Someone was sitting on your bench yesterday afternoon. They looked so sad as I walked over the bridge. I had a strong sense the bench, the loss, triggered something of their own experience. She was blonde and her feet were up on the bench. He was tanned and he held her close. I was glad these strangers had each other. I resisted the urge to stop and tell them. That bench is there for my daughter. Mine.
I was terribly sad yesterday. During moments of the fun of our village carnival I lost my usual ability to bathe in the smiling painted faces and the adults in costume and the clowns. Even the blue skies and heat of the sun couldn’t lift me out of a deep sheer all encompassing sadness. How many times can I write about missing you? A lot it seems.
I woke up several times last night and I thought I had something weighing on me. I got up to look if there were blankets and cushions weighing me down as my legs felt so heavy. There wasn’t anything. I just felt heavy. Weighed down.
Grief. It can’t always be how we get through. Sometimes it’s just purely horrifically awful.
Today I’ve started by reading lots of positive articles. I’ve done some affirmations and I’ve meditated. It’s only 9.30! I’m off for a walk with the dogs and throughout this day and the next and the next I’ll keep finding something to help get through the next minute, hour, day. Some days are just tougher than others.
Miss you my baby girl.