Sophie

Earlier this year I lost my lovely dad and 18 months ago I lost my amazing mum. I have never felt so alone in the world.

My dad was my rock and my mum was my heart. Without a family of my own I have no one before me and no one after me. I have no one to make proud, no one who loves me like they did. And I won't ever experience loving anyone like they loved me.

But even when I got back from the hospital, where I spent 5 days watching my dad die, a man I failed to make a granddad, there was still laundry to do, meals to prepare, a need to put a mask on and get to work. It felt relentless, stuck on a conveyor belt of doing. It also felt safe, a way to avoid feeling.

And although my conveyor belt has sped up and got more crowded, jumping off it, and screaming, and retreating from my life isn't an option. I don't think I'd survive that. I've had to actively choose to stay on it.

People turn away from me being bumped and buffeted by life, it’s easier for them to ignore my pain. Grief is individual and I am utterly alone on this journey. I am living in what CS Lewis called ‘misery’s shadow’: I suffer because I not only live each day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.

But if I'm going to be here, taking up space on our wonderful earth I needed a new purpose. A reason to live. A way to make my legacy in the present, not worry about the emptiness of my future. I make my work a type of service and use my free time for local charity work. It's helping.

My resolve between these 2 paths: of carrying on or giving up, has never felt more fragile and paper thin, but the laundry continues and so do I, for now.

Photo by Silas Baisch on Unsplash