I’ve been feeling out of sorts these past few days, having deep emotional reactions, and just ‘not feeling quite right’. Functioning has been a bit of a struggle, even getting out of bed or dressed has required supreme effort.

This morning I woke up with a sense of doom and a ‘what’s the point?’ attitude. Instead of listening to that inner voice, I began tidying the house, cancelling any plans for the day, determined to be busy. I knew the tears were on the way, and delaying them would give me a little breathing space to try and work out what was behind how I felt.

Last night I had been having spells of light-headedness, not quite dizziness, that felt strange and a little worrying. After reading the following diary excerpt from my e-book, ‘Butch’s Journey’ this morning, I have decided that the feeling I was experiencing was a cellular memory from seven years ago - that intense feeling you get when you know something bad is happening and you have no idea what to do….

12/06/08
Butch came home from work tonight with a sore arm.  I didn’t find out until later he’d had a seizure (or reaction to the chemo) and had lost the power of speech for five minutes before he could get in the ute and drive home.  I feel so helpless and scared but don’t know want Butch to know.
Gav came up to stay.  He has the flu and was going to cancel, but Butch reassured him saying he’d had a flu shot, so it’s all okay.
We were exhausted and had an early night, no doubt in part, from pretending everything was okay in front of Gav.

13/06/08
It was another long day at work, worrying about Butch and just wanting to go home. 
Gav went out visiting friends after tea, so Butch and I settled in for a quiet night.
About 7:30pm we were watching a program and Butch had trouble speaking.  He couldn’t get the words to work properly.  It was frustrating for him and scary for me.  I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to sound calm and reassure him everything was okay.  I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he motioned for me to pass him the steroid tablets and he took a couple.  We went to bed, hoping they’d kick in soon.  I lay awake most of the night, worried he might pass away if I slept.  It seemed to take forever for 8:00am to roll around so we could ring his GP.

14/06/08
We went to the Dr this morning and Butch isn’t allowed to drive at all anymore.  He gave him more steroids and anti seizure drugs, telling Butch taking the steroids was the best thing he could’ve done.
As we let the surgery, Butch looked at me and said ‘I’m f****d!’
I kept saying he just needed a new job, we’d known it for months.  This just meant he couldn’t delay it any more.
While we were picking up his prescription Trish sent a text asking what was for tea, and then lunch.  She was halfway here, so that telepathic invitation worked!
When we got home, Gav was up, so I took him to one side and told him what had happened.  Trish arrived and I filled her in as well.  Mum rang – more telepathic phenomena!
I am so scared and feel I could easily cry an ocean, but now isn’t the time.  I’m tired as well, so my defences are pretty low.
I can see the difference the medication has on Butch virtually straight away.  It’s almost like he was drunk, everything requires deep concentration and he’s developed a slight slur.  I can’t believe it’s had such a dramatic effect so quickly.
Butch rang up about a job in the paper and was asked to go in straight away.  He didn’t dress as impeccably as usual but I didn’t like to comment, as it required a lot of effort to accomplish that.
We dropped him off on the way to the supermarket and as I watched him walking down the road, my heart sank.  I knew they wouldn’t even consider him for the job; the way he was walking made him look inebriated.
Before we left home I had been impatient to leave.  Everyone seemed to be getting ready in slow motion or forgetting things and it took an eternity to get them organised.  I was pretty vocal about how disorganised they were – this came back to bite me on the bum of course.
As we drove in the driveway, I realised I’d forgotten to take a house key!  Fortunately the kitchen windows were slightly open so Trish and Butch pulled the screen open, dismantling the window, so Trish could climb in.  I’d left a sink full of dirty dishes just to make it more awkward.
Nobody was impressed when I insisted how wonderful we were creating a happy family memory of us all working together!  I could see Butch using all his resources to get us inside again.   I was so worried and made jokes to stop me crying.
During all this, Mum sent a text asking if she could call.  I sent one back saying, well yes, she could, but we couldn’t get inside to answer it yet! 

I feel it’s going to take some time to live this down!

Reading this and while re-living the experience, I choose to focus on the love of Butch, our family, and the bizarre memory of us trying to break and enter into our home. I choose to recognise the tough situation we were in, but also to remember the love and laughter we shared. By unwrapping the bad memories instead of hiding from them, we can uncover the love and fun that was hidden below. It is only when we accept the negative, we are better able to recognise the positive.

