"I get knocked down, but I get up again"

My Mom flies in on Saturday and I’ve spent the week swinging from glad to see her dear face after 3 long years apart, to high-grade terror at what Mom’s return is symbolic of.

I’m dreading the financial pressure that will now be face to face rather than behind the relative safety of different continents. I used to be able to “control” responding to Mom’s many requests by merely turning off my phone so I could catch my breath.

I can’t do that in person.

How much harder is this (and by “this” I mean life itself) going to be?

Mom will be 100% reliant on…me. Alun too – and to be fair (and this is difficult for me to admit because of it’s painful history), Jay and Kate have stepped up. They paid for Mom’s flight home and she’ll be initially staying with them until our home is ready.

I don’t think our tiny cottage will ever be ready, to be completely honest with you.

That weighs heavily on me. Probably on Alun, too.

This means I’ll have to face my Dad’s death, too.

I DO NOT WANT TO SEE MY DAD’S ASHES.

IT WILL KILL ME.

I can’t let you go, Daddy. I can’t bear to “see you” like that. Not now.

Not ever.

How am I supposed to deal with this? I ask literally on a practical plain. How do I physically cope with seeing once and for all that my Dad is gone?

How, Lord?

Grief isn’t politely knocking any more.

Grief has followed Troy’s darkened footsteps and has mounted my barriers of safety and protection and is now pounding on the door of my heart.

Let. Me. In.

I’m scared.

I’m hurting.

I’m grieving – at last I’m actually grieving and oh my God it is painful.

I’m not coping.

I’m drowning.

I’m angry. Upset. Frightened.

I’m deeply disturbed and in so much distress about how best to help my Mom, how to protect Alun from the sharp edges of being part of the Daniels family, and finally how to somehow try to reach my younger sibling when he absolutely does not give a shit whether I am alive or not.

I have until Saturday.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.