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3 months on

It’s been 3 months since my Mum passed away. A fact I only realised when my Sister text me on the morning of the 3 month (anniversary? Weird) date.

Three months is a bloody long time yet it still only feels like I last spoke to my Mum yesterday. I’ve probably blocked out the last few months – especially the funeral arranging and family seeing.

In fact, I’ve probably blocked out a lot. Grief is a funny thing. Movies and TV portray the screaming and falling to the floor. The constant crying and the inability to live life. Maybe some people do react in that way.

What is not portrayed is the utter normality of life after someone passes away. I went straight back to work but after a few cards from the kids and sympathetic hugs from the parents I realised I still needed a bit of time. I still dated, even went on one the day before the funeral. It helped distract me.

What’s grief like for me, 3 months on? It’s a strange one. To be honest, I just don’t think about it. Life has gone on. Except the time I was dancing in my kitchen to Pony by Ginuwine and the next track was Mariah Carey, ‘We Belong Together’ and I found myself crying my eyes out at the line, ‘Who else am I gon’ lean on when times get rough, who’s gon talk to me on the phone til the sun comes up?’ (Typing it brings tears, WTAF?) but then I realised the song was written about a lover and I felt a bit wrong so took my cry fest to the shower and got it out of my system.

The time I allow myself to think about it, to miss her, to ‘grieve’ is when we visit the tree where her ashes are scattered. My sister and I try and go once a week or every other. When I’m there, I go into my head and let myself realise that I’ll never see her again, I’ll never be able to talk to her about boys and hear her ever scathing responses (He does WHAT for a living? oh no, get rid.) I’ll never get another phone call from her nagging me that a credit card bill has turned up at their house or asking me if I’d like to go to bingo with her. I think about it. I cry and then I’m done. Until the next time.

My attitude to life has changed in these last few months. Never more have I understood that life is for living. I get angry when people waste my time and I suffer fools even less easily because – what’s the point? Life is literally too short. My Mum was a huge advocate of doing anything you want and living life to its fullest so that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve been doing things that make me happy and I don’t dwell on things that make me unhappy. In fact, it’s been quite hard to upset me these past few months because nothing hurts like losing someone you love. Except maybe when my fave pair of black ankle boots lost their heel. That shit stung.

I don’t know what grief will be like in another 3 months, or a year. All I know is, I’m doing alright.

 

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