then I’ll grieve
My mum had just died and everything went strange around the edges.
Work felt different. People didn’t know what to say. Some said nothing. Some said too much. I kept logging on anyway.
There was so much life admin.
No one tells you about the list you inherit when your next of kin dies. The accounts. The forms. The calls. The repeating of the sentence: my mum has died.
Life admin is hard at the best of times. Doing it while numb is something else entirely.
On the phone, people tried to empathise. I know they did. But they heard my mum died and translated it into task to complete.
I could hear the click in their voice.
“Oh gosh.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll just close her account then.”
They didn’t hear my confusion. Or the resentment. Or the way every call felt like another weight added to an already full day.
I kept thinking: I’ll just get through this bit.
I’ll do this call.
I’ll send that email.
I’ll finish this list.
Then I’ll grieve.
Grief became something postponed. Something scheduled for later. Something I’d get to once everything else was dealt with properly.
But the list didn’t end.
It just reshuffled itself.
Somewhere in all of this, life kept moving. Dinners still needed made. Bedtimes still came around. The world didn’t stop spinning, it just slowed enough for me to notice how tired I was.
I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t have the energy.
So I kept going.
And kept thinking:
then I’ll grieve.
