I haven’t written anything in months. The person I loved the most out of every single human on this planet was slowly slipping away, and nothing seemed worth writing about. The thing about getting older is, this starts to happen. I want it to stop.
The thing about grief is, it likes to sneak up behind you and catch you by surprise. Dig it’s sharp, spiky talons into you back as you automatically start dialling that number. It hides in a thousand things scattered around you, a thousand moments where you think ‘oh, I cant wait to tell….’ and remeber you can’t. It hits you again and again and again. Like a fucking tsunami.
I suppose the pain decreases with time, as your brain gets used to this new situation, without the person that has been there for every important moment in your life. My brain has been protecting me from the agony that is never being able to talk to this person again by shutting off the feeling of grief and sadness. It gets caught out though. when I accidentally glance across my room and see their jumper lying on my floor, and think, oh, why is it on my floor? and then I have to remember all over again.
A couple of people close to me have suffered devastating losses too. I imagine us floating in this stormy sea. Clutching on to each other. There are many, many people who haven’t sunk into this sea of grief yet, and they are holding us all up.
For very sad people, we laugh a lot. We laugh and we laugh and we laugh. It helps.
We make horrible, inappropriate jokes at horrible, inappropriate times.
They make us feel better, so we don’t mind.
I feel like people say it gets easier, and I don’t really know yet, because it hasn’t got easier. It get’s harder, because every time something good, or bad happens, I want to tell this person, and he’s not here to tell. I have to face birthdays and Christmas and graduation all without this person standing by my side. If I ever get married or get a job, or have my picture printed in the local paper, I won’t be able to call up my grandad and say, Guess what! and he won’t be able to tell me how proud he is of me, and how much he loves me. And I can recount the thousands of conversations we’ve had like this, in my head, but it’s not the same.
It’s never going to be the same.
But suddenly, I feel ready to talk about it. I’m not the only one who lost someone they loved, and I’m very lucky that I had this person in my life for so long, that they were so old when they died. It wasn’t a tragedy.
In some ways, I am a very different person to the girl who last posted. In many ways, I am the same. I like to think I’m a little bit less afraid of life. A lot braver.