Oh, Sod It – Let’s Talk About Grief

Right, I wasn’t going to do it, but here we are. Another article. This time, grief gets its moment in the spotlight. Why? Because at this time of year, it smacks you like a bloody bus doing 50 in a 20 zone. Festive, isn’t it?Take this photo, for example. I love it. It’s my mum’s side of the family: NHS warriors who’ve probably seen more bodily fluids than any human should. Absolute legends. We got super close back in 2008 when the unthinkable happened—my mum died suddenly in a car accident. No warning, no “prepare yourself.” Just gone. My world didn’t just fall apart—it exploded, like one of those overly dramatic action movies. Except there was no Bruce Willis to save the day—just me, a mountain of tissues, and a whole lot of shouting, “Why the fuck did this happen?”*Let me tell you, grief is bollocks. People love to spout nonsense like, “You’ll get over it.” Spoiler alert: you bloody won’t. You learn to live with it, and that’s a big difference. It took me years—YEARS—to figure that out. And my god, my mum was beautiful. I mean stunning. I still remember her being asked for ID in Asda when she was 40. Forty! I’m 40 now, and do I get asked for ID? Do I hell. No, I get asked if I want a discount coupon to the anti-wrinkle cream aisle. My mum was only 43 when she died, and now here I am at 40, realising how terrifyingly young that is. It’s practically adolescence with back pain and a mortgage. Then there’s my nan. Oh, my nan. She was the godfather of our family. Forget Marlon Brando—she was the boss. And trust me, she made damn sure everyone knew it. She ruled our little family mafia with an iron fist, endless cups of tea, and the occasional “I’m done with this drama” flounce. She was also my best friend. We lost her earlier this year to that thieving bastard of a disease, dementia. Now, here’s the thing about grief: you think you’re ready for it, especially with something like dementia. And, for the most part, I was. I’d made my peace. Or so I thought. But here we are, Christmas time, and it hit me like a sack of glittery baubles to the face. Why? Because for the first time ever, she won’t be here, dancing around the living room like a maniac and butchering Belinda Carlisle songs in a way that would make Belinda herself call for legal action. That’s the thing about grief—it’s a sneaky little sod. You think you’re managing, and then bam! It sucker punches you. A song, a smell, a tradition you can’t keep going anymore, and suddenly, there you are, ugly crying into your mince pies, wondering what the hell happened. But here’s the twist: after the tears, there’s always a smile. Because those memories? They’re everything. They’re messy, ridiculous, and full of love. And once the sobbing stops, you realise grief is just proof that you loved someone so much that their absence feels like a bloody great hole, So this Christmas, here’s my little PSA: don’t suffer alone. Grief is shit—it just is—but it’s also part of life. The price we pay for love. And while we’re all here pretending turkey is edible (seriously, why does it always taste like cardboard?), let’s check in on each other. Be kind. Be patient. And for fuck’s sake, have a drink for the ones we’ve lost. I’ll be raising a glass to my mum and nan—absolute legends—and probably crying through Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven is a Place on Earth. It’s what they would’ve wanted. #drama Merry Christmas, you lovely lot. Love to you all. xxxxx