Sorrow

Sorrow swept in.

‘When I go, don’t learn to live without me. Just learn to live with my love, in a different way.’ I’m there… Donna Ashworth, from LOSS.

Our collective grief when our darling Queen died, early September, brought a nation together. Landed in the morning to the news. Leaving was bittersweet, arriving in a country wrapped in black. Wrapped in deep, deep gloom.

We wandered aimlessly, searching for answers in other’s faces, the shops bereft of flowers. A nation clutching lilies, roses and sunflowers to lay upon the ground.

Green Park turned to colour and scent. Laced around trees, designated areas, one bunch upon another. Children wrote letters and drew pictures of themselves and Her Majesty, with corgi’s by her feet. Paddington tucked between the blooms, and the flowers grew, as did the grief.

Monday morning I too, bowed to place my flowers reverently there. For my Queen. So joyful but months ago for her Jubilee, now quiet, only the whispers and birds and buses pierce the veil of mourning, in a city so, so big, in hearts breaking, so tiny and fragile.

Mere hours on, an arrow pierced my heart. The world went darker still. A beloved was no more.

That afternoon I returned to that place of flower laying, to lay one more bouquet.

The weeping was attributed to the Queen. We were all crying in some way or another, for more than just one person - all the loss and grief collected came into play.

Grief is love with nowhere to go. A demon of a thousand tentacles that wraps and smothers and twists life far from what you know. Lies on your pillow at night and waits for you to wake. Seeps into songs and sits on the underground, at the head of the table. Relentless. Comforting. A lover replacing the lover before.

I have been in grief before. Will be again. Scars upon the heart, wiser and privileged to have been part of every special life that bled into mine.

You are with family and friends, as am I.

To turn to life. You are tucked safely in my heart.