Lost in the supermarket...

I have been motoring on pretty much ok in recent weeks. Big projects getting done, the to-do list with lots of ticks, a feeling of maybe, just maybe, I am through the worst of it. Grief, my silent companion now. Or so I thought. There I was, in Sainsbury, doing the weekly shop. Pretty fast loop now, as it only me. With Tom, much longer as he loved to cook, to experiment with recipes and new products. Always a careful selection of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Me, I’m in and out. As it has been so hot, I wanted some fizzy water to put in the fridge. Round the corner I go, straight to the multi-pack bottles. Suddenly, I thought, we like lime cordial with this - and grief jumped me. Hard. We. Then. Memories of Tom, Tom at home, Tom in hospital. My beloved. Tom. Gone. I had to steady my breathing, steady myself. It is not a good look to be doubled over in soft drinks aisle - and certainly not in this heat… As fast as it hit, the tornado passed. I crossed the aisle, picked up a bottle of lime juice, assumed the position with the trolley, and pushed it to the tills.

We keep going, all of us on here, on the road of grief and loss, through the valleys, across the rivers, always moving forward, even though it often doesn’t feel like it. Take care out there, and we have got this, we really have x


I’m slightly off key here Vancouver but an old school tune just popped into my head!!

“One more step along the road we go”.

G. X


Omg @Vancouver isn’t always at the most inappropriate moment that we discover memories trapped and the reminder of what we have lost. For me it’s like a trap door that springs open, the memories jump out and consume me then drop back in the trap and shut the door. Done, pain gone as quick as it arrived.

I sometimes wonder if I should just open the trap door and let it all flood out but to be honest, I don’t have the time for the amount of time it would take to completely collapse and recover and I don’t think I could cope with all that pain.

So releasing little by little will help me in the long run to be able to have some good days as I now get them too.

@Vancouver you have been amazing, you have dealt with so much and maybe the memories have started to appear as you have more time to think. I’ve started getting some lovely memories that I’ve started to enjoy having, which is nice :slightly_smiling_face:

Like you though, I run around Tesco, doesn’t take me long at all. Rich was like your husband. Loved to cook, always looking for a new recipe to buy and try.
He also used to faff :joy:.I always used to say, come in, stop faffing :joy:


Dear Vancouver, so very well said. I see certain foods or fragrances and I want to pick them up for my husband. But then it hits me again he is not there anymore. He will never be in our house again, never drive his car, never go in the garden, never use the train to come back to me. Today is a terrible day again. I am just sitting here and cannot stop crying. How horrible this existence is. You are doing so well by getting things done. I am just sitting here and feeling sorry for myself. Sending you lots of love and hugs.


Hello @Annaessex - firstly, big hug today, a bad grief day for you and goodness knows, I know those only too well. The times when everything seems pointless and the silence, the gap, the void, all unbearable. You are not feeling sorry for yourself, my dear friend, you are grieving and that is a very different thing. Your heart has broken into a thousand pieces and mending it will take time and, later, when you are feeling stronger, your heart will always bear the scars. You are not just sitting there, you are sitting in grief. This is a huge struggle, raw emotional combat and exhausting. So, just for a moment if you can, say to yourself, out loud, quietly “I am proud of myself for getting to today”. Because you should and we all are super proud of you. Hold on, hold tight, keep going. We are with you x


@Ali29 - thank you for your support and encouragement - it means so much. When we spend so much time alone, finding people who understand completely on here is so helpful. Grief, my shadow, my companion and even, oddly, my mentor, had another surprise for me today - but in a good way. I was making my umpteenth trip down the hill to the charity shop, when ahead on the road, I spotted a little black convertible Mini Cooper. Just like Tom’s. I felt so happy seeing it and remembering the fun trips we made in it - across France, through Italy, here in the UK. So, that was good, and grief giving me a glimpse of how things can be. That I can go on, that I can feel pain and sadness, and happiness and joy, when thinking about Tom and both are safe to do. @Annaessex, @Ali29 , @Grandma - let’s link arms today, let’s go forward together. Thank you for being my friends x


Thank you so much for your very kind words. It is an emotional roller coaster today again. It is funny but there is always a bird jumping on my half-open French door leading to the overgrown and neglected garden ( I have hay fever very badly this year and my husband always did the gardening ) I have the net curtains in front of them so no flies etc coming in. It is like my husband wants to say something to me. He wanted to buy new garden tools this year and I have got already a hoe and a rake sent to me. I just have to assemble them and screw them tighter. Still have to get a spade. Take care for now and thank you again. Sending lots of love and hugs.


@Annaessex - something tells me that your garden will help you to heal. Seeing it come together again, with help from a gardener if your hayfever prevents you going out, could be a real blessing. One of my favourite books is The Secret Garden - where the lead character, a lonely orphan child called Mary Lennox, brings a walled garden back to beauty again, after it was shut up and locked after a tragedy that happened there. If you haven’t read it, maybe take a look. There might be something there that will help ease the load you carry. You have helpers on here, right with you and thank you for being there for me x


@Ali29 and @Vancouver it is strange the way grief hits you when you’re not expecting it. Today I went to the theatre with my daughter to see an upbeat play. However, unknown to us there was a scene when someone died and I was sitting in the theatre with tears pouring down my face. Thankfully it was dark. :broken_heart:


Dear Jan17, we went a few years ago to see La Boheme at the Royal Albert Hall. A few months before our visit my biological mother passed away after her battle with throat cancer. In the last act of the opera Mimi the main part of the opera dies of lung disease and I started crying, although I was not very close to my biological mother. Grief and pain just hit you when you least expected it. That is the reason why I am not going to the cinema because I would expect my beloved husband to be sitting next to me and I could not take it being on my own in the cinema without him around holding my hand. Sending you lots of love and hugs.


@Jan17 I do find it hard. I went to the cinema Tuesday and I was fine until I saw an advert for Mission Impossible, a film we would definitely go and see. It broke my heart. But had a good night and The Little Mermaid was amazing!


@Annaessex @Ali29 Sometimes you think you’re not doing too badly then something comes along and hits you when you’re not expecting it.


I really feel this.

My Father in Law is terminally ill in hospital, having recently been diagnosed with liver cancer and recently being told he has just days to live. He is a hobby engineer, and loves steam engines etc.

Summer brings along all the country shows and steam rallies that we used to go to together as a family, and just an advert on FB of one of his favourite rallies to go to really sets me off. He will never drive his steam tractor with his grandkids in a trailer around a show ground anymore.

We are planning however, to drive it round in his honour once its fixed.
We`ve got this. It might not feel like it right now, but we have.