Grief and its toll

I've always said writing helps. And it really does. But in the absolute depths of grief, writing has been, and still is, too hard. I could pour my heart out here. But I've never really done that in this space, not in the midst of the experiences, not as I am trying to roll with the feelings, and just get through each day. Yet my brain keeps trying to make sense of it. So today I've been trying to write things down - yes, actual handwriting! What a novelty. But at times, it just feels that that is what my brain needs. 

It's now been almost seven weeks. The passage of time feels unbearably cruel. Yet I feel as if he is still with me.  Because he is with me and he always will be; we have over 40 years of memories together. They will never go. And so it's not a case of having to reprogram my brain, which I talked about after the final diagnosis that I would never have children. I'd been so used to thinking "when I have children" that I needed a complete brain reset. And that was hard, every realisation a sharp shock. Especially when the prevailing attitude from everyone around me was always that I had to keep hope. "Think positive" - ugh! But this is different. I've had over a year knowing that he was going to die, though we didn't think it would be quite so soon. But that doesn't make it any easier.

I'd forgotten how exhausting grief can be. I'd forgotten too how exhausting it is trying to "stay strong." Just as any of us who have been to child-centred activities would get home feeling depleted, anything I do now that is a reminder of D (which is pretty much everything) takes a toll. Staying strong - ie not weeping and wailing - with friends (even when the tears do come) or with tradesmen or lawyers or at the damn supermarket takes a toll. Even writing through the grief takes a toll. Which is why I'll stop here today. Thanks for reading. And if you are suffering loss in any way, recognise that it takes a toll, and be kind to yourself.