Cherie xx

You may not know this, but I am a healer, an intuitive advisor and a psychic. Phew, that's quite a mouthful! I have been through enough 'stuff' in my life to know I want to help others as they go through 'their stuff'!
The other day I met a woman a bit older than me. What began as a question about how to start up a leaf blower, soon turned into a full blossomed conversation about how worried she was about her daughter, who had been staying with her for quite some time.
Mary (mother) was worried that Jeanne (daughter) was perpetually sad and seemed to lack energy. With a little gentle probing, she told me that Jeanne's partner had died last year of cancer. Mary couldn't understand why Jeanne wasn't simply 'getting over it'. (I must admit that this is one of my pet peeves when it comes to grief, that we are expected to get over it, like its a stubbed toe or a broken glass) Mary said she had 'gotten over' her divorce when her husband left her for a younger and prettier model. Given that she laboured over that topic for at least five minutes, with lots of huffing and puffing, as well as arm movements, methinks she hasn't really... ;-)
I told her there was no comparison. Besides the fact that grief of any kind is a unique and individual experience, Mary could still 'see' her ex husband. She could have a sense of closure. She could finalise any issues they might have had in their marriage, because he was still alive.
Mary changed tack then and told me that Jeanne and her partner had only been together two years and therefore it should be easy for her to 'get on with her life'. I asked her if she knew the depth of their love and commitment; if she knew how perfect their relationship might have been; if she had any idea of the plans and dreams they had had together. I also tod her that time is irrelevant. We don't need to know someone a lifetime to miss them or grieve for them. We can meet someone for the first time and the impact they made in our life can still mean we grieve. We cannot compare grief journeys, because we are all different. We all view the world differently and we all see it from our own perspective.
As we chatted, Mary was almost dismissive of her daughter's grief, and I couldn't help but mention that her daughter had lost a piece of herself when her partner died. A piece she will never get back or be a part of ever again. Jeanne will have to rediscover who she is and that will take time.
I suggested Jeanne come and talk to me, not as a counsellor or a healer, but as someone who understands, who has been to hell and is still on their way back. Mary looked at me, and in a brief second, I saw fear in her eyes. It was then I knew that not only would Jeanne never visit me, but she wouldn't even get the message. Mary needed Jeanne to be just as she was, because Mary was lonely and felt that she had no real purpose in life. Looking after Jeanne gave her that reason or purpose, and if she got better or began to 'live again', Jeanne might leave Mary with her own ghosts of the past.
Its sad when you see a pattern like this, when dependence or grief is trivialised, and yet, also encouraged to suit the needs of the other person. Mary probably isn't even aware she is doing this, just as Jeanne possibly doesn't realise she is letting it happen. Grief affects us all in many ways. We may think we have it under control or a handle on it, but it has many faces we don't often recognise.
Big hugs
Cherie ♥

I was helping my daughter change the sheets on the grandies' beds this morning. The youngest one kept throwing herself on the bed as I tried to make it and pulling the covers off,as she lay there, in my way, smiling mischievously. Th incident reminded me so much of all the times Butch had done this too, acting in a similar way, doing the same kind of things, using that smile that could melt the hardest heart while he protested his innocence.As I stood at the end of the bed with my hands on my hips, I laughed saying 'If I didn't know better, I would say that you have been taking lessons from your Grandad!'
She pointed to her chest, saying 'Who me?!', in exactly the same way Butch used to.
The older grandie, turned to me and said 'I don't have a Grandad, do I Granma? I wish I had a Grandad, Granma.'
I smiled at her and said 'Yes, you have. Remember the photo on the wall in the lounge? Well, that's Grandad.'
She replied, 'But I want a real Grandad, Granma!'
I had to leave the room, so she wouldn't see my eyes filling with tears, as I wished that he was here too, and able to be a physical part of our beautiful grandie's lives.
Gotta love those blind-siders when they come out of nowhere...
Big hugs
Cherie xx

