I have done well today. No tears until an hour ago. I want to think that is an achievement of some sorts.

Today would have been my dad’s 81st birthday. He died nearly three years ago.

I’m going to state a rather blunt fact.

I am not envious of people my age who still have their parents. Good for them. And besides, their dad is not my dad.

No, I envy them because they haven’t felt this. They have no idea, no comprehension of what this is.

My Dad’s illness and death broke me. I know that. And when I got put back together, I wasn’t the same – a bit like a broken teacup. I might look roughly the same but I am not and never will be. I don’t work the same. I’m weaker, more fragile.

Time will heal. Sure. This is kind of true. Time has taught me to go about my day to day life. It has shown me how to carry on, put one foot in front of another. Eventually, you learn not to cry every day.

The pain though, the pain never goes away. You just learn to deal with it. To sink it so deep in your soul that you can manage living again. But it is still there and it demands its time.

What happens then, is special days and holidays become the trigger. His birthday. Your birthday. His death. Fathers’ Day. And when those days creep in like a dark shadow, you feel the life you are clinging to, slowly being overwhelmed by that shadow.

So, yes, I am proud that I didn’t cry all day. But I am not surprised that I cried or that it hurts or that I miss him as much as the day he died.

The sting in the tail though is what this does to you. The repercussions. It makes you value your remaining loved ones with a vehemence you didn’t know existed. You demand more from your life, because death has taught you how precious this is. And you realise that actually, some people are not as important to you as you thought. And so you let them go.

The fear though, the fear of further loss, that is the most difficult. The ones that are left after your heartless, grief stricken cull…those that are left are cherished beyond belief and the fear of losing them crushes you. It wracks you with an anxiety that weaves around your veins reaching every part of you.

And so, you who have not know loss and grief yet, I envy you.


6 thoughts on “Envy

  1. Hey girl, it’s been a while since I’ve touched base with you – I still read along and follow your posts and “like” things, but I haven’t had the time to comment – I am working right now, but I am going to MAKE the time to comment on this. I LOVE my Dad, I am forever in his debt for what he has done for me all my troubled life – even now the thought of that loss and this time in my life would probably drive me to suicide –

    I don’t mean to make your heartache worse, because I can’t imagine your pain, and I haven’t walked in your shoes – but I HAVE experienced loss. When I lost my grandma in 2013, there was such a HUGE hole in my heart because of the way she passed and the pain and anguish that she was in. My whole shitty life when I was in and out of psych wards, when my extended family gossiped all about me all over the place and my parents had to hide the shame and embarrassment of all of that – my grandma NEVER gave up on me, EVER. She would still brag about how well I did in school and how I didn’t deserve the death sentence of bipolar that was given to me at such a young age.

    I’ve lost so many years of my life, buried under anguish, emotional pain and suffering and so many many tears, so my advice to you is this. “You are MUCH stronger than you think you are” I want you to listen to me – where I am at right now, in my circumstances I am having nervous breakdown and balling my eyes out in between phone calls at my job, but I am holding it together, and I have NO IDEA how I am doing this.

    I want you to reach deep within yourself, go out to the garage, and take out some of his things and tools, and was it a heart or a horseshoe that he used to carve that you found about a month ago? Take out the things that you’ve hidden away that remind you of him and celebrate them! Take his tools and make something that reminds you of him and hang it somewhere in your house! Take this opportunity to celebrate and not grieve anymore – I know if he is watching you right now in heaven with his Angel Wings, he would be so heartbroken if you spend so much time causing yourself pain and hurting so much – he would want you to celebrate how much you love him and how much he meant to your life.

    It’s been 8 years now (wow I didn’t realize how long) since my grandma died, and I speak to her every morning before I start my day – I remember her smile I remember her big grandma hugs all the time. And right now since I have been working this new job that requires to sit at the computer for long periods of time, I have a pillow she made and sewed herself for some extra back support in my chair, and it feels comforting because she is right behind me all the time loving me and taking care of me.

    So don’t despair my dear friend, and don’t let the envy consume you too much. Just celebrate your dad, like I celebrate my grandma so many years later.

    All my love,



    1. Hello! It is so good to hear from you! Thanks for reading my ramblings. Your grandma sounds amazing, I can see how much you miss her. Loss is a terrible thing. But, celebrating him is great advice xxx
      How are things with you? X


    1. Thank you for your hug, I sure need one at the moment. 🤗 There’s no limit, no rhyme or reason, no signs, no explanation – one day you’re ok, the next you’re a mess. It is a very strange state of being. Thank you for your support x

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I do understand. I’ve lost both my parents and while everyone’s grief is unique, there are some universal bits. And the feeling of loss of control over how you feel is one of them. At least it was for me.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s