I’ve been procrastinating for days over whether or not to write this post – everything is still so raw and sad – but I feel as though it will allow me to at least move on with my work and, at the moment, work is a very welcome distraction.
I lost my Dad last Thursday. Which makes it sound as though I misplaced him – perhaps in the supermarket, or in the library. I wish with all of my broken heart that I had merely misplaced him and that I could turn a corner and he would be standing there, waiting for me, but unfortunately I’m using the term “lost” in a more permanent sense. I just can’t bring myself to write the word that means that thing that’s so final and irreversible.
Not yet. Does it get any better" I didn’t ever think that grief could be so confusing, so complicated. Because before you can miss the person you’re grieving, you have to first rid yourself of the many “what ifs"” and “when dids"” and “why didn’ts"”. Why didn’t I just call him that evening" What if I had popped round to say hello" When did it happen" Did he think of me" Does it make me selfish to want to know that he thought of me" 
This is so intensely private, but at the same time I have always found writing to be the most therapeutic thing I can do. And for the past few days, all I’ve really wanted to do is to talk and talk, to share my ...