Hello my lovely readers
I am briefly back to the blogosphere, for reasons you will probably guess from the title of this post, which happens to be my hundred-and-thirteenth. Therefore, without further ado (except a content note for discussion of grief and mourning):
Today is my twenty-sixth birthday. Twenty-six years more than my premature infant self was meant to be able to be alive on this earth, and nearly sixteen years since I learnt truly to value that vitality through the lesson of the loss of darling Gemma - the first of the sixteen special souls to whom I have said goodbye in the time since then. It also marks exactly six months since Shane left us, not quite three weeks since Ania slipped away, and the blur in between them and when we gathered in gratitude for Helen and Jackie. On a more macro level, of course, it is the second anniversary of the Paris attacks and (somewhat paradoxically) World Kindness Day.
All of these coincidences remind me that, if there are things the combined physical progress and emotional upheaval of my twenty-sixth year has taught me, they are that sadness can sit side by side with joy - and that a sense of your own and others' mortality can be both a shadow and a spur to make the most of the time you’ve been granted. The pain felt in the absence of precious people is in itself a testament to the strength of the ties which tethered us together, and I for one would far rather have the happy memories alongside the grief than not have had those moments at all. Life is too short not to laugh and to love. Moreover, both those things can (must) include learning to be as kind to yourself as you strive to be to others, and acknowledging that you are also allowed to reach out for support. It doesn’t take away the hurt, but it makes it easier to bear - and you might just find, by sharing your sorrows, that you help someone else to heal too.
So, with that in mind, consider this post a thank-you note for the best presents of all, my wonderful friends and family, both those whose brilliant, beautiful bundles of molecules are bouncing around in the atmosphere and those still physically here. You are what keeps me afloat, and I am so very lucky to have you.
I'm not sure when I'll next write again (you have my eternal gratitude for your understanding about that as well), so for now, be kind to yourselves. And, if you need to, talk. It's hard, but it helps.
Love and hugs - and a picture of the blurry beginnings of this morning's stunning sunrise:
Jx
