Walking through my grief

Following the death of my partner in February, it has been difficult to put one foot in front of the other, literally and metaphorically.

My body has a new heaviness to it while my mind is a constant fog of sadness and despair. But Flossie still needs walking. She is as full of beans as ever. 

This means I have to go out every day and engage with the world. It’s hard to get out there sometimes but when I manage to go, it helps.

I’ve been dragging myself around the countryside while Flossie charges about being her usual energetic self. At first, I barely looked around me, half-hoping we didn’t meet anyone in case I actually had to have a conversation. 

One time, I saw a friend across a field. She told me she didn’t realise it was me because of the way I was walking. I usually move at a brisk pace. Now I was shuffling like an infirmed 90 year old.

Being out in the fresh air feels beneficial though, and talking to fellow dog walkers is therapeutic. Everyone has their own problems and walking the dog can provide respite from that, allowing time to think and space to breathe, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

As the weeks pass by, I’ve realised that despite living in my bubble of grief, the world continues around me. Nature carries on regardless of how I feel and the season of growth and hope has now arrived. The trees have blossomed, the bluebells are flourishing and the woods smell deliciously of wild garlic. 

Plus, Flossie tries her best to keep me distracted by regularly rolling in something disgusting. There’s nothing quite like the realisation that your dog is dripping in fox poo to bring you back to earth.

So, we continue to walk, sometimes for hours. Flossie can’t believe her luck. I’m just breathing in the countryside, appreciating the new buds of Spring and slowly putting one foot in front of the other.

As published in the Bath Chronicle, 18 April 2019