The first months of my bereavement were a living nightmare. The world was in monochrome, muffled, fogged. Outside, everything continued as normal but inside my house, inside my head, time stopped in the early hours of that Saturday morning. So much needed to be done but so little mattered. Gradually the fog and numbness cleared, leaving an icy-cold, clear blue spike of pain, and tiredness so profound my bones ached. The intense overwhelmingness of the grief started to pull back, but could crash in like the waves at the beach that take your legs out from under you. Milestone dates passed, the run up to them bitter and hard but the days themselves often a sad and quiet relief. Three years ago; seems like yesterday and a decade. I have not moved on but I have moved forward. New studies, new partner, potentially a new career. Not a life I chose or planned but a life I'm moving towards living to the full.
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Writing short fiction, monologues and plays