This weekend I am going to the double memorial service for Dad and stepmum.

Although Dad died in January 2009, and my stepmum in June 2009, grief is finally hitting me hard.

I feel that my trauma about surviving prostitution has blocked my natural grief. There is too many body memories getting in the way.

Yesterday, the dam broke. I was crying in the street.

I have had sickness for ages now, a stomach ache that won’t go away, pain in my cunt and anus, bad bleeding from my anus, sickness blocking my chest and throat.

As I finally cried for Dad and Judy, some of that pain shifted.

It has not gone – as I write this I am sick, my cunt and anus is still screaming, I cannot breathe deep.

But my mind is focusing on Dad and Judy.

I am missing the small things that give.

I am missing seeing views of countryside and cities with them.

I am missing my Dad’s scrambled eggs, his fish soup and corn-beef hash.

I am missing breakfast with grabbing parts of the paper, speaking in mumbles of love.

I am missing watching “Match of the Day” cuddled into my Dad.

I am missing being annoyed at them talking over the TV.

This is grief, missing the small things that made so much closeness.

I know that somehow, somewhere that my Dad is very proud of my work now.

He is deep in my heart.

But I miss him.


One response to “Grief

  1. I am so glad you are noting those special moments and times, and are letting your sadness flow.

    I hope this serves to be healing for you, for your whole body and being.

    Please keep writing. You have so much to express that the world needs to hear.


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