19 tcf.org.uk I feel it when I wake – sometimes immediately, other days it can take some time. It can be a ball of anxiety in the stomach – this doesn’t make sense – I no longer fear anything – the worst has already happened. It is also a pressure, a tension in the chest. I sometimes feel panic that I need to release it before it takes control. Can I suppress it for a while? – no. I get ready quickly and get outside – no matter the weather. The feeling is rising – becoming more intense but also physically moving upward - a lump in the throat. Then into my eyes- the tears start to push through, but no, there are people around, cars passing- I don’t want to cause a fuss. Walk faster until I reach the safety of the forest- quick check that I am alone then let it go. A quiet sob at first then harder- the tears are coming fast now, soaking my face . I don’t try to wipe them, not yet…I know there are many more to come. What is the main emotion today? ‘Name it to tame it’ I was told. Anger? Guilt? Or the default emotion -sadness – extreme sadness like I have never felt. It overwhelms me – How will I survive this? But I know I will. I know I have to. I have no choice. I need to let it out. I say his name over and over. Ask ‘why?’ I let in the awful flashbacks that take me back to ‘that moment’. They bring with them disbelief. It has been 4 months, but each time I feel the horror afresh like it is happening all over again. He can’t be dead. I can’t accept that. There must be some mistake. Then back to the sadness. Will I feel like this forever? At the start, the thought of this panicked me- how could I live like this every day? Now I worry about a day when I don’t feel like this. What would that mean? – that I have ‘moved on’ or ‘grown around my grief’? My breathing gets faster, and I am sobbing inconsolably until it catches my breath. I see someone in the distance coming towards me and I am forced to pull myself together. I focus on the rhythm of my steps, the birdsong. I try some slow deep breaths and begin to feel calmer. I muster a smile as I pass. I see a small white feather on the path and bend to pick it up. I am not a believer in messages from the spirit world, but for some reason I have started this habit and it brings me brief moments of comfort as I walk. When I return home, I place my feather in a jar – it is half full already . My grief walk is over for another day. The Jar of Feathers by Marie Innes COMPASSION | FEATURE - THE JAR OF FEATHERS
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy OTM0NTEz