Post-funeral blues

Grandma died.

Her spirit drifted from her body in the darkness of night as she lay in sleep, breathing in then out, in then gone.

Her body lay cold and spiritless in the morning. She walks this earth no more.

All this is as it should be.

Her passing was as inevitable as night following day.

We gathered to remember and Grandma’s life was affirmed, her life had mattered to her family.

Family clustered to feel communal pain and loss and sorrow and we hugged each other and cried and parted.

And life goes on.

For us.

In our separate places, with our separate feelings and sorrow lingers.

And where my loving energy carried me through her death and the touch of her cold body and the fact of it all and supporting my mum who is suffering and my children who are barely able to understand and my extended family who are bereft, my energy has since stuttered and drained from me.

I am so tired.

Where I saw positivity and affirmation, I now see nothing.

I’ve missed something in the grieving process.

Guilt and regret dog me. Did I see her enough in her later years? Did I love her enough?

My heart is heavy and I look around me at those I love and I feel helpless. How is my love enough?

And then something fierce in me rises and shouts:

I am here, I am still here. I am living and breathing and loving and this is my life and though it – and I – am not perfect, I’m doing my best.

And love feels good and fills up what was hollow.

And if love lives on, it is memory and beauty and joy and it must be cherished.

Fare well, spirit of Grandma, wherever you may be.

I will hold my love for you in my heart and remember you always.


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