When I started writing Slinky, I wanted to try and be as honest as possible. I wanted to write about the fun things that happen in my life, the stuff I get up, the funny things that happen, my culinary disasters and the general day to day goings on. Ultimately, I want to make people laugh, hopefully brighten their day or maybe just someone they can relate to. This month though, I've felt like I've been walking on Lego.
The reason for that is that feelings of grief hit me like I'd gone ten rounds with Tyson Fury. Grief and death still feel like a couple of topics that are a bit taboo, as if people feel like they can "catch" death or they're tempting fate by talking about it.
I probably talk about death and grief more than your average person. I work as a celebrant and the majority of my work is as a funeral celebrant. A lot of my friends think it must be a depressing job, but it isn't. It is genuinely one of the most fulfilling and uplifting things I have ever done, it's about helping people to navigate a really difficult time in their lives and celebrate their loved ones.
I've suffered my fair share of loss over the last 17 years, having lost my Gran and two best friends within 12 months of each other and then in 2010 my Mum died suddenly and then in 2017 my Dad died from cancer.
This is what I have learnt. Grief is an absolute bitch and it's something that never really leaves you, time isn't a healer, time masks the feelings, but they're always there, deep in your tummy, in your heart.
In 2010, my mum passed away, her death was very sudden, 7 years later my dad was diagnosed with cancer and 3 and half months after the diagnosis he had passed away.
This is what I have learnt. Grief is an absolute bitch and it's something that never really leaves you, time isn't a healer, time masks the feelings, but they're always there, deep in your tummy, in your heart.
Over the years, I've come to realise that sometimes on the significant anniversaries (birthdays, Christmas, anniversary of their death, Mother's Day, Father's Day) I am OK, I can take it in my stride and do something that honours my mum and dad.
Other times the grief hits me like a ton of bricks. This year, the anniversary of my dad's death hit me big time. Not just on the day, but for the whole of April.
April has felt really shitty. I've felt lonely, like everything has been going wrong and just really tired of my parents being dead. I even started wishing they'd done a "canoe man", so that they could walk back in, say they were sorry for upsetting me and we could just go back to "normal". I made a pact with myself if that happened, I'd forgive them immediately, but tell them that they weren't allowed to be mad that I now had 7 dogs and 3 cats.
This is the best way I can think to describe how grief feels.
Imagine getting out of bed one day and your carpet has been replaced by a floor of lego, you have no choice but to walk on it, the tiny bobbly pieces sticking in your feet. People are watching, but no one will help by clearing the lego out of your way. Eventually you reach a stream. The water is a pale blue, it's cool and soothing and you can paddle in it and for a while you feel calm.
Then one day as you're paddling in the stream from nowhere, the beautiful water turns into a carpet of plugs and you have to walk on the pointy bits, you try and navigate your way through, but there just seems to be giant pointy plugs everywhere you go. Then the plugs turn into beautiful soft sand.
And that basically continues..... more lego, more streams, more plugs, more sand.
My sister Lucy and I started to realise that we were both really suffering this year, so we sat down and talked about what we could do. We had a little cry, a bit of a moan, and then decided on dad's anniversary we would go to Whitby for the day.
Whitby has been a happy place for us over the years, dad loved coming with us and seeing the dogs play on the beach.
We knew we could only go up for the day because of work, so on the Tuesday, we got up early, headed up the A1 and went straight to Sandsend, where we walked on the beach and then warmed up in a local cafe.
Then because you're legally obliged to have fish and chips whilst you're in Whitby, we went to one of our favourite restaurants, Trenchers for lunch.
We then headed home, as that evening was Book Club and we didn't want to miss it.
At the end of the day as we sat toasting dad with a glass of Malbec, we both felt like we'd turned some negative feelings into positive ones. We also realised that we needed an April and August (the month mum died) plan so that we were just a bit kinder to ourselves during those times and maybe prepare for the fact that we might find those months a bit harder than others.
I saw a quote today from Elisabeth Kubler-Ross who said that "grief is a lifelong journey. We don't get over a loss, we grow around it."And she's right and it's OK if that journey involves a walk on the beach and fish and chips.
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