It’s been a little while since I’ve posted an update on here, and honestly, it’s because there hasn’t been much to update you on. My last blog found me motivated and ready to take on the world, but since then, my website sat a little quiet, until recently.
For the first time in about four years, I posted a short story to this website, one that I wasn’t expecting to share.
Sometimes, I write to get my thoughts and feelings out of my head and into words that I can see in front of me to process them properly. My notes app on my phone is filled to the brim with random thoughts I have and things I wish I could say to avoid bottling them up.
When you experience something traumatic, I feel like your mind makes one of two decisions: either block it out completely, or burn it into your brain forever. When mine decided to do the latter, following my last time seeing my Mum before her passing, I needed a way to get it all out in front of me, so that it wasn’t circling in my head whenever I tucked myself into bed.
So I wrote.
Set in a hospice ward on a bleak winter’s day, “Friday 8th December 2023” is written like a journal entry, starting with my family and me sitting around my mum’s bed – the five of us together for the last time.
I began writing this story on a random lunch break when the grief decided to rise to the surface once more. I poured everything I could onto the page, every detail I could remember, every emotion I felt, every sound I heard, and every thought rushing through my head. Once I was finish, I closed the page, and almost completely forgot about it.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was scrolling through my documents, looking for inspiration for writing, and came across the piece once more. Having read through it, I thought to myself, why not share my story?
So I bulked it up, I dug deep into my mind to remember anything else I could about that tragic day. I let myself back into that ward, where the four of us surrounded my mum’s small body, taking it in turns to hold her hand.
There is no dramatisation to the story; everything you read is true. It’s brutally honest and vulnerable, and I’m incredibly proud of it. The emotions are real, and reading it through is hard for me, especially the ending. Looking back, I can’t quite believe I made it through that day.
Talking about trauma is tricky because you want to tell people. It’s a huge event in your life, and it feels wrong to keep it bottled up, but at the same time, it’s deeply personal. For me, especially, I also don’t want people to think I’m asking for attention and desperate for them to feel sorry for me. That’s something I’m working on.
I could have turned that story into an entire novel if I wanted to, but you don’t need to hear about everything because that final day was the final day of almost half a decade of pain, love, and waiting, all wrapped into one, and letting it go.
“Friday 8th December 2023” is probably the most personal and most emotional piece of writing I’ve ever created, and most likely ever will. I hope that it resonates with others out there who have lost a loved one or are in the process of anticipatory grief. Even though your story is yours and yours alone, YOU are not alone.
Jake Grayson Writes 