Sleepless nights are here again. Just when the will to nod off at any point was getting easier, my stupid brain tells me ‘no you’re staying awake, suck it up buttercup’. So, I guess that’s that then. Despite the fact I’m brain tired, it doesn’t seem to want me to rest. Instead playing over and over snippets of the last almost 4 months. 4 months since my mum took her last breath and left this earth in a way that will haunt me forever.
I haven’t even begun my counselling. But I know when I do, it will be like reliving that night over and over again. The guilt will rise up and consume me, just like it did when I realised my mothers last moments were just that. Her last moments. No goodbye like I’d planned. No telling her I loved her. Just me begging her not to die in such a cruel violent inhumane horrifying scene. It’s something I’ll never get out of my head. The guilt that I didn’t get help sooner is something I’ll never forgive myself for. And here I am, at 4 am, ripping pieces from my heart because I let her down. So often.
Grief works in peculiar ways. It can bring out the best and the worst in you. It can make you numb or make you so sensitive to everything that’s happening around you, you feel the bitter disappointment and sheer heartbreak that this world dishes out. Which in turn, leads to such a painful numbness, you wonder if you’ll ever feel happy again. Or if you’ll ever feel any emotion again.
Throwing myself back into training seemed like a good thing to do. At the time. All the time in the world and no one special to spend it with anymore. The 40 something businessman who stole my affection, gradually distanced himself. After all, who wants to deal with a grieving nutcase? Presumably someone else, because he didn’t stick around. Who can blame him. As much as I miss him, and I miss him so much it makes my heart hurt, I knew it wouldn’t last. It never does. All good things come to an end as the quote goes. Never a truer word said.
So the bad grief manifests itself in ugly ways. The colleague who insists on asking where you’ve been for the last 2 months, demanding to know why something so daft hasn’t been done, and me almost ripping their head before I clearly state how much of a shit I don’t give. The nasty couldn’t give a fuck anymore attitude that grief brings as small petty things can’t change the fact that my mum is no longer here. The refusal of wanting to stop or sit down. To have to keep going. Block out any pain by not having to think about anything emotional. If you run fast and far enough, you’ll be so fucked physically, you won’t have to think about how much your heart hurts. You can barely breathe anyway, so get so out of breath and knackered you can hardly stand, then you won’t have to think about how much you miss your mum, about how much you miss said businessman and the relationship that could never have blossomed. The first relationship in years that actually made you happy. You won’t have to think about that last horrendous moment that you didn’t get to say what you wanted to when your mum left. All these things, the ugly side of grief, briefly stifled until I went and hurt my stupid knee and now I’m back at square one, unfit and unhappy. Just a few days out of training is driving me up the wall…
Is there ever any good grief? I sincerely doubt it. Only the empathy that you get when you talk to anyone who’s lost someone they love. The neighbour that I’ve never really spoken to. Sharing our stories and realising that the pain, although different is very much the same. Holding on to inanimate objects that bring us comfort. Something as odd as a pair of socks or gloves, bring that sense of love and protection so sorely missed. A fellow swimmer in the pool, who holds back tears with me as we talk about the loss and the strange routines we miss. Not having to do certain things anymore, like make up protein drinks, make the bed or help wash your loved one. Those times we spent never thinking they would end.
It’s early days and it’s so raw. There is no competition between people who’ve lost those we’ve loved. Our grief is our own, and we feel it in different, incomprehensible ways. The dreams I have of my mum, taking me away on holiday. Of choosing clothes for a day out. Or just the dream that haunts me the most: her coming out of hospital and going home. The one thing that I wanted more than anything and I couldn’t give it to her. The deep regret of waking up and realising that these are just dreams. And I won’t see her again. She won’t ring me again. It’s the worst pain imaginable and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even my worst enemy.
@specksygurl
tetheredinthedeepend 