Sunday, 17 March 2013


I don’t know why, but after 555 days suddenly I can’t breathe.  I feel smothered by anger, sadness, confusion, responsibility and fatigue.

All I can think about is what is lost; all the experiences we were going to share, the pride I know I would have felt watching him be an endlessly amazing father and radiographer, the chance to be a mother, my career, my social life, my future.
I spend all my time trying not to show Jake how broken I feel, crying when he’s not there and closing myself off pretending to be strong, positive and cheerful when he is.  He’s got a brain injury, but he’s not stupid; he knows.

I’m sitting here now on the sofa in the lounge with hot tears splashing on my laptop, trying to bring myself back under control before I climb into bed with my Jake. 
I know this is grief, I know this is normal and necessary, I know it will pass.

But it hurts, in a way I can’t even begin to explain.  I am burning at the centre of my soul and I want to close my eyes and sleep forever so I don’t have to feel it anymore.

But then my beautiful man would be all alone and that would be so much worse.
So tomorrow is day 556 and I will get up and start again.  Because I know this is grief and I know it will pass.

1 comment:

  1. I admire your courage and resiliency. The path of TBI is not for the faint of heart.

    "Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow."

    - Mary Anne Radmacher