My beloved husband, Kent, died in January 2012, 3 years after diagnosis of a brain tumour. Our son was 2 1/2 and our daughter 3 months old. He and I were far too young. I am now hurtling through the black space of life without him.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

In Print

It's been 99 days since Kent died and I was sent hurtling through the black space of life without him. I hold a deep, dark and dreadful grief that lives on while I change a baby's nappies, negotiate with a toddler, go the supermarket, arrange meals and hold ordinary conversations. They say that grief is a process, and it is clear that I am in the midst of that. They say that is gets easier, and I believe them. The expectation is that my full scale grieving will come to an end and settle in to something more manageable. But living without Kent will never come to an end, and that hurts way more than this grief process.

They also say that grief is like a thumb print. Unique to you. It seems to me there are many similarities amongst grievers, but also many differences. For me, writing about my experiences is helpful, necessary. If I can get in to words the thoughts, feelings and images that I carry, it helps me to pin them down. To be able to capture them accurately, beautifully and satisfyingly is the holy grail of writing. I don't know if I will, but that's why I'm here. To put my grief in to print.

There are many other things I could write about, and I sometimes do. What I miss about Kent, the thousands of memories of life together, my rants to a God who let this happen, the pain (for me) of Kent's last month, the challenges of parenting without him. I intend this blog to be a place to write about what I am learning about grief, though some of these others might slip in. There may come a time when I have written all I can on this, and it might morph in to something else or it might end. Initially I will write up some things that some of you will already have seen on facebook, and thoughts that I have had in my journal for a while.

It would be nice if you would like to join me on the journey. Actually, many of you already are. But have a read and learn a little about what I'm learning. Don't tell me too often how well I'm doing, because chances are I'm not. Just let me know you're with me.