When you learn that someone you love is gone, the words immediately strip you of your identity; labels fall away – mother, father, daughter, son, granddaughter, grandson, niece, nephew, husband, wife, partner, lover, friend.

We are told that there are five stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

These are not always moved through in order, we interchange between them. For me, memories sweep me through the stages and back again in a constant whirlwind. Everything else fades to white noise. I would like to take you on a journey with my grief.

When I was 4 or 5 years old, I went on my first holiday. It was a coach holiday so we got up early and my Grandad dropped my Mum and I at the coach station. As the bus pulled away and I saw Grandad waving goodbye to me, I burst into uncontrollable crying. This was the first time I had ever been away and in that moment I realised I was going to miss him so much. Mum tried to console me, telling me it was only for a holiday for a week. I carried on sobbing.

I feel like I am still on that bus. And he is still waving goodbye to me whilst the tears flood down my face.

When he passed away, I pulled the duvet over my head and let it envelop me in a cocoon of comfort.

I could still hear his voice carrying a melody through the house.

When I pulled my body from the bed then down the stairs, I expected to see his beaming smile over his morning coffee. I wandered over to retrieve a mug and caught a glimpse of myself in the glass cabinet. I didn’t recognise the figure staring back at me. I had become a doppelganger of myself – an unsettling version of me.

It is like being on an endless carousel. Spinning in a confusing concoction – a curious mixture of emotions. One moment elated thinking of happy memories, and the next feeling nauseous that there are no more memories to make.

I had fired shots into the unknown – could I have done more? What if the doctor had seen him sooner? Why him? Why not me? Who am I without him? I wish we had more time. I am not sure how to continue without him in my life.

Trying to describe grief is like trying to describe seeing sound. You can get the gist, the general mechanics, but it isn’t a full comprehensive understanding. I try to decipher what life means now – without him here, and the void that now exists in my life without him here to fill it. I try to imagine what he might say to me if he were here:

“I am gone – and that’s ok.

I know we haven’t had long to accept this. This cancer has consumed me, and I want you to carry these words with you now I am not there to comfort you.

You will think that this should not have happened to me. You will focus on the ‘what ifs’ – but I need you to think about what I have had. I have had a life illuminated with love. You will think it is dark right now and that nothing makes sense. I need you to find the light.

When you were little, we used to potter in the garden and I would teach you about all the flowers and shrubs. Remember, plants lean towards the light to survive and you will do the same now.

You have given me nothing but love, and love is the light that remains after I am gone.”

Time is no longer linear as the days have merged into weeks, then years.

5 years later – I am a survivor of emotional pain. Although the wound on my heart has closed, the scar tissue that remains still pulls to let me know I will never fully heal.

Without him here, I am trying to lean towards the light by focusing on the love I have in my life. Life after death, is love.

Written by Katie Ingram

Blogger @Poemstellium

Instagram: @katieingramauthor