I’m 37-years-old now and I can see that was as impossible as raising my mum from the ground (or, more accurately, gathering up her ashes and gluing her whole again.) Would I go back and tell the younger version of myself to stop seeking a happiness she was never going to achieve? No. Because I was seeking happiness. I’d only want to tell her to surrender herself to grief. To stop trying to will the grieving process to be ‘over.’ I wanted to go back to ‘normal’ and I hated myself for not achieving that. But the girl above was gone. My grief will never be over.
Losing a Parent in Your 20s, What I Wish I’d Known.
From diagnosis to death, my dad’s journey was a callously swift nine months. A strange lump in his thigh turned out to be osteosarcoma, which then...
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