Tomorrow marks another year since my mum passed away.
Another year down.
So many more to go.
I am posting this today, as I'm not sure I will have the strength to do so tomorrow.
On the 13th of each December, I like to do something fun. With my family. With my kids. And I usually end up back on that grassy area, with the plaque and the angel, and reflect for a while.
It's where I feel closest. At peace. Free to share any emotion I have.
It's hard to go out there. Kills me actually, that drive.
But once I'm there, and once I leave, I feel so much better.
Grief affects everyone, in some way or another. And every person experiences it differently to the next.
We can never judge our neighbour for the way they feel it. Deal with it. Handle it.
The wounds, they stop bleeding.
But the holes that are left are never filled.
As the years go on, the everyday pain lessens, but the holes, they become more apparent.
Gaping open at the most inappropriate times.
There are not enough bandaid's in the world to cover them up, and keep them closed.
A certain song.
All so beautiful, yet so painful.
Missing. Every day missing. Every year missing. Every moment missing.