Grief-tired

I don’t know if I can find the words here, right now. Well they don’t exist, as far as I know. It’s late. I’m ‘grief-tired’ (I’m putting out a lazy shorthand term until someone creates the words to adequately capture this experience). ‘Grief-tired’ differs from ‘typical tired’, if there is such a thing, because it involves a lack of sleep combined with crushing sadness, anxiety, questions, agitation, being in a state of full alert (not sure what the full alert is for but anything less seems a betrayal of LB), worry and despair.

So much sadness.

This sadness isn’t confined to right now but extends indefinitely across time and space. Not only in the everyday but also the anniversaries, ‘special occasions’, holidays, the anticipation of events or places that LB (son, grandson, cousin, nephew, potential brother in law/uncle, family friend, pupil, friend, dude in the Wheatley Asda, acquaintance) should be present but won’t be. The pain associated with this absence, how we fill this space, is too enormous to think about.

But there’s right now to think about too. The immediate loss to layers of family and friends and others who loved LB, liked him, admired him, delighted in his humour, or hung out with him. And those who loved the (odd) socks off him. Like we did.

I’m raging against those who led us to this space. I want to say have a long look at yourselves. A long, hard look at yourselves. Have a critical think about what you did and what you didn’t do. What you could or should have done. Think about the processes you followed, the processes you ignored. The processes you should have challenged. The common sense you ditched, the indifference, thoughtlessness, carelessness, lack of humanity and empathy you demonstrated to him, and to us. Because there are a hell of a lot of other dudes like LB out there. Dudes who deserve better.

 

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