Riding The Grief Rollercoaster

Won't someone stop it so I can get off?

Image Credit: What’sYourGrief.com

The grief rollercoaster is no joy ride. You can’t ask anyone to stop it because you want to get off. You have to see it through not knowing when it will come to a halt. If it ever will.

It’s nearly nine months all but a few days since my brother Jay died by taking his own life.

He was my only sibling.

There is only my mum and me left in our family.

My dad died 50 years ago in 1973.

From that little family unit that started out in the early 60s now it’s just me and mum - the last ones standing.

We’re in our grief  bubble together. You might think this gives solace but watching my mum try to cope is very difficult.

No answers to a mother’s whys?

I keep telling mum it’s early days and that she doesn’t need to pretend that everything is ok. People stop asking how you are. Almost everyone has gone back to just chatting the everyday stuff. That’s hard because we want to keep talking about Jay. And so we do. To each other. And we still shed tears together when we do.

It feels strange that I no longer have a sibling walking the earth.  He’s no longer out there,  living his life, even though we lived miles apart.

Jay would’ve been 52 coming up this Saturday. The first year milestones are the toughest even though you do start to grow around your grief.

I know this from lots of reading and also from my grief counselling I had for a couple of months at the start of this year.

Right now it feels like the growth around the grief has stopped, maybe even receded back a bit.

Jay’s birthday seems to be a grief trigger on my ride.

My armour shield is down.

This past week I’ve almost gone into hibernation mode. It seemed to land on me square out of nowhere. That cloak of darkness that wraps around you tight. Almost tight enough to stop your breath.

I’m hiding under it, too. Wrapped myself up in the same cloak, hiding myself away.

I wasn’t even intending to write about it.

It’s like grief ground zero again.

Has someone drawn the 19th August as an invisible line in the sand that I have to try and climb over?

I feel like there’s a much longer road ahead than I expected. It’s a staggered road because not too long ago I was doing good. I was strolling along doing ok. Not great but certainly not bad like now.

I lose myself when I feel like this. I enjoy becoming invisible.

Like a bear hibernating for the long, hard Winter ahead.

Spring will come again, I’m sure.

And just maybe the rollercoaster’s track will stretch out in one of those long gentle curves for a little while to help me get back on my own track.