This week I am reblogging a post by an author whose books I love, and who writes a blog called Zen and the Art of Tightrope Walking. Today, Vivienne Tuffnell writes with sensitivity and discernment about grief. I was particularly moved by what she writes, and responded to her post with my own comment. I hope that her words may strike a chord with those who may have suffered bereavement during this coronavirus crisis, and indeed, at any time.
The Extraordinary Animal That Is Grief
I thought I knew about grief. I’ve written enough about it, after all’s said and done. I thought I understood it.
But I realise that like a child who paddles on the shores of a vast ocean, sometimes venturing in deeper to swim, I only knew what had so far presented itself to me. Oh I’ve maybe snorkelled a bit; sailed out into the open on a calm day; watched the storms from the shore; read books on the subject.
This spring has been a spring like no other. In the first week of the UK lock-down, my mother passed away, less than seven months after my father. Amid that shock came the immense changes to daily life and the sudden ramping up of the baseline anxiety I experience most of the time. Friends lost beloved relatives and friends to the virus; the whole…
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