One Year On After Losing My Dad - Grief Writing

It feels so strange to be sat here writing this post in the lead up to the one year anniversary of my Dad's passing. How did I get here? As the months went by in the start, I wondered and feared how this particular point would look. One year feels (and is) so long. Over the last twelve months, I made sure to write a little round-up of how that additional month in grief has been for me so I could not only use it as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings but so I could potentially reach out to anybody who has been through the same or is going through the same, to let them know they're not alone. I purposefully skipped out writing one last month so I could throw my entire energy into this one and hopefully not be too repetitive. 
How do the emotions differ between day one and day 365? The numbness is still there, almost like a little comfort blanket to help me get by day to day, function where I need to function and to keep me from falling into a constant state of complete and utter despair. The numbness comes and goes though, and when it goes, my God the pain is indescribable. It leaves me clawing at my chest as if the only way to relieve the pain is by ripping something out of it, it leaves me silently screaming 'Dad!' as if somehow, somewhere he will hear my calls and will sit by me and put his arms around me, it leaves me begging why this had to happen and can we just go back in time? Just once? And then I'm exhausted, and it's the numbness that comes to wrap it's arms around me instead to help me continue on. I see numbness as a curse and a blessing. It's helped me but also frustrated me at times. I don't think people quite believe me when I say I still don't believe it a lot of the time. I've never known a life without my Dad. Sometimes it feels like a really awful movie or a sick joke, and at some point, we'll get him back and these hard times will be over.
My 'first year in grief' is probably a lot different to those who lost loved ones prior to the pandemic. I definitely don't mean that in a 'one is worse than the other' kind of way at all, because in some ways the pandemic has been a blessing for the very early days of my grief. I didn't have to return to work for 6 months, and if there was no lockdown, I would've been back at work shortly after the funeral and I can't even imagine how awful that would have been for me. I needed that time to just feel what I felt and to not be too distracted from my reality. On the other hand, there was no 'in-person' support, I was completely isolated from all family and friends and because of that, I do feel I had less support than I would have had there been no restrictions, and I did feel forgotten about as everything was about the virus.

Coping Mechanisms
For around six months I found comfort in food. I was eating whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted. I do think that's okay, but not for six months because the amount of damage I caused my mental health, (and my weight) as a result of it was awful. It's taken me almost a year to get myself in a place where I can take care of my body again and not rely on food as a coping mechanism and that's probably been my biggest achievement. 
I have lots of different coping mechanisms that have got me to this point. Like I said, the first six months was literally just food, but after that, I began to use nostalgia as a way of feeling closer to my Dad. I bought so many candles that reminded me of different times of my life and I would have them burning all day so I could simply inhale, and be transported to a happier time. I also went through a stage of watching Disney film after Disney film after Disney film. I would sob whilst watching them as I have such distinct memories of our Sunday dinners together, where I got to select a different Disney film for us all to watch, whilst Mum and Dad shared a bottle of wine. 
As Christmas came around, I did the opposite of what I thought I would do, and I bought as many Christmas decorations as possible and completely immersed myself in all things festive. Non-stop Christmas music and as many Christmas lights as possible. Again, this was to transport me to a happier time, so I did this for as long as possible. I don't think this will be the same for the year ahead as I already feel sad at the prospect of a second Christmas without my Dad, but I try not to guess ahead too much. I also found baking to be some kind of therapy for me and gradually got better and better to the point it's become one of my hobbies! I try not to do it too much as the line between eating it all and sharing it all gets blurred too easily, but whenever there's an occasion I absolutely love to bake. I even baked a cake for my Dad's birthday!
I wouldn't say exercising is a coping mechanism for my grief, I think it's just a coping mechanism for life in general, which in turn makes me stronger mentally to get through the days. I do like to exercise around 4-5 times a week as it keeps my mind a little clearer and makes me feel more balanced. 
I also like to be left alone sometimes so I can really feel what I'm feeling. I think it's important to allow yourself to actually feel that deep sadness and let the pain come in so you can process it as it comes. Some days I'll almost feel 'backed up' if I haven't let myself think properly, and I'll need to lie down or go and sit in the bathroom and cry, and usually, I feel a little bit of weight off my shoulders after it.
Everybody copes with grief and loss differently, what's helped me in the past year may not help me in the next year. Sometimes I don't want to think about it, sometimes I can only think about it. I just learned not to put pressure on myself with any part of my grieving as it's so unpredictable.
Signs
I really wanted to talk about this as I assumed that as soon as my Dad died, he'd appear as a figure to me or he'd do extremely obvious things to let me know he's here. I remember in the early days wondering where he'd gone as I thought there's no way he's just disappeared into thin air. I didn't have any signs or feelings for a long time really and I was quite upset about it. I would cry and ask him to do something to show he hasn't really left me, and then I'd quickly scan the room for something to move or for a reflection in the mirror. I guess it also depends on what people believe in too. I won't even go into that because people can get really offended and lose their minds if you don't believe the same things as them, so each to their own. For me, I feel that when I see a robin, that's my Dad. I've had countless experiences with robins now, and plenty of 'that was weird' ones for me to believe this. When I see one, it brings me so much comfort that I don't care if someone doesn't believe it too. It makes me feel warm inside and comforted by my Dad. There's also this one incredibly bright star that's outside my window almost every night and it twinkles away at me. It's the only star in the sky too! I always feel like it's my Dad letting me know that he can see me too.
In general, I do have this inner feeling that my Dad is with me. He even said in his final letter to us that I could never lose him as he will always be in my heart and as time has gone on, I do believe that too. I don't feel the need to look for these huge big signs anymore as when I do get them, they're exactly what I need as they are.

