The muchness in the madness.
If someone had said to me even a few weeks ago that my sister and The Queen would be sharing the respects of a one minute silence at a Grantham rugby club, I wouldn't have believed you.
Yet here we are.
I'd never grieved before until 4th September when my sister passed. I've experienced loss before in many forms. But never this all consuming, debilitating, delirious inducing grief.
Then 4 days later, the Queen passed too. It was like being hit by car coming in the other direction, completely knocking me off my travels.
This complicated car crash of emotions wasn't a second wave of grief for old Liz (soz, babe). It was anger. So much anger and bewilderment.
My thoughts on her passing and the monarchy in general are complex - something perfectly penned by Ellen in her latest piece.
The news and noise about the queen has been deafening. A non-stop, all consuming public grieving since the news was announced on 8th September. So noisy, its been near impossible to keep my head down and focus on my quiet personal grieving.
Their deaths couldn't have been more different. One at 96 years old, a full life of privilege, inherited through sheer dumb luck, a lifelong husband waiting for her at the pearly gates.
One at 31 years old, a hardworking geriatric doctor, a life cut short, compromised by COVID and cancer, leaving behind a 3 year old son and husband of nearly 2 years.
On paper, it would make sense for the more tragic story of my sister to get more news. But life doesn’t make sense. For the last week as soon as I've turned on my TV or opened my phone I've been hit with deluges of what feels like public madness and cognitive dissonance for a frail old lady very few actually knew or even met.
The wrist-banded access to 5 mile long queues for a coffin, like a theme park ride. The cancelling of hospital appointments and sports games and funerals. The business and food bank closures. The silencing of self-serve check-outs. The marmalade sandwich tributes left at palaces. The forbidding of using bike racks and children's sit-on rides outside supermarkets. The bizarre as fuck memes.
A national grief-off, trying to out-do the next guy all in the name of showing respect to her Majesty. But how does any of this show anything close to respect?
It's easy to get swept up in a public grief. I get it. We're probably especially vulnerable after years of disconnect in the UK, craving something to unify us and its sent folk a bit nuts. The last week has felt like a dystopian sci-fi, a country forced into grieving at whatever cost.
But amongst it all are others, like myself, grieving for their own personal losses in the midst of the madness.
Grief that has felt invalidated. That has felt irrelevant. That has felt compromised. That has felt smothered and overlooked.
Its been a lot. Its a fucking lot. Its too much.