and truly screwed up.

You cannot see me, smell me, touch me, or hear me, but I will crawl in to your body, make my presence known from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

I will flow with the blood through your veins, seep through every pore.

I am a dense fog that lingers in front of your eyes, makes you feel drugged, exhausts you with the effort of carrying me around, makes you wonder who you are. Everything you…

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Coping with Christmas after the death of your child

I’m aware I’ve not written since Abi’s birthday, and there’s a reason.

Like last year, I’ve found myself lost in a blur of grief and unable to write at all. It’s almost like there is so much to say that it’s impossible to write clearly. Sometimes I find that life is back in focus and I’m getting on with things, but then I’m reminded – constantly, what with the coming of Christmas and my duty as mum to make sure my other children feel able to ‘get excited’ – that my darling Abi is dead. That she’ll never open another present. That her Christmases are memories to me now.

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