I don't know whether to start this with a statement like 'It's been five and a half years since Butch passed', or 'I'm a housesitter', as both are relevant to my blog today.
I am currently housesitting in the home of some friends, friends that Butch and I visited a lot when he was alive. We also lived next door.
I hadn't realised how that would impact on me until I was on my way to their home. I began crying and felt such pain as I contemplated being in a home where we had had so many great times, while overlooking the home where we were at our happiest...well before Butch was diagnosed.
From there on, there has been many poignant memories and bouts of tears, as I sit out in the courtyard, at the dining table, hearing conversations and laughter of days long gone.
I've been looking across the fence, remembering the good times, like the time I begged for a Christmas tree and Butch brought a seven foot tree, roots and all. (He was clearing a subdivision with a digger at the time)
This morning I decided to go for a walk, and other memories began crowding in, not just of when we lived here, but also those last two years after he was diagnosed. I relived moments upon moments and cried as I walked back. (I suppose people look at me and think 'Wow! She must really hate walking!')
I couldn't help thinking that every time I think I'm moving on, there always seems to be a bitch slap that makes me realise I still have a way to go. Silly me for thinking there was a use by date or a time limit. Time. It will take time. And lots of it.
Missing my true love tonight and all the good times we shared.
big hugs
Cherie xx

When Butch was alive, I used to tell everyone that I may not have been lucky with winning money, but I more than made up for it by being lucky in love! I loved that being in love with this awesome man more than made up for anything else our lives lacked. We had the kind of relationship that most people spend their whole lives searching for, and it was enough!
After Butch passed, I stopped saying this. After all, how could I possibly be lucky in love, if he wasn't here anymore?
The last five years have had huge ups and downs, with lots of experiences that tested my strength, courage and versatility. I was telling a couple all about some of the things that had happened, which I find easier to laugh about the further behind me they get...
One of them turned to me and said 'You have had such an unlucky life. Do you ever feel like giving up?'
When I returned home that night I pondered on what they had said. I don't really believe in luck. I have always believed that we make choices when we are presented with situations, events and people. The emotions and thoughts we are carrying at that time dictate whether it becomes a negative or a positive experience...and our subsequent reactions to that experience. If I was to look back on my life I couldn't say I was unlucky. I could, however, say I was dogged by unique experiences and given much room to grow within them....and as a result, I have awesome and amusing funny stories to tell, once I have distanced myself enough to see the funny side.
As I thought about that, I realised that it was time I started saying that I was lucky in love again, because although Butch is no longer here, it doesn't diminish what we had in any way. If it appears that way to others, then that is their view or issue and not mine. We were lucky, because we believed we were lucky to have met and loved. Just because he is no longer here doesn't make it any less true.
All too often when we lose someone we hide parts away, to avoid sharing the deeper parts of us, so that others cannot judge or get a glimpse within our grief shell.
Luck is what we make is. Life is what we make it. If we want to blame luck for where we are right now, we can....but we know different. Everything happens for a reason within its own unique and intricate design, even if we don't like it or agree with it.
There is no shame in having loved and lost. There is a time when we have to remember that we aren't lost and we were loved. Grief is the price we pay for the beauty of love...and really, would you want it any other way?!
Big hugs
Cherie xx

Underneath the hustle and bustle of Christmas, there is a deeply hidden layer of sadness and pain for those of us desperately missing our loved ones as this happy family occasion approaches. Sure we hide it deep below, thrusting it to the bottom of our To Do List, trying to avoid those feelings that make it nigh impossible to enjoy the festive season. Sometimes we can feel like a child who has discovered that fairy tales aren't real, there is no happy ending and there never will be.

The thought of an empty space at the table this year crushes our soul, leaving a dry dusty taste in our mouth. It doesn't matter whether its for the first time or more, the pain of Christmas without someone we love doesn't have a time limit or expiry date.

With all kinds of grief, guilt can rear its ugly head and ask us if we loved and cherished them enough and did they know the height and depths of our love. Thoughts and memories can flicker through our 'home theatre', bringing up events and situations that are best left on the editing room floor. Special Occasions have a habit of dredging up old pain, hurts and anguish.

As we walk around the shopping centres, we try not to notice couples walking hand in hand; the excitement as they choose gifts for others and surprise each other with tender well thought out gifts. Some of us find it difficult to be a part of the joy that is the festive season, we'd rather just hide away from the world, but thats not how it works is it? Life goes on whether we want to be a part of it or not. There are obligations and duties to be met, even at Christmas. We avoid the card stands shouting 'To My Darling Wife/Partner At Christmas', or 'To The Man I Love At Christmastime'. We already know that looking will only create that damp and prickly feeling behind our eyelids. Often we will catch ourselves sighing as we look at 'couple presents' or gifts that would have been ideal for that special person who has passed. As we listen to couples bickering and badgering each other as they pass, we want to reach out and shake them, reminding them how lucky they are to be together; to be able to share such precious moments that we can never have again. In a far off thought, we know that we won't have that wonderful pleasure of waking up next to our significant other and relishing the best gift of all, a Christmas morning snuggle.