Mental Health After Loss
TW - Suicide
I've had some real ups and downs with my mental health in the past year. I'd always struggled with it anyways since my Dad's diagnosis 11 years ago, so naturally, this was going to be a real challenge for me. I think around four months after losing my Dad I was suicidal. Actually, I was suicidal just before he passed and for some time afterwards, but I remember around four months later I felt that way again. I just couldn't cope with the feelings of pain every single day, I craved life to go back to how it was and it was becoming too great of a burden to live with it as it now was. I didn't want to put my mum and brother through another loss, so I lingered on (pretty miserably actually) until eventually I returned to work which luckily became a massive distraction. I also developed severe anxiety, which I now take medication for. I did reach out for help via the GP but I'm on a million-year waiting list. I think apart from that, I take care of myself quite well. I'm quite a positive person and I'm always looking for ways to improve my mental health and general quality of life. 
I said to my Dad that I was frightened I'd never be happy again after losing him, and I do feel I'm able to experience happiness, it's just accompanied by grief and I'm beginning to accept that.
To Dad
To think one whole year has passed since I last saw you or heard your voice makes me feel ill. I wish you could see me now because you'd be so proud of the fact that I'm actually still here and fighting each day to live a good life. I know how worried you were about me and how I would cope. I so badly wanted to join you for quite some time, I so badly just wanted to be with you instead. It seemed like the better deal and on the really bad days, it still does. However, I am so incredibly grateful for the life that you gave me, how could I ever want to give that up? I live for you because I'm half of you. As long as I'm here, you'll always be here with me and I will never, ever let your memory die. I hope you know you're the first thought I have when I wake up, the last one before I go to sleep and every thought in between. I hope you know how much we all miss you and how we never stop talking about you. We keep your mannerisms alive and your jokes alive, we keep your voice alive (since we all nailed impressions of you over the years!). You're always, always with us. You said you just wanted to be with all of us and I promise you, you are. You always will be. You are the anchor of our family. You are the heart and soul of our family. You are in every single thing we do. One year later and death changes nothing. We love you more than words can say and we miss you endlessly, Dad.

This week has been tough. It's almost been a one year anniversary week as the last seven days up to losing my Dad were very traumatic. Losing somebody to cancer comes with more than just one day for death. Watching my Dad suffer so much is something I won't ever forget, and I guess it's an even more prominent thought during these days as I reflect on this time last year. 

I won't be writing monthly round-ups anymore, but I won't be stopping writing or talking about this either. Grief is massively brushed under the carpet and it's an isolating place to be because as a society, we let it be this way. We all go through it, yet it can be frightening to talk about. You get a hall pass for a few months and that's it, say no more. I don't know how to open the space for this conversation other than talking about it myself, so I will continue to do so as much as I can. Thank you if you'd read along with my posts over the past year and I hope I can be someone you can resonate with if you're going through the same. I'm always here to talk to absolutely anybody who wants to.

Eight Months On

I'm so grateful that this has been a very long month. As much as we all just want these rubbish covid times to pass, for me, I hate being further away from the last time I was with my Dad. Every single month has flown by and it's frightened me. October has been a month full of anticipation for the festivities ahead, (well, maybe not now!) and also a month full of sadness that I won't be sharing these moments with my Dad. A real 'joy and grief' co-existing month.

