This post is from Trudy, from her heart to the page. I hope we all find a little more peace everyday. This human process of grief is so universal, and the catharsis of letting it go makes the poison a little less bitter. My sister has always been my hero.

My words do not run from my mind to my typing fingers with the speed or eloquence of my sisters, so there’s no need to feel sorry for me ….. I am aware!! However, this is retribution therapy for me, and I know by now (though you wont say it to her face,) you are all totally bored of Tracy’s writing (plus I am the less tattooed, most loved daughter!)

From all accounts, loss of a loved one, the grief, the gut wrenching sorrow and overwhelming sadness ease in time. I’ve been gardening, caring for what feels like thousands of Orchids and fish, doing errands, paperwork and keeping very busy, I guess trying to fill this emptiness left by no Jim. But the emptiness is everywhere on this hill and the time endless. Day to day life will never be the same without the growling noises coming from next door, the hunched outline that would appear on my porch most afternoons, wine in hand or the name to call when ANYTHING needs to be fixed.

Today I drove past the hardware where dad used to order almost everything and this monster reaction started from below my belly button. I realize now my eyes don’t leak incessantly like Tracy’s, instead my body heaves and I can’t breathe. According to mum it hits her when she’s alone, usually driving or on the toilet…..Very inconvenient.

Every moment of those 6 weeks watching dad endure something you cannot even begin to imagine, was incredibly hard. But he was given the grace to endure and I was given the grace for each step and subsequent decision. God (or the universe) is good all the time and for that I am truly grateful.

I am however, still waiting on my memories to leave St Clair and journey with me out of the sad, frozen memories and into the good. I want to remember the incredibly talented hands working the lathe, the huge heart (and feet), the loud mouth shouting “Kareen Kareen” for no apparent reason, the bent back he ignored, the food he cooked, the lame jokes and laughter, the amazing man, whole, not broken, not just a head on a pillow.

Time, time, time.

Nothing can prepare you for this journey.

My home is the same, but not. My boys are the same, but not. Our lives will never be the same, but they will go on. It will get easier, the darkness lighter.

I threatened Tracy numerous times to write a post on her blog, in keeping with our fun sisterly banter, but today’s words have come from a very different place. Hopefully one of healing for me.