I realise as I’m writing this that I TOTALLY broke my promise not to write any more posts about my grief. I actually make no apologies for it. Of all of the things I could have done over the last two years, writing has been an outlet that has helped me immensely and so I will continue to write until…..

As strange as it may sound, this anniversary is proving to be harder than the first. I think it is because I knew all the firsts were going to be hard but expected that the seconds would be somehow easier. That my fragile broken heart would have had an extra twelve months to toughen up. The truth is that I am no closer to navigating a way out of this than I was twelve months ago and I feel the disappointment about that acutely. All of the memories of that day and the pain of the last two years still makes me catch my breath like a physical blow to my stomach. Thomas Attig says “The heart of grief, it’s most difficult challenge, is not “letting go” of those who have died but instead making the transition from loving in presence to loving in separation.” I don’t know how successful I have been in conquering that challenge but almost two years on here is what I know.

There are so many strange ironies in this process. For example, the unbroken peaceful sleep I crave so much, that escapes me most nights is the one place I can go to now, to talk to Chris, to pretend that this place without him is not real. It’s the place where I can still rest my head on his shoulder and hold his hand as we walk along. It’s a place where the seemingly humdrum activities of daily living are welcomed like a drug addict after their next fix. In an irony on top of irony situation, as much as I want to go to that place every night, the pain I feel when I wake up and reality hits me like a tonne of bricks almost makes it not worth it. Almost……

Another irony is our new home.  It took a solid month for me to get out of the habit of heading to Dunlop after turning out of Georgie’s school in the afternoon. If I had a dollar for every time Georgia would ask me where I was going we would almost have enough money for that tropical holiday we have been talking about. There are lots to like about our new place. It’s so much more central to everything, closer to work, closer to Georgie’s school and Youth Group. We have both been getting fit by climbing up and down the 48 steps from the carpark to our front door. We have a great cafe just down the street, ideal for brunches on a lazy Saturday morning. It’s within walking distance to Raiders HQ  during football season and I am optimistic that I might even run into some of the players at some point.

Here’s the thing though. Our place in Dunlop had become too big in more ways than one.  The mortgage was more than I could handle on my own and we didn’t really need a big four-bedroom house with a big backyard to keep under control. Selling and downsizing made perfect sense. The irony is that Chris would have hated our new abode. He loved our big backyard and the space to entertain. Believe it or not, he also enjoyed mowing the lawn and having enough room for a chook shed. I know it’s crazy but I feel guilty for being in a place that I know he wouldn’t have liked. Of course, but for the fact that he isn’t here anymore, we wouldn’t have had to move.

Two years on and there is so much that has changed and yet some things have not changed at all.  We live in a new house, I am a single mum now, I am a “me” and not a “we” anymore, decisions concerning all things financial and otherwise are mine alone, the comfortable life we once lived is now a watching every red cent life. It is what it is and life never promised to be fair. I know that there are people out there who are way worse off than me, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful because I have lots to be thankful for. The reason I struggle with all these changes is that they were thrust upon me with no warning and without permission. They tipped my world upside down and nothing will ever be the same again. These changes have reshaped me, permanently altered the way I do and see life.

What hasn’t changed? I still miss Chris as much as I ever did, if not more. It still angers me that our daughter will grow up without her father, that Father’s Day will come and go every year and she will have no one to celebrate with. Memories are no less painful now than they were a year ago, despite people telling me things would get better with time. I am no less lonely now and I have no fewer regrets about the things I should have done or said and didn’t because I didn’t know that that morning would be the last time I would see him. I am no less sad about the plans that we had that will never be realised now. I am still amazed at the wonderful support of my family and close friends and unbelievably betrayed by the words and actions of others. I am no less sensitive to people saying things like “you should be over it by now” or “you’re young, you’ll meet someone new” or “people have been through worse” or “it was his time”.

I read a great article a while ago which said “All the things you’ve heard about getting over grief, going back to normal, and moving on – they are misrepresentations of what it means to love someone who has died. I’m sorry, I know us human-people appreciate things like closure and resolution, but this isn’t how grief goes.” Sigmund Freud said in a letter to his friend “Although we know that after such a loss the acute state of mourning will subside, we also know we shall remain inconsolable and will never find a substitute. No matter what may fill the gap, even if it be filled completely, it nevertheless remains something else. And actually, that is how it should be. It is the only way of perpetuating that love which we do not want to relinquish”. I have come to the conclusion that the emotions of grief are what they are. They aren’t bad or good, they just are and it will be what it will be. The only thing I know for certain is that I am certain of nothing save this – that I will always love Chris and will always miss him.

Always and forever…..