When Tall died people tried so hard to comfort me with their kind words and, what to me felt like, platitudes. I knew they meant well, that they were trying to help, so I stopped myself from screaming at them. Saying something is better than saying nothing in my book. One of the things that was said to me was that losing Tall was like a deep wound, that with time would heal, but the scar would always be there and like a war wound when the weather was cold or wet there would be twinges.
I have come to realise that the other problem with a wound is, that if it is knocked before being completely healed, it bleeds. On Sunday I sent a message to a friend saying I was thinking of her, as she had said her mother wasn't doing too well. She replied saying that she and her brother were currently sitting with the mother and that she hadn't got long. The memories can flooding back and when she messaged me later to say her mother had passed away the floodgates opened. So much grief.
Which brings me to the title of my post. I found myself yesterday wrongly playing a game of Bereavement Top Trumps in my head. I'm sure you all know the game of Top Trumps, but in case you don't, it's a card game where you have to name something printed on your card that is bigger / better in a certain category than your opponent's. I wrongly started to compare my friend losing her parent to me losing my soulmate. I bitterly became angry that she had her brother and her husband to help her through the paperwork and arrangements. I'm not proud of myself, I'm ashamed. I felt I had to share it though as it is another part of my journey, part of my grieving process. I'm sure I'm not alone, even if others don't admit to it.
Today I know that no two people are the same and so no two people suffering bereavements are the same. I cannot possibly know how someone who has lost a parent feels, I never had one to lose. For now the wound has stopped bleeding and is only niggling slightly.
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