As the festive period begins I'm overwhelmed with the joy I feel for Christmas, the food, the lights, the decorations, the films, the music, I absolutely adore the music. I may have mentioned in my last post, maybe not, but straight away after losing Dad I said 'There's no way I can celebrate Christmas, no trees, no lights, no music, no NOTHING'. But over the last month or so I've fully changed my mind and I have gone full force into Christmas mode like NEVER before. I want it all, the lights, the music, the decorations, all of it. The reason is that it makes me feel SO close to Dad and my happiest memories, it makes me feel like I've gone back in time and that's the best gift I could give to myself. I see my Dad in the music, I see my Dad in the frosty winter air when the sky is blue and the sun is beaming. I see my Dad in the beautiful lights and the wacky decorations. I see my Dad in every childhood Christmas movie. I could never give up all of this because I'd be giving up my precious memories of him.

Everybody has their own ways of coping with grief and this is one I never expected for myself, but it's truly carrying me through one of the most painful times of the year. Yes, there are tears, my God there is tears whilst I'm singing, tears whilst I'm browsing the shops, but there is so much love and joy there too and I'm trying to choose the joy and hold it tight when I can, and cry when I need to.

Today, I sat in the same spot where I was when I found out my Dad had passed away and I looked down the corridor, imagining seeing him there like I usually would and said out loud 'Eight months, it's been eight months? Wow, that's too long to not have seen you'. I cried, my cat ran off and left me alone and I continued to plough through old photos of him. I guess there's nothing I can do about time passing by, but I will do everything to carry my Dad with me so he's never too far and time won't mean a thing.

I love you so much Dad, I sob every time I write these and secretly hope you're over my shoulder reading it with me and feeling it too. I miss you more and more and more and more and I'll never stop. ❤️️

Seven Months On..

Today is seven months since we lost my Dad and yesterday I wrote a whole post, emptying every thought and feeling as much as I possibly could. I felt vulnerable and it actually made me feel uncomfortable. I deleted everything I wrote because even though I fully stand behind being open with grief and find it therapeutic, it just felt too raw and messy to put out there this month.
I've written something a little shorter instead, (but actually more therapeutic for me).
This time last year Dad was recovering from sepsis. It was the first time he'd almost lost his life to the dangers of cancer and it really brought home the painful truth that he wouldn't be with us forever, and probably not for as long as I'd thought. His life became even more precious, the conversations I had with him made me feel like the luckiest daughter in the world. The warmth in his voice at the other end of the phone whilst I told him what I was buying in Morrisons, I only ever felt whole when I spoke to him. Of course, I really started to feel the deep sadness of anticipatory grief, but I only have fond memories of last autumn/winter. I can hear his voice in my head like he's still talking to me, his happy laugh, his silly voices, his Dad jokes, but not just any Dad jokes, my Dad's jokes. I'm trying hard to bring autumn alive in our home this year as it brings me the comforts of those memories. Doing things that remind me of Dad and memories with him brings me so much warmth inside, it's something that makes me realise that joy and grief can co-exist.

Six Weeks, Six Lessons - Grief & Loss

A beautiful quote from an amazing author I recently discovered, and something I feel so strongly about.

In the last week, I've begun to understand very clearly that the greatest loss of my life has triggered a strong desire for me to share every one of my experiences in regards to that lifelong grief journey. This is something I want to do now, and maybe something I will continue forever. Either way, I want to start by saying this desire to share is not my weakness. This is a strength I have found amongst the gut-wrenching pain of losing my Dad. The ability to share these thoughts and feelings is what guides me through them, so I hope whether you're here because you can relate, or you're here because it's a good read, I hope that you find something useful from it.

It's been six weeks since I lost my Dad to cancer. Six weeks of a whole host of emotions and six weeks of lessons. You see, grief is the greatest teacher I desperately feared lessons from. The 'grief club' is a club I didn't want a membership to, same with the 'lost a parent' club. Sometimes I look at myself and question why I think I'm qualified to talk about grief when I'm only six weeks deep and have a lifetime of twists and turns with it ahead of me. So with that, I'm not offering advice or suggestions, I just want to share some experiences and primarily lessons that I have learnt this far.

I really thought I knew it all. I've been working so hard on my mental health for the last year (prior to losing my Dad), and I really thought I had the answers that would help myself and everybody. The truth is, everybody grieves differently, even if it's for the same person. What works for me may not work for the next person, and the sad truth is, grieving is an emotion that simply cannot be fixed by eating well and working out. Sure, those are positive actions that will provide better foundations for your mind and body, but they're not the 'answer'. Lesson number one, there is no answer. I've said it before and will say it forever, grief is a journey and typically an endless one. 