If we have lost a parent, then this time of year brings a different kind of pain. Those that brought us into the world are no longer here to share the joy of this Christmas, as well as the memories of our childhood misdemeanors and achievements. Celebrating without those who loved us, no matter what we said or did while they were alive, is harder than hard. The joy of greeting, the hugs, smiles and innate connection we have with our parents cannot be replicated within any relationship. Even if we weren't as close as some, or as we would have liked to be, there was an intangible thread that was woven around and though us all, and somehow, made us part of a whole.

Celebrating Christmas after a child has passed has its own tumultuous heights and despairing lows. We all believe our children will out-live us. They have so much ahead of them, that we would have wished for them to experience and be a part of. It doesn't matter how old our child was, the pain is still heart-stoppingly deep and pain drenched. There are no words that can possibly explain that knife twisting ache, as we see other babies, children, teenagers or adults enjoying the build up to the festive season. We often imagine what our child would be doing at this time of the year, what amazing gifts they brought into our lives by just being here. If there are other family members of the same age, it can make it difficult to visit various departments of stores, knowing we won't be buying anything for our child. As Christmas fast approaches, we feel an ache that nothing can ease, as we imagine a day without that special part of our life, the child we created, the person we knew for all of their short life.

Often the pain of what we have lost makes it hard to appreciate what we have right here, right now. Sometimes we need to remember that those who have passed never really leave us, for we have only to think of them and their voice or face will appear within our memory. The love we feel for them remains locked in our hearts. No one can take that away, It can't be stolen, dwindled or diminished. Although they aren't around us physically, they are still here, as we discuss the joys and disasters of Christmas past. As we eat their favourite foods, we bring them into our circle of love, those fond memories creating a softness around us and this day. Sure there will be tears amongst the laughter and happiness of a Christmas Day, and thats perfectly normal, because that is a part of honouring the amazing connection we have and will always have with those who have passed from this world.

If we aren't fortunate enough to have a Christmas surrounded by family and friends, Christmas Day can be just another day of pain and grief. If this is what your Christmas Day looks like, please reach out to a family member, friend or even a neighbour, allow them to know how much you are dreading this day. There is no pride in grief, pride just prevents us from connecting with the world around us. We are not a rock or an island. We do need others to help us through the tough times. There is no weakness in reaching out or admitting that Christmas sucks big time for us. Make this your Christmas gift to you - let those who care about you know how you are feeling. Allow them to help. You would do the same if the roles were reversed. Above all, be kind to you!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

I wanted to write a special eulogy for Butch, to tell everyone what a wonderful and accomplished man he was, how everyone loved and respected him.
 I began writing the night after he passed and it began to ‘do my head in’. I was awake almost all night, writing about his achievements, trying to remember everything I could, but my mind was totally blank.
After three sleepless nights I complained to my brother Andre how difficult it was, explaining what I was trying to say. He suggested I might be better off focusing on saying why Butch was special to me. It was great advice and the words flowed from that thought.
A eulogy isn't about what you have achieved in life, it is about the impact you have made on others or the way you lived your life. Once I let go the belief that I had to talk about his ambitions and his successes and focused on the real person that was Butch I could talk with authority and love.
Some eulogies are all about making out how incredibly talented and successful someone is and that's fine if you want to write it like that. We're all different and have our own perception of how a eulogy needs to be written, but for me, a eulogy written from the heart was a great way to show how special Butch was. 
Big Hugs
Cherie xx
(excerpt from Grieving with Honour by Cherie Nobbs)

