Sending you flowers...
A short one this week, as I'm not very well...
I could tell you about roses. How, like there are birthday gem-stones, there are birthday flowers too. Roses belong to June… The oldest living rose is 1,000 years old. That archaeologists have discovered rose fossils that date back 35 million years…
I’d like to use this as a way to pivot into Valentine’s Day, to say that I can recognise how hard it must be for those who have lost loved ones, for those who pine for love. How - no matter how hard you try and tell yourself it’s all commercial, and tacky, and cheesy - the sight of someone clutching roses, the bouquet resting precariously on their lap as they make their way home, can prod at you. How the unboxing of gifts online, rose petal scattered bedrooms can remind you of who you’re missing. What you wish you had.
I could then point out how studies have shown that the more people post, and show off about their relationship online, the unhappier they are. But then I’d want to caveat that by saying the study was carried out by a photography and camera equipment company, probably in an attempt to showcase that their products are waaaay cooler than a selfie captioned ‘Friday nights with this one.’
Would that help? Probably not.
I don’t know what your grief is, what has brought you to my newsletter, to my writing. I don’t know what, if anything, can bring you comfort if you’re currently suffering. I know the fact you’re here, that you open up my newsletter each week, matters a lot to me. That I don’t want to hastily write out something without putting thought into it.
And right know, what I do know, is I can’t do that. I’ve just come off of a very intense writing project and the adrenaline of that project managed to chase away a virus, that was lingering waiting to pounce. That virus has hit me now, I’ve filed my copy and my immune system is tired of fighting it.
I’m currently grateful to be tucked under a soft blanket, for Deliveroo drivers and for the gentle writing I’m now undertaking. It’s all about flowers (hence the roses facts) and it’s teaching me that it’s OK to not always have something profound to say. That’s what roses are for. For thousands of years they have been used to send the message of love when we can’t find the words.
So… this is my little Valentine’s message to say, I love you all. You’re doing great.
But I’ve used up pretty much all of the energy that has been gifted to me (by Lucozade) so I’ll be back next week…
In the meantime, I’m very conscious I have some new subscribers so I also wanted to remind you of the times I did have something more to say…
“There’s no form of behaviour that would make me miss her less.” My first ever newsletter, discussing the myth of the grief window.
“We exist in the ways that help us to survive.” My conflicting feelings on the use of mediums during the grieving process, after visiting one.
“A life with children is not one that I can simply try on for a week. It’s also the life, out of all the ones I could have lived, I find hardest to let go of... Not necessarily because it’s the one I want the most, but because it’s the one I’m told I should want the most.” On the grief of being child-free.
“Why do we try to slot everything neatly into categories and then beat ourselves up when we’re not who we expected to be?” When I went through the a (ha!) stage of being obsessed by the different types, and stages, of grief.
Anyway, that’s me sneezing violently again! Fun! Sexy! Cool! Hopefully if you’re new here you won’t see this half-arsed letter as a reason to unsubscribe, I really do appreciate you!