The knife is slack in my hand. The vegetables I was cutting, forgotten. Terror grips my chest and I am struggling to breathe. I am paralysed.
The family dinner is now beyond my reach. I have stopped. My body has simply stopped. My mind is racing for reasons why.
This has happened once before. Years ago. Three weeks after my son died, I collapsed to my knees, unable to continue. Raw grief, emerging from shock, forcing me to floor. Demanding that I pay my dues. Telling me to pay attention to my grief. Read more