On the day I found out my dad had a year to live, I was standing at work, typing away stupidly about something I can’t remember now. And in an instant, I was catapulted into a terrible grief I knew nothing about. Like a dark room I’d never entered, feeling my way around. Gemma called my boss, my colleagues, and my best friends. Ordering one to give me time off, to get coffee, and to buy moving boxes. In the apartment, I couldn’t even remember my own name. Gemma found my passport, called my sister and arranged a pick up, and booked my flight for the next morning. Early but not too early, because she said I needed sleep. How do I even begin to pack right now? Gemma told everyone what to do. She put on my favourite songs, Taylor Swift, whom she didn’t particularly care for, and made the executive decision to toss my near-empty shampoo bottles. We walked through a handful of outfits I’d need - certainly comfy ones - as Gemma proposed. And when I’d come back to collect my t...
Four, almost five months ago, my life changed. I would say it changed forever but I still don’t know if it’s changed forever or just for now. For the people that know me, this story is probably boring, sad, and over-told. I get that. It’s probably annoying to hear about the worst day of someone’s life over and over and over again. And I can see how the feelings that come from someone who is suffering can become a burden on those around them. They just want to help. I know that. They feel defeated when they can’t. My whole life, everything has been almost laid out perfectly, like an outfit on my bed, or paint swatches for the spare bedroom. I have made easy choices, had complete control, had complete understanding of yesterday and tomorrow and the future. Then I crashed my car. Pretty badly. In the moments after the crash, hanging upside down, suspended by my seatbelt with my legs squished underneath the dash, I felt myself change. The airbags were slowly deflating, and the l...