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.