It has been three months since my Dad died.

Tomorrow it is my birthday and knowing that I won’t get a phone call hurts.  I want to hear his gravelly voice.  I want to hear his throaty laugh.  Knowing that I won’t get a birthday card with his almost illegible writing scrawled in it hurts.  I want to see his words.

I have got through the last three months by keeping myself distracted.  By not looking at the thing that hurts.  By not thinking about the thing that hurts.  These three months have gone so fast and in truth, until I started writing this post, I wasn’t really sure what I’d done with them.

As I began typing it suddenly became incredibly important that I did know what I’ve done with them, so I looked back through my photos and checked my diary, my calendar and my phone.  Turns out I’ve done quite a lot…

• Work-wise I’ve had 67 client sessions, 30 supervision sessions and 13 trips to London (and back).
• Family-wise we’ve had trips to Sugnall bluebell woods, Trentham Gardens, Shugborough, Birches Valley, various parks, the cinema (twice) and the bowling alley, plus numerous playdates & birthday parties with the girls friends and several batches of baking.  We’ve had family to visit us and we’ve been to visit family.
• Daily-life-wise there have been doctor appointments, dentist appointments, hospital appointments and two funerals.  28 trips to the supermarket.  Too-many-to-count breakfasts, lunches and dinners prepared, cooked and eaten.  Homework tasks completed, assemblies attended, emails answered.

Life goes on.

Being busy is my unconscious’ way of proving that to myself, I think.  Trying to prove that I’m needed.  That I can’t possibly stop because who else would do all of these things?  How would ‘life go on’ without me being there to orchestrate it all?

Being busy.

Not stopping.

Keeping on going.

All ways to convince myself that I’m ok, because, you know, life goes on.  With a young family to raise and a business to run, it has to.  I have to.

As I’m writing I’m realising more and more that all of these are excuses.

Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I stop.  When I stop.

I’m afraid of what I’ll feel.  I’m afraid of the thoughts that will flood through my mind.  I’m scared the tidal wave will overwhelm me, that it will pick me up and sweep me away and carry me off to some unknown place where it will dump me, broken and battered.  I’m scared that I won’t be able to find my way home.  I’m scared that I won’t be able to put myself back together.  I’m scared of who I’ll be afterwards.

In the time since my Dad died the sun has risen and set 90 times.

Here are a few of them:

Sunrises and sunsets have always been magical to me.  There is something intrinsically rhythmical about the never-ending cycle of days turning into nights and back into days again.   Consistently.  Steadily.  Relentlessly.  I find that rhythm comforting.  Just knowing that no matter what happens in the world, in my world, the sun will set at the end of the day and it will rise again the following morning for a fresh start, gives me hope.

Hope that I can lay down my fears to rest, and that I too can rise again.

Tomorrow will mark the end of my 31st journey around the sun, and the start of my 32nd.  I have no idea who I’ll be tomorrow, let alone at the end of yet another year.  We have some lovely things planned over the next twelve months and I am really looking forward to them.  I’m quite sure that each of those will change me in some way too.

It’s all just another part of the journey.

Life goes on.

I will too.

And so will you.

No matter what you are struggling with right now, no matter how difficult and scary it feels, no matter how afraid you are of it changing you, life will go on.

It’s all part of your journey.  That journey has led you to where you are now.  And this next part will take you where you want to be.  It may not be immediately obvious how it’s going to do that, because life has a funny way of twisting us in many different directions before showing us the way.  But it will take you there.  The choices you make along the way, the actions you take, the connections you make with people – they all matter.

You matter.

And you will rise again.  I promise.

I’m curious to find out your thoughts and feelings about all of this, so please do feel free to leave a comment below – I’d love to hear from you.

Thank you for reading.

Chloe