It’s been 6 months since my eldest son, Brendan Bjorn, died. When I say it’s been half a year, it sounds so much longer than it feels, so 6 months somehow seems more accurate though they are the same amount of time. It may not make sense to many of you, but not much about grief does make sense.

It just is, and it is different for everyone.

Next month will be the first Christmas without him. It will just be me and Declan sitting around the tree. I’ve put the tree up already but can’t bring myself to put the lights and decorations on it yet. If Brendan Bjorn was still here, it would all be done by now because a lit Christmas tree was one of his favourite things in the world. Declan has been asking when we’ll finish it. I think today will be the day: 6 months since we lost him. It sounds like a good day to put on the lights he loved so much.

His room goes untouched still, but I know I need to start clearing it out soon. I need to start trying to look ahead to a future without him as the centre his brother and I revolved around. I need to make some decisions for Declan and I now: what is best for us, where is best for us, and how and when do I make that happen for us.

People constantly tell me ‘it’s early days’ yet with each passing day, that unknown future which requires decisions to be made draws nearer.

I feel at a loss for words this morning. Some days are just like that, sitting in the numbness and confusion of grief. Today is one of those days. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find more humour. Maybe even later today. The description of grief as coming in waves is spot on. 6 months on, the waves are steadily becoming more manageable. Is it because I’m so exhausted from the grief journey, and indeed the nearly 18 years of being a carer, that I’m feeling so indescribably exhausted and numb? I think in part, yes.

Every morning I put my hand on his urn and say good morning.

Every night I put my hand on his urn and say good night.

Every day I miss him and want him back.

6 months ago today I watched my first born son gasp for his last breaths as I held his hand.

6 months ago today I screamed in agony as he had no more breaths.

6 months ago today…