I find it fascinating how many times a day we perform certain tasks without consciously realising it.  I’m not sure it’s wise to admit the amount of times I’ve pulled up somewhere in the car and can’t remember the journey, or been diligently working away and noticed the washing machine with no recollection of braving my daughter’s bedroom to hunt for dirty clothes.

Fourteen years after losing my dad, I find grief has become a semi-conscious task I manage without realising. 

Grief is akin to the ultimate silent business partner, happily it will linger in the shadows and then when you’re least expecting it, it’ll turn up unannounced demanding to see the books!

Unfortunately, there are no guidebooks for grief, I know, I’ve looked!  Sure, there are self-help books but nothing that truly sums up how instinctively picking up a multi pack of walnut whips at Christmas (because for a split second you forget their gone) will leave you crying in the middle of Asda.

One universal platitude is true though, it does get easier with time. 

Now I take comfort from the blanket of memories stored within my skin and the wealth of joy that recollection brings.  If I stroke the mole on my left forearm I remember the one he had on his outer right arm that used to have dangly hairy ‘legs’ that I called spidey from being little and if I look long enough at my reflection I catch a glimpse of his looking back.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal” – Richard Puz

Remember, whilst grief might not be a tangible asset our memories are, they are weighted in decorative frames or are captured in favoured cardigans sewn into cushions, they are a bountiful river pulsing through our veins.

So if those storm clouds roll in, let that river wash over you and carry you home.