I have started without finishing more posts than I can count. I have and still do find it very difficult to put down the words that will most likely open the sluice gates I am not sure I am willing to open.
We were living in Japan when we received the phone call from my mother telling me that my father had chosen to take his life. My mother felt it necessary to tell me before I read it on Facebook.
I don't want to talk about suicide now or how damn angry I am with him, I will at some stage, I need to share what life is like for those left behind. I do want to talk about how grief is like the scene of a train wreck.
For years I had prided myself in my ability to self-evaluate. I new I was insecure, or if I had treated someone unkindly. I was able to prejudge my emotions and navigate them before they caused damage. I have always been deep, but I had moved clear of the precipice leading to despair.
Grief comes like a thief in the night. It robs you of what you hold most dear, but the realisation of loss only comes with the morning light.
In the process of losing him, I have lost part of myself.
Grief is like a building after an earthquake, the foundation is still there, but the structure lies in ruins.
I have found it harder as the years go on to rebuild or make sense of my life.
And do you know that when you have experienced trauma or tragic loss, life does not stop to allow you the time to process. In the 5 years since that phone call, the hard has been harder than I could ever have imagined.
I apologise for the heaviness and disconnectedness of this post.
Peace be with you