I’ve had many conversations over the years since my Mum died about whether I might be stuck. Stuck in a rut of grief, and not moving on. Now, what has occurred to me during this time, is that there is a very clear distinction between moving on and moving forward.
My life has unquestionably moved forward; I have changed jobs, extended my home, travelled to new places, had two children, and celebrated over a decade of marriage. I didn’t stop doing things the day my Mum died, I didn’t expect the world to stop, and I didn’t stop looking forward.
However, I won’t ever move on from my Mum’s death. It will never sit easily with me; I’ll never be comfortable with it, and I’ll never stop wishing it wasn’t true. I don’t think this spells delusion, but rather a natural reaction to losing my Mum too early.
I don’t think this means I’m not dealing with it either. I know my Mum was very unwell, I know there was nothing else to be done, and I know that in dying, she was out of pain.
None of this really helps you get over it and move on though. For me, that feels impossible. It was one of life’s anomalies; an irreconcilable event that shouldn’t have happened. The idea of moving on, to me, means not thinking about something, not reminiscing, not holding something close anymore. This is the absolute opposite of what helps me live without my Mum each day.
I have resolved that, for me, I don’t want to move on, but I do want to keep moving forward and I can do both.
