After I posted my blog post yesterday about my dad, I felt so much more in control of life. I went from being a nervous wreck to feeling calm and stable – and I really think that was due to writing down the thoughts, and putting them on to a page that other people might come across.

I’m still deciding whether or not to share this with friends/family/twitter acquaintances, so if you are one of those people you’ll either have stumbled across this by a mistake, or I have made the decision to share!

Either way, perhaps this is a blog that will stay for a little while – perhaps even branch out in to things less dad-related! – but for now, I wanted to talk about grief bursts.

Yesterday I wasn’t in a great place. I could barely see the screen through a sheen of constant tears welling up in my eyes, which maybe explains why I couldn’t articulate my thoughts as well as I’d have liked.

And the reason was – I had a grief burst. Grief bursts are slippery little suckers that come out of nowhere. One minute I’ll be happily driving in my car, and suddenly I’ll find myself pulling over and sobbing, whilst Going Underground by The Jam plays on the radio – reminding me of my dad.

I’m never safe from them – and I doubt I ever will be. And I’m pretty sure I can’t be the only one who gets caught off-guard by them either. They’re not always a negative thing either.

Surely a grief burst must mean that you care, love and miss that person. It demonstrates your ability to connect with your emotions, to feel the grief. I’m not locking it away in some guarded corner of my mind, where perhaps it would have a big impact on my future wellbeing and happiness should it happen to escape.

No – as long as I am aware of the fact I might be hit by a grief burst; as long as I have people I can rely on to be there and to listen; as long as I am nice to myself, and understand that this is natural, then I think that these grief bursts aren’t such a bad thing.

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