It seems the time for serenity and the simply clarity of pure grief is over. It is 38 days since my mother’s death, and for the first time I sit here confused, upset, and stressed. I expected that grieving would be more difficult once I returned to London and the expectations of ‘normal’ life (I can’t seem to drop those inverted commas) reasserted themselves, but I could no predict exactly how this would manifest itself, or how I would cope with it. I seemed to be doing very well until yesterday, although I was starting to struggle a bit with losing touch with exactly how I was feeling. What I have not lost, of course, is hope. Keirkegaard said, “Suffering is beautiful, and there is vigor in tears; but one should not suffer like a man without hope.” My hope, in this case, lies in the confidence that this darkness shall pass, and calm shall come again. I believe in the cyclical nature of life; it is not a linear path from A to B, and nor is it static. We roll ever forwards, upwards, downwards – but while I want to firmly grip life and tell time to STAND STILL!! when I don’t want to let go of the joy of a moment, it cannot remain thus; but I can hope that the cycle may be a slow-turning one, or that the time for joyfulness will come around again. Thus in sadness, I know it will pass; and although I also know that sorrow too will come around again, its nature will have changed, as will my inner resources.