Yesterday I met a friend for coffee who I hadn't seen since we lost George.
Grief came with me of course. In fact I was quite nervous as to just how much grief would show itself. I needn't have worried. I cried and she cried. I showed her his photo and we cried some more. We also laughed and chatted about mundane things. I'm wrapped in my bubble of loss and everything other seems incredibly mundane.
This is how life is at the moment. I laugh, I cry, I'm quiet, I'm chatty, I put one foot in front of the other and I cry a bit more.
Ray told me last night that he feels weird about the bathroom at the moment because it was the scene of so much trauma. I came screaming from it a few times and I bled so much in it. I called him after I had showered the other day to listen to a dodgy hissy boiler noise and he came running worried. I didn't even realise. For me it's the memory of the bleeding that is so traumatic not the place it happened.
His grief hits him occasionally. He'll be painting and stop and think and feel and then distract himself with his work.
He tells me that it's natural for my grief to be worse than his. I tell him there is no worse or less or easier. It is what it is.
Today I'm ok.
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