Going back to what I just said, you can be grieving the same person but an entirely different loss. In the beginning, my mum, brother and I stood by the fact that we were all experiencing the same pain and the same loss. This was to bring a sense of comfort that we were not alone. The truth is, yes we're not alone, but no, we're not experiencing the same loss or pain, in many ways. I have lost my guidance, my light to turn to in the dark, my voice of reason, my daily caring and loving joy. My brother has lost his best friend, his coffee date, his navigator through life and his greatest teacher. My mum has lost her husband, everything she has ever known. I won't write anymore on that as it truly breaks my heart into a trillion pieces to imagine the magnitude of her loss. But that is something I have opened my eyes to recently. It is different, and the support needs to match that. I reflect on the conversations I have had with my mum in the last six weeks and I wish I had that understanding from the beginning so I could process it in my head accordingly. Lesson number two, grieving the same person does not mean the same grief.

Following on from that, everybody's loss is different. That goes for losing the same relationship eg. two different people losing a parent, or two different people losing two different relationships eg. one a parent and the other a different relationship. The latter is the most sensitive to compare. I just think it's a risky game to try to relate to someone's loss with an entirely different loss. In my opinion and experience, it doesn't always receive well. Not because I don't believe anyone could experience those same traumatic feelings, I just think sometimes we like to try very hard to relate, when it's okay not to. Lesson number three, grief is not up for comparison, but it's precious to share personal experiences.

Somehow these paragraphs are linking well one after the other, it wasn't my intention but I'll roll with it! Grieving and loss are taboo subjects, purely because they're highly emotional topics and it's a highly vulnerable state to be in. People often don't know what to say in fear of saying the wrong thing, so they'd rather say nothing at all. I've also noticed that people can actively avoid talking to you about what you're going through to avoid those uncomfortable moments for themselves. If you didn't already know, I could talk about my Dad and my experience until the end of time, and the fact that sometimes that's brushed past, it hurts and makes me feel alone. As of now, that's rarely happened to me and I've had the chance to express my feelings to people many times, but the occasions it did happen truly hurt and left me feeling like I had all of this love for my Dad, all of this pain and nowhere to express it. Understandably, some people don't like to talk about their loss, but usually, you will receive clear signs and even words from them that that's how they'd feel comfortable going forward. Lesson number four, be selfless and don't be afraid of one of the most human emotions there is.

If you do have the courage to ask somebody how they're doing or you want to find a way to help, that's a wonderful gift in itself and I can't tell you how appreciated it is, I am so touched with the support I've received, and I don't think I've had anyone believe that can fix things, but for anybody who can feel discouraged, please don't be discouraged by the fact that you simply cannot fix things. It's very kind and compassionate to want to make things right, and of course, the sentiment is appreciated, but you can't fix what's happened, no words will fix what's happened and it will never be fixed. Once you can accept that, you can find peace in giving the person who needs the support the best support you can. It's very important to understand how the person grieving needs to be supported, rather than how you feel that person needs to be supported. My current experience of this is very minimal as there isn't much people can do given that we're in lockdown, but for me, I know I need a healthy mixture of time to myself and time communicating with other people. Lesson number five, don't be discouraged about your ability to support somebody just because you can't take away their pain. 

I've found myself immersed in reading material on grief, loss, loss from cancer, loss of a parent and even loss of a husband, just so I can try to understand even a fraction of what my mum is going through so I can give her better support. I actually will make one suggestion that regardless of how new I am to this kind of grief will be helpful, if you're closely supporting somebody grieving, do some research on what they're going through as specifically as you can. I know I don't understand my mums exact pain from experience, but I want to be a better support and a better daughter, so reading things that can open my mind is slowly giving me a better understanding and more patience. Anyway, from reading endless material, I often got lost in peoples stories of hopelessness and became fearful for a bleak future but then also clung onto every other persons words who shone a light on the future and gave me hope. Neither of these are correct as the truth is, grief is your own personal journey. To an extent, and this is only what I believe right now, I'm aware things will develop and change but for now, I think your grief journey has a lot to do with what you make it. I'll hold that thought for now. Lesson number six, listen to other peoples accounts of grief, but remember, your journey is personal to you. 

