It’s odd looking back on my post last Christmas, because I sound very content, or at least, I thought I was content then. It was really just a way of pulling the wool over my own eyes and preventing myself from feeling the horrible pain of grief.
Hm. Now it’s bottled up and keeps bursting out in wails and uncontrollable sobs. I’ve started to hide away from people because I’m convinced, a year later, that they might think my ‘time for grieving’ had passed, but if anything, it’s only just starting. Maybe it’s me who thinks I shouldn’t ‘still’ be grieving, thinking about it.
I’ve developed a kind of fear of crying in public or around my friends, which I didn’t have last December. In fact, that first six months after dad passed away was so content – and yes, happy – because I hadn’t really realised he’d gone. I was full-on refusing to admit it to myself because it was too big a realisation. I was pretty much being an ostrich about it.
And so it was that I spent yesterday up at my dad’s tree, trying desperately not to wail with the pain of the loss. I wish I could just let it out and not care who hears! Dad did say it would be ‘one if the hardest things’ I’d have to go through, and to ‘let it out’. He was so right. It is, and I should, but it’s so hard in practice.