I visited a guy who works in "alternative" medicine earlier in the year, as I have done a number of times over recent years. We chat a bit (as an aside to why I'm there) and I enjoy hearing his views on things. He gave me an info sheet about grief and the kinds of things you are likely to experience while grieving. He encouraged me that this was a reminder that there is light of the end of the tunnel. I will get to the other end. But I didn't like this idea, because what I was grieving over would never be OK. I know that's not what he was saying, but it's very hard to differentiate. If what happened to Kent is never acceptable and I always want him back, how can my grief ever end? (I'm sure we all agree that it won't entirely). There is no end. For the rest of my life Kent will not be here. As I headed out to pay, the receptionist held both my hands and said "I know what you are going through. It happened to me 12 years ago and it's still really hard." 12 years? Really hard? Shit it's still going to be really hard in 12 years time??!
And there you have the problem. I don't want to think it will ever be easier, and I don't want to think it will always be this hard. I don't know where this leaves me except here, where it's really, really hard and where I am grieving. I'm not in a hurry to be anywhere else. What it feels like is hell, and I don't like it, but I can't be anywhere else nor visualise anywhere else. I don't want to stop any encouragement. Encouragement shows care and concern and the knowledge that there is a positivity around me even if it isn't mine. This is good. But I also find helpful the friend who said "I'm sorry I haven't had anything to say. All I can think is that it must just be so excruciating." Exactly. Yes, exactly. And she was with me, giving words to the pain, right here, where it's really, really hard and where I'm grieving. Right now I'm not going anywhere else.