The scent of grief

There’s a poem, that I’ve forgotten the name of, about changing the sheets. It contains a line about the poet’s mother “the smell of clean washing is hers” I think of this every time I change the bed. I use the same washing powder that my mother used to, just for the smell. When IContinue reading “The scent of grief”

What you don’t know about grief

I wrote this very soon after Fred died – but didn’t particularly want to share it. A recent conversation made me think of it, and the anger and the rawness that needs a place to go. What you don’t know about grief is that it happens from the inside out. I know you want toContinue reading “What you don’t know about grief”