The Crash of The Grief

 

 

Be authentic.

 

Be. Authentic.

 

That is what every blogging forum, blogging Facebook group and most Blogging conferences say is one of the most important things to be when setting up a blog.

The other is to find your niche. I’m not sure what my niche is, as I write about what is going on in my life. So I guess my niche is my life.

In the last year, I have spent quite a bit of time building my blog, writing and putting my heart and soul out onto this Internet space and I have really loved the process. I have also been aware that the best way to be, is to be me on here, and with that comes honest, unedited posts (except spelling) with the occasional cursing and have the style of my writing the way that I talk, so If you met me in person – I would hope that the person that you were reading about, is the person that you would be chatting to over a coffee. Or wine. Preferably wine.

There are dangers though when you do start a blog. The intent in the beginning is always to be earnest, real and transparent, but the ego and need for acknowledgement and recognition can niggle its way through. Lila from Lila Wolff wrote this perfectly in her post about the “like cycle”. With every “like” I receive on my social media pages for my blog or comments on a post does build my confidence up and also makes me strive to write better pieces. But, it also has made me think about the posts that I do write, whether they are “too harsh”, have too much swearie words in them or if the subjects that I write about are too sensitive at times. 

I have, a little bit censored myself and I don’t like it.

The life that I have 90% of the time is fabulous. I am a very lucky person, in the sense that I have my health, beautiful children and a partner in my life that is my best friend.

But I have been going through and internal roller coaster with my emotions for the last couple of months.

Be. Authentic. Cheryl. {deep breath}

Our two friends, were killed in a horrific motorbike accident in March. A split second and two lives were gone. Two families, completely devastated. Five children left without a parent, and countless friends and work friends shattered.

I remember the moment when Steve walked into our kitchen, face pale and with the look on him that you know something is wrong. That numb and shock feeling is still with me.

 

I cannot believe that they are gone.

 

And I feel immense guilt that I didn’t have a chance to have those last conversations. I feel guilt that they are gone and I am here. And I feel helpless that I cannot do anything to change how so many people are feeling.

 

I hug my children so much more and tighter every day since. I show my love for Steve and appreciate him more and give the words that we think, but usually don’t say to him every single day. I’m gentler on people and am more forgiving.

 

But it’s so fucked still.

 

I have good days. I have days where the hours just roll through, do my day job, complete the mundane shit that we all do in our lives, bills, groceries, dinners and laundry (oh how I hate laundry!). I also like most of us, countdown till the weekend and just go through the motions.

 

I’m also having really bad days. Where listening to music driving to work brings tears to my eyes thinking about Mark and Jodi. Where standing in front of the dishwasher loading the dishes hits a pang in my heart as I know that I’m still here and I actually have NOTHING to moan or complain about. Because IM STILL HERE.

 

Wounds heal, and wounds of the heart are the hardest ones to ever deal with but the scar tissue will always be sensitive and things in your life will affect that scar tissue, over and over.

 

I really miss them. I think about them every single day. I think about their kids every day.

 

Mark was a groomsman at our wedding. Mark was one of Steve’s best mates for nearly 30 years. He also was one of the first people that Ethan connected with when E started communicating. Mark always made time for our boy. Jodi and I shared our love of Bali; we connected immediately with her infectious laugh, bubbly personality. I remember one night talking on the phone with her for about 4 hours chatting about everything. You know, those sisterhood talks.

 

I promised myself, after attending 2 funerals in one week and watching my husband break down, the sadness and shock that we felt, to live every day with purpose. To laugh more, love harder, be kinder and do the things that we actually talk about. You just never know. And it scares the fuck out of me.

 

It hits home, how precious life is.

 

I’m so sad still. So sad.