Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


A(nother) word about grief

Grief never ends. I first really properly understood that after my Mum died suddenly, when I was 32. With three small humans and one big one depending on me.

I like the simplicity of this Instagram post.

Of course, grief is far from simple.

Mine has been bottomless since Leanne, and multiplied since Trinket. I just didn’t have a clue how grief stricken I would be. Forever.

Seeing L start the grieving process for her marriage is hard. Because she doesn’t even like, let alone love her husband. But her grief is still intense.

She’s grieving the dream.

I grieve that, my babies’ births, the wonderful history we shared, PLUS the man I love. He never protected me from harm, like I would him, he was the perpetrator of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. When you love with every part of yourself.

He’s gone. Maybe never even existed. That is some next level grief.

It’s not neat, tidy, understandable, like a death. No one asks me about it, like they do my friend, J, whose son was tragically taken earlier this year. That is acceptable grief.

But it’s still incredibly painful, possibly more so because it has to be hidden. You’re not supposed/allowed to grieve a cheating partner. That goes against the rules.

Sharing Nora McInerney’s fabulous TedTalk again. We don’t ‘move on’ FROM grief, we move forward, WITH it.

To top it all off, the barman has gone very quiet. Had a poo day yesterday and must have gone to ground. It’s disconcerting. I get huge doubts about his feelings. He’s Just Not That Into You, Paula.

But I leave him alone. I sent a message early this morning, no reply. He obviously is licking his wounds.

I’m so bloody damaged and vulnerable since all this heartbreak. Can’t read anyone anymore. I used to be so intuitive.