Okay, on reflection, my six lessons are a little bit of advice too even though I said I wouldn't give any. The point is, it's been a tumultuous six weeks since we lost my wonderful Dad. For the love of God it's been all over the show. Weeks of numbness, weeks of pain and hopelessness, weeks of overwhelming sadness and all in all, six weeks of lessons I never wanted but got anyway. There is a future to be had, a future of uncertainty, but I believe as long as I can keep writing, my dads legacy continues with me. I hope this has been a helpful insight and I hope I'm opening up the topic of grief for discussion. 

Dealing with loss whilst in quarantine

I found it very therapeutic for a little while after writing and sharing my last post about losing my Dad. I also mentioned that I wanted to use this blog almost like a diary for me, not necessarily because I have something structured to say. 

It's mid-way through week two in quarantine or self-isolation and life has changed for everybody, not just me. I'm at a bit of a loss for what to do really because just under four weeks ago, my world fell apart. My life changed forever and the way to try to move forward with that was with the support of family and friends, being around the people I love and having them hold me up in a time where I desperately need it. Fast forward to now and everybody is dealing with their own personal struggles that have come as a consequence of coronavirus. It's a very lonely time. 

I went to visit my Dad today in the chapel of rest. Since he passed away I had decided against going to see him there, I just felt I didn't want to revisit those emotions again as the road ahead is difficult enough. Over the past four weeks, I've been dreaming about him every night and that he'd come back so I could have one last conversation with him. I thought again about visiting him there as I felt it could be a very important part of the grieving process and to have that chance to be with him one last time. Things have been so much harder for a while, his absence is becoming more and more prominent each day and has become so much more real since my last post. I'm actually feeling very depressed. I've suffered from depression greatly over the last ten years and it was actually my Dad that sought help for me all those years ago. It's been my Dad that I've turned to when I felt there was no light at the end of the tunnel. On my way to visit him today, I felt such emotion for the fact that this was the final time I'd be going to him in my helpless moments. I'm glad I got to be with him and share some final moments in his physical presence, however thanks to lockdown I couldn't be with my family afterwards or have much time to process it.

Lockdown is having such a strong effect on my mental health on top of losing my Dad. It's making the most difficult time of my life so much harder. I can't be with my family, I can't do the majority of things that would typically help me, or at least distract me. I honestly thought the numbness of grief would last for a couple of months or so but with the amount of time I'm spending by myself, I can't help but feel the pain and the longing. It kills me every day. I know how painful it is for those who have loved ones in end of life care/have passed away during this time. 

I'm re-reading this post many times whilst I'm writing it and I'm quite conscious of what people might say as it's very negative, but I want to express my emotions. (Honestly, I'm still holding back so much of what I truly want to say.. and have typed out about twenty times).

The bottom line is, I'm not okay. I might not cry when I talk to people, but I am absolutely less than okay. I am less than coping. I hope and pray that as a nation we pull together and do what is required of us (stay home) so we can get out of this mess sooner. I just want to be able to take care of myself and my family and try to process the loss of my Dad, the person we love more than anything on this Earth. 

I'm sure there will be better days just like there are bad days. I'm having a lot of consecutive bad days which is what brought me back here again, but I hope to share something more positive in the near future. I do have hope for better days, for example, tomorrow I have some rhinestones arriving and I'm going to bedazzle the hell out of all of my make-up brushes. Lord knows there's good in that. 

I hope everyone who is reading this during the coronavirus period is keeping well, safe, and finding things to keep yourself occupied. I would love to learn some new skills. Tomorrow, I bedazzle. Some people go to therapy, I turn to bedazzling. My Dad would not be surprised after me filling my room with glitter and sparkly things my whole childhood. 

I will post again, possibly when I have done something positive and can share some hope but at the end of the day, what's the good in 'it's okay to talk' or 'speak up' if I just sprinkle sunshine everywhere when I feel like a massive grey cloud. I have put a really happy photo below though as it very much makes me smile no matter what :)

Losing my Dad

I haven't posted on here in so long, I think almost two years? A lot has changed in that time, but I can save those details for future posts.

I actually opened up this empty page to talk. I want to talk about losing my Dad, who sadly passed away just over a week ago (5th March 2020). I don't want to spam my Instagram every day with deep and emotional posts and captions as I don't want to worry people, but I need an outlet to which I can vent, somewhere I can write my feelings down. Sure, I could write it in a diary, or write it here and never post it, but for the few people that may read this, it may resonate with them, maybe comfort them to feel like they're not alone or maybe they can help me? Either way, I'm happy for this post and future posts not to have a definitive goal or purpose, simply for me to vent my feelings at that moment.

