Moody skies. In the distance a Buzzard is being chased off by two Crows. That sort of distance shot is way beyond my old mobile.

I keep saying it but grief is really pesky. It likes to sneak up on you. Even after more than two years it still does. Of all the sneak attacks one always hits the hardest. It’s when you momentarily forget what has happened. You only need to forget for a few moments and then wham – grief slaps you in the face.

The same thing has happened time and time again to me. I’m driving towards our house. I look up and see no car sitting on the drive. I immediately think that I’ve beaten my partner home today. That means I can ….. Then it hits you. She’s gone. It’s the most soul destroying feeling. Absolute desolation. The shock literally takes your breath away. You then have to enter a house which is so full of memories. It really does take quite a while to get yourself back on an even keel.

It happened again today. No car on the drive. Beaten her home. I can get the housework done before she’s back. Maybe even get a mushroom stroganoff on the go. Her favourite. Then it hit me. Bugger… Even with a mad dog the house seemed really cold and colourless. So empty. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But it is. Got to make the best of things. Just have to accept that grief is the new reality. But I can keep going. I try to see grief as sitting by the seashore. Sometimes the tide comes in. Often the waves are tiny and you hardly notice them. But every so often the tide comes in with force and the waves crash over you. It’s a full on storm. But I tell myself to breath and eventually the tide has to retreat. It really has to. And I do realise that I am so fortunate. I have a purpose to drive me on. Give our son the best childhood possible.

But still I could try and hire those two birds in the photograph. Maybe they can keep watch for grief and then chase it off when it comes hunting. That really would be something to crow about.

77 thoughts on “Moody”

  1. Your home now may only seem to be colorless and cold.

    It is not.

    It is filled with the strong colors of valor of a Dad giving all of his broken heart to give his little chap a home.

    It is filled with rainbow hues of a man writing each day and sharing it. Making us laugh, bringing a tear to our own eyes, helping us go out and live the day better.

    Overcast the skies may be, but your home is filled with the sunshine that streams in only when we do what we must, broken heart or not, to make the world a better place.

    There’s a lot of color, Gary. You can’t see it yet.

    But you will some day.

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  2. I feel that way about my parents Gary. I miss them. The other day I woke up remembering the way Dad would tuck me in at night……… so tight I couldn’t move, but I felt loved and safe. Mum is with me every day staring back at me from the mirror. I think of her a lot, and wish things had been different for so many reasons. Grief is a bitch, your comparison to the tide is excellent.

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  12. She’s so proud of how you’ve handled it all, your strength is admirable. Keep going, soon you’ll all be together, until that day comes, try enjoying today with your son, he’s still here. Sending you lots of hugs and prayers for continued strength dearest friend. 🙏🏽

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  15. OW! That’s painful.

    If it’s painful for me what could possibly be the word for how you feel about it??? 😦

    I truly have no idea. My only form of comparison that might come anywhere near it is a divorce and my dad’s death from brain cancer. I can’t see either as a worthy comparison, not by a long shot.

    One thing i am sure of though, is that you are strong enough to get past this, or this level of unwanted and unexpected hurt at least. And with your help, so will your son. Of course neither of you has to try to do it only on your own, in fact i recommend you don’t.

    Find some people who may have already done what you need to, or find some people who teach what you need to know – there is no shame in asking for help, ever!

    Hope you’ve been able to hop on your bike, or at least walk the path for some time today (yesterday?), maybe even make it to Dover? (where i believe they have blue skies at least once a week! – in Summer anyway.) 😉

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  19. Wow, you say it so well and no wonder so many people read and like your posts. You are a voice in the dark for so many and maybe particularly for widows who can’t voice their emotions. I know this is insignificant in comparison but I get moments of loss where I recall and miss my gran who past away 23 years ago, I like to view and savour those emotions as being the moments we are closest to one another. Thinking of you.

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  21. This is such a powerful description – anyone who’s experienced loss connects with it.
    Two close family members have lost partners, one by divorce & the other by death. There’s a time after when their worlds kept shifting underfoot. Hold tight…it won’t always be such a wave that knocks you off your feet. 💛

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  24. One moment at a time, one day at a time, one week at a time… Grief is a process. Unfortunately, you can’t flip a switch and make it all better.

    I remember reading, somewhere, of someone building a memory book. They had lost a beloved parent and gathered up everything they had and made this huge scrapbook of memories…cards, notes, bits of cloth, pictures, thoughts, sayings, nicknacks… I think that was back in the day when scrapbooking was big (before technology spilled all over us). It was stated that they wanted their parent to be attracted to the book because they felt their essence was captured there. Whenever they missed their parent, they went to the book to “visit”.

    *Hugs*

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