This Time Of Year

This time of year is hard.

It is a time of year that we are always ill.

And it is a time of year that Mr L and I feel our worse.

This month leading up to Rhianna’s birthday is a struggle.

We know it is coming.

We know we are going to feel bad.

But you can never prepare for it.

You never 100% know how you are going to be affected.

How you will really feel until it is there on top of you.

I am never great at this time of year.

I am shattered from being ok.

And it is madness.

After everything I post about and share and say about that it’s ok not to be ok, it’s ok to grieve for as long as you need to grieve. I spend the majority of this month pretending to be ok.

Because I know that society finds it strange.

That seven years later we are still not ok.

So we put on a brave face.

We dive into work.

We smile.

We laugh.

We carry on.

While dying a little inside.

And taking all of our energy to pretend we are fine.

Why do we do it?

Every single year.

I suppose we could be classed as the biggest hypocrites out there.

No you shouldn’t not grieve, no you shouldn’t let society dictate how you feel.

Yes we are fine. Smiley happy faces, while crying inside, missing our girl and not sure where to go from here.

Every single year it’s the same.

And every single year it’s different.

This year Mr is struggling.

He is usually the stronger of us.

This year he is finding it really hard.

And that has thrown me a bit.

I am used to him being the stronger one when I fall apart.

And this year it is different.

But with grief you can’t even say this will be like it until her birthday, he may be fine tomorrow or the next day, or he may not be fine until well after her birthday.

Who knows.

No one and that is the hardest thing.

The unexpectedness of grief.

The unexplained feelings.

The not knowing.

And it is a not knowing.

You can wake up absolutely fine, and see something or read something or remember something and be completely flawed.

You can wake up beside yourselves with sadness, and loss and after a cuppa feel fine.

You can never predict you.

You can never plan it.

You can barely live it.

But you do every single day.

Every single moment.

Whether they are good or bad.

And you put on your face, and you shouldn’t but you do.

And you get on with your day.

One thing I hear all the time is how grief is isolating, and it so is.

You feel it’s burden, you see the people’s faces, here they go again….

You see their discomfort.

And you close the door.

The smile appears and you hide your pain, and tears.

And you isolate it.

And it isn’t healthy.

It isn’t right.

It isn’t fair.

But we still do it even though we know all that.

And I wish we could change it.

I wish we could stop it.

I wish we could wear our grief as it is in that moment and not get judged for it.