“Where are you?”

I call out 

to feelings

so deadened

by this grief.


I know not,



listless; beyond pain,

insensate; behind joy.


an empty moor,

a garden door,



unyielding thorny mass

wound weeping pus



how can I heal;

when it isn’t real?


This poem is about the numbness that is a part of the grieving journey. For the past two years this has been my predominate symptom. The best way I can describe it is that I feel neither sadness nor joy at the memories of my Dad. Furthermore, I feel I can’t really access them. At worst, it is as if I never knew him. My mind has severed all connectivity and it feels uncomfortable and wrong and unnaturally pain-free.

I’ve noticed that as I’ve worked through some other issues the wall weakens and grief pops up for a day at most then nestles back down in its safe, which I don’t know the combination to.

I am both reverent over the workings of my mind and frustrated by it.

Can’t it all just come out and be done with?

I want people to understand that grief is a process that has to be worked through – and experience has taught me that grief is work, extremely hard work; but, if we do the work, it can work for us by enabling us to heal.

Julia Samuel, Grief Works

I imagine my grief playing the role of Mum in the following exchange with my son from earlier today:

Him: Please can I watch Transformers?

Me: No darling.

Him: WHY?

Me: Because you already watched a film today and that is enough TV time.

Him: But I want to watch it!! Why can’t I?

Me: Because too much TV isn’t good for you.

Him: But I WANT to watch it.

Me: Sometimes you want things that aren’t good for you, but I know what you need better than you do.

Him: Wwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

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