There are predators out there in the big bad world, who like to prey on those of us who are on a grief expedition. They know how desperate we are to 'connect' with our loved ones who have passed over. They know we would do anything to bring them back, so being able to hear what they have to say, even if it's through someone else, is priceless and immeasurable.
I know, because I have been there. I have been told by various psychics on many occasions what Butch has to say to me. Its funny how, for the most part, what he has to say coincides with the agenda of the person telling me. This can range from allowing them to usurp my power or feeling as if I had no choices, to wanting to extort money from me, all in the name of connecting me with my loved ones on the other side.
When I finally realised what was happening, I felt like such a fool. Hindsight can be such a bitch. As I look back, I can see that I fell for every hook they threw my way. I wanted to believe so much that I made things fit where they had absolutely no way of fitting. I thought I was the only one who had been hoodwinked. I was wrong.
I guess I felt it a little more keenly because I am a psychic. Unfortunately I can't 'do' a reading for me. I can't 'see' my spirit family in the same way I can see other people's, because I know too much about me and about them. There is no validation, because my skeptic says to me 'Hah! But you already knew thats what they looked like or what they would have said. They were a part of your life for so long!
However, when I read for someone else, its different. It's cut and dried. It fits or it doesn't. I have no idea who the person is or what the connection is. I love it when the reading resonates. I may not sugar coat it, but every word I pass on is given with love, respect and integrity.
Lately I have heard of others who have been through the same kind of experience I did in my early days. They too have been desperate enough to 'hear' what their loved ones have to say, that they have paid ludicrous amounts of money. They have been given negative, false and evil advice from their family in spirit. They have been told that unless they do, their loved one will cease to 'talk' to them. WTF?!
If we allow these people to get away with this sort of shit, we are no better than they are. I wonder if I had written a 'tell all' blog about my experience whether I could have saved other people from heartache. Maybe. Maybe not....
Our loved ones will never say bad stuff. They will not tell you negative and mean things. They don't need to. All that negative shit is a part of a human existence, not a spiritual one. All regrets, guilt, pain, suffering, anger, revenge, etc is gone. It dies with the physical form. From where they are its just love and they want us to know we are loved, that they will be there waiting for us when its time for us to 'go home'.
Before you spend copious amounts of money, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one want or expect me to pay this much to hear from them?' And if you think the answer is yes, ask yourself why it is that you believe that more money means that the psychic is more powerful or better able to connect. There are plenty of wonderful and amazing psychics out there, and they don't all need to empty your bank account to pass on messages of love and support from our loved ones.
And if you are told something bad, negative or evil, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one really say that?' ...and know the answer is 'NO!'
Take note of my experience and others. Trust your instincts. Watch out for Grief Vultures. ...and if you do fall for a smooth talking psychic, don't feel bad or sad. You won't be the first. You won't be the last...but hey, that could be the 'last' time you fell for it! Grief is a huge learning curve in so many many ways.
Be strong. Trust you. Show discernment. Remember that your loved ones are not interested in making or keeping you poor, sad, scared or unhappy in any way. They love you. More than you will ever know!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

I went for a job interview as a masseuse the other day. I am trying to wear my 'big girl pants' these days, so when she asked me to tell her a little bit about myself, I said. 'I'm 53, an author, a widow, and I've love massage and what it does for others....'
She cocked her head to one side and said to me, 'Sorry, could you repeat that?'
Now, although I am 'admitting' I am a widow, this part of my speech is said with such speed, you need supersonic hearing to be able to 'catch the words'.
I repeated everything, except the widow bit, and she said 'No, you said something else, what was it?'
I 'fessed up and told her the bit I had omitted. She gave me that 'look' that people do and said she was sorry. I tend to get flippant when people say things like that. I am a complex creature, I admit it! I don't want others to be sorry or feel sorry for me. My life is what it is. The judges decision is final. No correspondence will be entered into. ...and then I wonder sometimes if I would just consider others to be hard hearted bastards for not saying anything... It hasn't happened yet, so maybe that will be the subject of another blog...
Anyway, back to my 'interview'. The woman asked me a question. 'So what did you learn from his living, and his dying?'
May I say that these are so not the questions one expects in a job interview, and as a person still going through a grief expedition, not at all something I wanted to contemplate with a complete stranger.
Before long, she had me in tears. She knew which buttons to push, what direction to twist the knife that is my grief and how to make me feel as if I wasn't coping with my world at all. When I tried to stop the flow of tears, she told me I needed to 'sob'.
...as if I haven't...on countless occasions!
We were sitting in a coffee shop and there was no way I wanted to let this woman see how her harsh words were affecting me. I gathered my thoughts, pulled myself up tall, erected my protective wall and tried to get myself together again.
Recognising that she had crossed a line and that she wasn't going to get past that wall I had just put up between us, she said 'Well, thats enough counselling for you today. Now, lets talk about why you want to get a job here.'
There was really no point in going any further. There is no way I would work for someone who would want to find my Achilles heel, who would know just how to create pain within my world because she could.
She tried to create a connection by telling me that her son had passed away 8 years ago, but clearly the way I was going through or handling my grief was incorrect and she hadn't experienced it in the way I had. Read: I was wrong.
As I was leaving, she turned to me and said 'Well, no matter what happens, we were meant to meet today. I was meant to talk to you and you were meant to learn from me.'
And you know what, she was right. I was meant to learn from her, and I learnt this.
*A part of 'putting on my big girl panties' during my grief expedition does not entail telling anyone I am a widow, unless its relative.
*There will always be people who will try to tell me that my way of handling my grief is wrong or not right.
*I don't want to work for anyone who's main objective is to make me feel 'less than', so they can feel all powerful.
*Everyone has a story, but their story ain't my story and mine has no bearing on theirs.
*I still find it difficult to talk openly about my grief with others
*I am doing a great job being who I am and experiencing my grief in my own unique way.
Everyone has a story
Big hugs
Cherie xx

