When somebody dies you hold fast to the thought that someday it will be better. That it will get better. You have no particular experience to base this belief on but you are told it often in the stark reality of your early grief and you can’t bear the thought of always being in this much pain so you cling to the future possibility of better as you ride it out.


Time passes and life goes on around you and you are a part of it. You go to work, clean your house, pet your cat and love your children. You do the things expected of you. You make new friends and start dating again. And somewhere down the track you realise that you are living in a three dimensional world again: so different from the monchrome existence that you thought would endure for eons.


You love somebody else who is not a replacement or substitute or a crutch. Your heart expands to let this new person in and you are happy.


It got better. Where I am now seems to indicate to others that it got better, that I got better.


But if I focus on him and us and the lack of us for ever the hurt is still raw and the sense of loss still almost palpable.


For me, it hasn’t got better.

I just got better at making it part of my life, rather than all of it.


About quirkycharm

I like to think that I have a certain quirky charm but I am probably being optimistic. Acquired taste, perhaps, which many don't acquire. This is about my fifth blog out there. My hosting companies kept going out of business or my IT exhusband kept hacking into them and I would move again. I don't do twitter, I barely do facebook, I don't try and 'monetize' my blog. I love my husband, my grown children and my job and this particular incarnation of oversharing my life comes at a time when I am the most content that I have ever been. I write always, sporadically during the good stuff and exhaustingly during the bad.
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