The
grieving period had finished. Stop your snivelling and get back to work.
Grief’s easy, really: couple of weeks to sweat out the shock of loss, before
you move on politely with your life. That duration where everyone treads
gingerly around you, offering you hugs or tea or tear-absorbent shoulders,
mindful of your fragility – that’s almost like a holiday. Some time off, and it
ends with a bit of a knees-up.
Then
reality sets in. Oh, they really are
gone. Forever. The world keeps turning, the season changes, and everything’s
the same as it was before, only completely different. This is the hard bit.
A quick check of your own lifespan. Blimey, that’s a
probable lot of life left remaining without that person. A lot of lost memories.
A lot of catching up with yourself, as you idly make plans with them in mind,
until the actuality returns with a swift gut-punch.
A lot of coping.
This isn’t grieving. It’s pining.
What to do? Wallow in loss, nostalgia, and sorrow? Drown yourself
in attention-diverting pop culture ephemera and nonsense? Start time-managing bereavement
in easily-digestible chunks on a daily basis? Or just pretend it’s not
happening, and bury your subconscious under a facade of grinning and pretence, with
eyes so wide you can sometimes hear them crack?
I don’t know. But if you do find out, you’ll let me know,
yeah?
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