This year marks the fifth year since my best friend and husband passed away. In an earlier blog this year, I was celebrating that I had 'woken up', that I had started to get on with my life, or at least start taking those baby steps towards living, instead of merely existing.
I really thought I was starting to get a handle on this whole 'grief thing'. I thought I had it all under control. Sure, I still cried randomly, I still felt the big black cloud of sadness envelope me every now and then, but I was 'getting my shit together'.
I made some changes in my life, I had re-discovered some things I needed to make me feel happier than I had been in a long time. Yep, I sure had it all going on...no stopping me now... hah!
Butch's death-aversary was on the 21st September. The day prioor, I had spent a lot of time pondering on my grief expedition and how far I had come. I decided to thank my family and friends for their support and love, so I created a 'public thank you' on facebook. As I wrote, tears streamed down my face. I was staying with good friends, but me being me, I didn't want them to know I was upset, so I stayed in my room until it wasn't noticeable. I wonder if I will ever get pasty this issue I have, that I mustn't cry in front of anyone? (I used to cry in front of Butch, of course, but he knew me inside out and back the front, so my illogical reasoning tells me that's 'different'!)
For an hour or so, I held it together, I stayed upbeat, never letting on....and then the dam walls broke. I raced upstairs to my room, pretending to be busy doing something. I couldn't stop the flow of tears. I tried my usual tactic of telling myself off and saying I should harden up. I tried telling myself it was okay to be upset, but that didn't help either. Grief is so isolating. Even if others are travelling the same road as you, even if they are grieving for the same person, their grief isn't your grief, and putting it into words defies science and expectation.
As I have mentioned countless times, I hate being seen crying, so when my friend's husband asked if it was okay if he came into the room, I replied 'Only if you keep your eyes closed!' He did a huge backwards leap, which made me smile, because he had misconstrued what I had meant.
My friends were so supportive. They didn't say 'Hey, its been five years, stop being a blubber butt!' They just hugged and sat with me. It was definitely my lucky day when they came into my life.
I had decided to do something on Butch's 'versary, to try and step up and out, but also because I felt if I went home to my family, I would be expecting them to prop me up for yet another year. It was interesting to note that my daughter had also found this year incredibly difficult. We agreed we should have spent the time together after all. Gotta love hindsight. Its so helpful.
My birthday is 10 days after Butch's 'versary. I woke up with the black cloud floating above my bed. Every part of my day, every moment was harsher, sharper and more intense than it had been for some time. Tears flowed freely until I had to go to work. On the drive there, I distracted myself as best I could and gave me the pep talk to end all pep talks.
My face felt swollen, my eyes distended and I couldn't seem to connect with my brain at all. It was a long and emotional day. I was perpetually and totally exhausted.
I would be interested to know if the five year mark has significance for others as well. I know that for us, as a family, it has certainly been more intense.
I still wish my life was different, that Butch was still here with me, even though I know it can't happen. Is that so wrong of me? Or just plain silly...?
A part of me wonders if grief is not so much about who we lose, but what we lose as a result. I don't mean that quite how it appears. It just seems to me that, surely, now I know that my wish won't be granted, that I would just pick up and move onward. Instead I am still caught up in loss, sadness and emotional pain. It is as if the dark fog of grief lifts, but returns as a soft grey mist that still swirls and affects my vision of the future.
Hugs
Cher