Today’s prompt was to write a meditation on grief, following the form used in Geoffrey Brock’s Goodbye.

Sometimes life teaches you things no-one

ever wanted to know. That grief comes in

different shapes. My grief for you is soft,

a wool scarf that’s been worn so often

the fibres feel like part of my skin. I’ll

never unwrap it – it’s become

comfortable enough now – no longer the

raw edged thing it was.

So much of grief is questions. Did I do

enough for you? The answer can only

ever be no. Did you know, in the end,

how much you were loved?

I’m getting on with life, Mum, I am. And

yes, I’m still wearing this grief, as soft as

a hug, every day. This is how it is. Each

new day is still a new day, and you’re

still not here.