goggles in the rain…

Heya Bab,

Yesterday it was 5 months since you died. 5 months ago I woke up from another uneasy sleep, went to check on you, was relieved to find you were alive and then realised that a crucial part of you had gone.

5 months is nothing neat, nothing hallmark has a card for. 5 months is no easy fraction of a year, no symmetry or part anniversary, no real reason for momentous. But it seems grief puts milestones in unexpected places.

Yesterday I was fine. I didn’t leave myself one moment to think. I filled my day so that there was no space for absences.

Today everything is blurred, out of focus and there seems to be drip-drops trailing my feet, wetting up everything I do. It is as if I’m wearing goggles out in the rain.

I can’t stop crying and I have a plane to catch, a place to go and work to be done.

At times the fury of grief has been so far off I think I must have exaggerated, dramatised, or plain made it up. But today it is right back in full bloody-bloom and I feel like something inside me is ripping, tearing, twisting. Grief is eating me.

Today, I don’t want to be brave or strong or positive. I want to rock myself into a ball and howl until the pain passes me over. I want someone to hug and a softer set of tissues.

I miss you.

I miss the jingle of your keys, your hello whistle, the smell of your aftershave, the way you walked in.

I miss your hugs, hands, words, heart. I miss the way you looked into the centre of things.

I miss you calling me shit legs and laughing at my taste for ‘cricket elbow’ tea.

I miss the futures I thought we would have, your spot in the lives I might still live. I miss the times when I was stupid enough to take time for granted, when I assumed forever would come.

I miss you because I knew that nothing could ever stop you from loving me, that there was nothing I could do, no screw up that could foul up that certainty. There are not many loves like that.

I miss you saying totally inappropriate things to strangers, flirting with cashiers, talking ga ga to babies. I miss the utter devotion with which you loved that damn dog.

I miss you.

I miss you because there can never be another my-you.

This entry was posted in feelings, grief, missing dad and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to goggles in the rain…

  1. Hope says:

    This is so beautifully written . You are so right grief does put milestones in unexpected places. I keep wondering if the measurement of loss is like a baby. We go by months for the first year or two and then begin to measure in years . It seems each month I am accutely aware of my Mother’s passing. At some point that must lesson. Hugs to you. Hang in there

  2. I wish I could just wrap you in a blanket, give you coco and a box of tissues. Then let you just tell me all the stories you want to share. My dear friend thank you for sharing this. Remember he is always with you. Massive hugs.

  3. Talk to me...I'm your Mother says:

    Grief has a will of it’s own. It comes unbidden at the most unexpected times and in inconvenient places. And anniversary dates, no matter how innocuous, are days to mark our grief. Blessings on you.

  4. Thanks for the comments and the TLC long distance. It has been a long long day. I feel frazzled and frayed around the edges but I have my mosquito net half strung so I can crawl in, wriggle into sleep and forget the world for a few hours. Hopefully the world will feel a little easier in the morning.

  5. Thanks for that chat earlier, and now I have finally read this post… and the reality of my own 5 months tomorrow is hitting hard. Thanks again for the beautiful writing, and for always being there x

  6. Felipe Neumann says:

    “At times the fury of grief has been so far off I think I must have exaggerated, dramatised, or plain made it up. But today it is right back in full bloody-bloom and I feel like something inside me is ripping, tearing, twisting. Grief is eating me.” …familiar thoughts.

    Correct me if I’m wrong but sometimes it feels like we need time marks in order to get over pain and grief, doesn’t it? Like, we allow ourselves to grieve when we still think it is okay to do so and we hold ourselves back like there’s no tomorrow when we realize we’ve been grieving for too long. Maybe that’s the same with death anniversaries… in theory it is just another day without that person, but we don’t feel like it is acceptable to be okay during those 24 hours…

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