a universal hug

I know grief is all consuming.

People I speak to about this grief, who have experienced it too, tell me, it does get better with time.

The edges soften and your heart opens back up to the world again and the memories feel warmer when they come and the hardest parts fade a little, lose their detail a little, feel a little more manageable.

And I believe them.

But I have so much to say about this time, when that hasn’t quite happened yet.

When the edges are pointy and my heart feels closed and relentlessly guarded to the world, and the memories hit in waves and the hardest parts still visit and are full of detail and it’s not quite all that manageable at all.

When they tell me she is everywhere, always with me. And I so want to agree, and deeply I know she is, but can’t quite accept it yet because she isn’t here and she’s my mum.

I didn’t know where to begin writing this, what details I wanted to hold for myself, which ones I wanted to share.

Until I was speaking to a friend, in the midst of a pointy edges day, and he reminded me, ever so gently, that everything I was feeling was universal.

He validated my tears, my deep hurt, but reminded me I am one part of a whole lot of people who feel pointy edged some days, too. The people that don’t have their mums, or maybe dads, or maybe sisters or brothers, the someone they love the most - anymore.

It wasn’t just me in this place, this feeling of isolation. 

Weighed down by what life would have been like if she was given the chance to read my writing, or find success in my career, or watch me walk down the aisle. What life would have been like if I got to have her stand by my side in the delivery room when I welcome my babies into the world. What life would have been like if I could watch her love my babies when they come into the world.

What life would have been like if we had the chance to watch her face wrinkle a little more, the chance to watch her cook a little more, garden a little more, paint a little more.

What life would be like if we could go home again, just one last time, and walk in the door to our mum.

Despite the painful reality of all of that, one I will undoubtly process for the rest of my life, the comment opened my eyes to all of these big grief things that feel isolating and personal and heavy, and wrapped me in a blanket of you’re not isolated, and you’re not alone and you’re not crazy or weak or lost for feeling them.

You’re just grieving.

It opened my eyes to all of these big grief things in a big new way.

It returned me to a place where I could consider the ways in which grief has reconnected me to my life.

In the polarising way it ‘alived’ me. Made me human and older and imperfect and layered.

The ways in which it has inspired big change, risk taking, honesty, sitting for a little longer with the people that make my life feel full, and saying no to the people that do not make my life feel full.

The ways in which I am beginning to love the me after grief woman I am, for the way she is able to connect with others, for the ways she can connect with herself.

For the clunky, emotional, considered, resilient, deep love she is rebuilding herself with.

For the deep love the people I love most have helped me rebuild myself with.

For the, I made it through the most difficult experience of my life, and the resilience that was required to survive it guarantees I will face the rest of my life with a new understand of ‘hard’.

For the new ways she loves, and the new ways she feels.

It returned me to acknowledging the privilege that it is to really live.

The privilege I have, to wake up and decide to create a life in honour of my mum.

In honour of the life she may have lived differently if she knew there wasn’t more time.

The comment forced me to see the GOOD in the GRIEF.

My hope for this newsletter is to create a quiet place for you to visit, to feel the universal hug of someone who understands the complex and layered nature of this journey.

A universal hug from someone who just gets that none of it makes any sense, ever.

Someone who is learning to articulate what it feels like to grieve before you’re ready, who validates the things that never make sense ever, but always finds the silver lining of a life at the end of each day.

So I will open my heart back up, and I will let my edges be a little less pointy, and I will let the memories feel warmer, for the ones like me who just want to feel a little less isolated and a little less alone and a little less crazy.

May you find the GOOD in the GRIEF.

Always,
Chloe

MY MUMS writing that inspired this ARTICLE:

“Never allow your past experiences to create a future filled with fear, anxiety or negativity. Take your experiences as lessons to learn from, to help shape a future that you will thrive in”

-Kim Anne

MY journal entry that inspired this ARTICLE:

I will just start

And I will just write

And I will just do it

And I will feel it all

And it will hurt while I do it

And I will be too hard on myself

And I will analyse it meticulously

Because it will be honest

But I will just start

And it will be done

For her

And for the her in me

-March 2024