Stop all the Clocks

Grief is like a wave.  It ripples and swirls, the pull of an undercurrent just under the surface, gathering it up into a crescendo.  This climaxes into taking whatever you thought you were, and smashing it against shards of pain so sharp and violent, your broken heart feels like it may never beat again. Then it pulls you under.

Deep, dark, unforgiving grief is my new bedfellow.

My Dad is dead.

Just typing those words breaks me in ways I thought were not possible.  Saying it out loud makes it too real to bear.  Watching people go about their daily lives offends me.  Why aren't they crippled as I am?  Why doesn't the world stop to acknowledge our loss?  Why is he gone?

The nurse in me understands why, the daughter in me thinks they are lying.  That he'll phone me to moan at me for having too many horses and spending too much on them, that he'll be taking the mick out of us all and saying 'GOTCHA'.  Knowing I'll never hear his voice again renders me mute.  My legs feel full of lead, my stomach full of bile, yet I endure, as plans need to be made, children and horses need to be cared for, and ultimately I am my Father's daughter, and his strength never faultered.

My husband has been my rock, and my family & friends have rallied.  I love you all.

If you're wondering why I'm posting this in my blog, here's why.

• I'm a writer, it's how I process my feelings.
• My Dad knew what participating in this clinic meant to me, he would want me to still attend.  So I will be.  
• My horses are my steady constant and my best therapists.  They will pull me out of the abyss.

So my friends, I will be raising my beautiful engraved 'Buck clinic' glass to my Dad, and I know he'll be proud of me for doing what I love, and living life.

See you on the flip side Dad xx