They all seem to be like this now, my nights.
It is 3 a.m. and I am lying awake, staring at the ceiling again. I am self-talking, doing breathing and relaxing exercises and honestly, praying that I can get some rest for once.
But my ‘grief brain’ hates me and instead says to me:
“Oh good, you’re awake! At the hospital on the day your wife died, do you remember wiping the dribbled traces of blood running from the corner of her mouth with a tissue before anyone else came in?”
“Do you remember how angry you were with the nurses for not cleaning her up before you were allowed in to see her?”
“Oh yeah, do you remember how cold her hand felt when you kissed it and cried for her to wake up?”
etc., etc.
And with that, the last hope of sleep I had for the rest of the night evaporates.
Instead, I am left with a high definition, step-by-step replay of that morning, in my head. One that is on a loop – along with a visceral replay of all the emotions I was assaulted with on that day.
Like I said, my grief brain hates me – this may be a theme!
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