So as I said, it's been just over a week since losing my Dad, my world. He passed away from cancer, (multiple myeloma). I felt excruciating pain, particularly in the week leading up to his passing. There's a lot to be said for 'anticipatory grief', and not enough said about it. In the month leading up to Dads passing, I was told not to be so sad as he was still here. For anyone who has lost someone to cancer, or to anyone losing somebody to cancer, you know the pain and the fear for the future. It's crippling. Seeing Dads perfect happy smiley face, his usual wonderful sense of humour and knowing that one day it would be taken away from me was so painful. I would have the happiest phone calls with him every evening, I just loved hearing his voice and what interesting things he had to say, I'd come off the phone feeling so happy but then I would break down in tears with the knowledge that this wasn't forever, and probably not for long either and I just wanted those phone calls to never end. I get the whole 'enjoy the time you've got' approach, but if you haven't experienced it you can't fathom the pain and process of losing someone to cancer, (or any terminal illness).  Don't get me wrong, I hugged my Dad that little bit tighter every time I saw him, I hung on to every word he said and I would always tell him I loved him, but feeling as though his life was on a ticking time bomb was heartbreaking every day. 

Anticipatory grief is beginning the grieving process of a loved one before they have passed away. I felt a lot of guilt and trauma over this because it felt like I was giving up on Dad by being broken about him not being here when he was still here. It's not something I wanted to talk about very much either because I didn't want to upset anybody else, plus I was ashamed of thinking in such a negative way. I opened up a lot more about it in Dads final days when we were given the sad news that we would only have a matter of days with him. The Macmillan palliative care team came around and chatted with me every single day whilst I cried and talked. I told them this pain was ripping me apart because a part of me was desperately holding on to the fact that Dad was still here and I begged God, the Earth, anyone that that was all I wanted, I just wanted Dad. The other part of me could see how much he was suffering, this is not what he wanted and it was crippling to see him in pain and my heart was trying to make peace and accept that he couldn't be with us in any other way and that he would have to leave us. From further researching this, I believe this well sums up anticipatory grief. It got so bad for me that there was no other option than for me to go to the GP for some medication, one to slow my heart down and a sedative to let my body rest. (I hadn't eaten, slept and barely drank anything for days). I felt immense guilt about everything I was feeling and I know I shouldn't have, but if you have felt this pain or feel this pain, you are not alone. People don't talk about it enough and it can be a very lonely place when you're experiencing it. I hope to continue this painful conversation, not because I can change the process, but so people don't feel alone.

Losing Dad wasn't a blur. I remember it all very clearly. I screamed. I couldn't walk. I held him. I asked him where has he gone. I kissed him and made promises. What is a blur, is time. The distance between now and the last time I saw Dad is becoming greater and greater and that is something I'm finding very difficult. I'm experiencing grief as textbook as you can expect to right now. I'm numb most of the time. Completely useless all of the time. It truly feels like a piece of me went with Dad as I feel a constant emptiness like something is missing. I want to add that losing somebody to cancer does not prepare you for their actual death by any means. There is no way to explain the shock and pain that hits once you receive that news. There are no more questions, no more possibilities, it's final and I physically felt my whole world crumble around me in that very moment. My heart was ripped out of my chest.

I guess this is where I am. Anyone will be reading this right now thinking I'm crazy and would tell me to give myself a rest or whatever. I talk about my feelings and I'm told it takes time, or be strong or many other stifling comments. I don't resent them because I know that it comes from a good place and often a place of 'I don't know what to say', but I wish people knew it's okay to talk about the things that hurt. It's okay to say 'I can't believe this happened, this hurts so much and I can't bear it' without needing resolution. I don't expect to be healed and I don't expect anyone to have the words to heal me, it's okay not to be able to. 

I have a long road ahead of me, in fact, that road is the rest of my life. I'm very much in a state of disbelief. I can't get my head around the fact that Dad isn't coming home. Every day I have painful reminders that he really did pass away and they come as a shock, they make me cry in pain and desperately long for him, long for his voice and his hugs. It still isn't real.

Writing all of this out has been the most therapeutic thing I've done in the last week or so. Just emptying my current thoughts with nobody to stop me, nobody to tell me to be strong and nobody to tell me it's too soon to expect to feel any different. Very freeing for a short period of time. 

I'd like to think I'll continue to write about my thoughts and feelings as they develop. I will never stop talking about Dad, that's for sure. He was the most amazing, kind, loving, intelligent man and I will spend the rest of my life trying to find his energy within myself. I loved him and will continue to love him with every beat of my heart forever.