None of this is normal

Day one of grief

I'm sat in Birmingham New Street station, sobbing my heart out into a croissant. It's the most emotional pain I've ever been in, while everyone else is going on about their business like its normal.

Only it's not a normal day. Its 10am on a Monday in September. And 17 hours ago I was in hospital for my beautiful little sister.

It's not normal for a 31 year old to die, leaving behind her husband and 3 year old son. It's not normal to watch someoney gently take their last breath. Its not normal to rub moisturiser on their head, itchy from hair regrowth and oxygen tubes. It's not normal to wipe their face from dribble and blood as their body slows down. Its not normal leaving them in the hospital all on their own, after hugs, kisses, love and final goodbyes once their heart has stopped.

None of this is normal.

My mind feels like its been wiped of all the good memories of her before chemo and radiotherapy changed her irrecognisably. Instead it keeps replaying the last 30 minutes of her life. The sights, the sounds, the smells, the awkward conversations, the tender stroking of her hand so she knew we were there for her until the very end. I'm viscerally trapped in that room and I can't get out.

None of this is normal.

I'm all of the sad. If there was a bigger word for sad, I'd be that. But my brain is foggy with tears and I can't think of one.

I'm angry how rapidly cancer stole her from us. And even angrier covid restricted her last three years on the earth and became a catalyst in her health deteriorating even more.

I'm fearful of what will happen to our family. Will this bring us together or drive us apart? How will my brothers and parents handle their grief? How is my Nan going to handle saying goodbye to a granddaughter, after already saying goodbye to a son? How can I somehow make this any easier on everyone?

I'm heartbroken for her 3 year old son and husband. So much to handle at such a young age, now navigating life as a family of 2. Unfathomable.

I'm weary from the weight of all the emotion and adrenaline and pain, trying to make sense where there is none.

I'm worried my grief will drag me down into a hole and bring my baby daughter with me. I'm worried it'll make my life small and dark, like it did for my Grandma when she lost her sister at a young age. Instead I want to use this as a force for good. To celebrate her. To live for the moment. Embrace the small things. Cherish every single moment we're blessed with. Life is too damn precious and fragile to be lived small.

I'm proud and grateful. Proud for the glorious, joyous human being who radiated love and kindness I can call my sister. I'm grateful for the times we had. The laughs the cries, the made up dance routines, the fall outs and make ups. Im grateful i could be there for her at the end, making sure she wasn't alone, like she was there for me whenever I was in trouble.

I'm yearning for her like never before. Looking at our WhatsApp conversation. The questions forever left unanswered. Desperately willing for her to magically start typing.

I'm relieved she can now be at peace. No more invasive tests. No more gruelling treatments. No more horrid side effects.

I'm guilty. All of the guilty. For everything. The words not said. The things not done. The questions not asked. The silly drama I dragged her into. The times she was the big sister to me. For not being a good enough big sister for her. That I get to see her son grow up and not her. The fucking bad luck that is the genetics lottery she was handed, not me.

None of this is normal.

I'm numb but hyper sensitive.

I'm drained but on edge.

I'm exhausted but my mind is busy.

I want to scream and shout, but also sit still and be quiet.

I want to be surrounded by people, but left alone.

I want to get black out drunk, but also stay rigidly sober.

I want to be kept busy, but also be a sofa potato.

When nothing feels appropriate anything is fair game.

Im still sobbing into my croissant. I've been sobbing so much on the train I'm pretty sure I've missed my stop.

None of this is normal.