UNFILTERED GRIEF
In the past four years,
I’ve rebuilt myself piece by piece.
I’ve stepped into parts of my identity I once avoided, uncovered layers of strength I didn’t know I had,
and reshaped my life into something more intentional, more honest,
more aligned with who I’m becoming.
But even with all that growth, there is one step I’ve always known I would eventually have to take
and it’s the one that feels the heaviest,
the most sacred, and the most terrifying.
Bereavement counselling.
It’s been over eight years since I lost my beloved Father to cancer, and in that time I’ve cried until my body shook, accepted the reality that he is no longer here in this life, and learned to keep moving through the world without his physical presence.
But there is a deeper layer of grief I’ve never touched the layer that rises in the quiet moments, in the stillness of my home, when there’s no distraction left to protect me from the truth of how much I miss him.
I’ve avoided that layer because it feels like opening a door I’m not sure I’ll know how to close again.
The truth is, I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want to loosen my grip on the belief that he’s still here with me in spirit, guiding me, protecting me, watching over me the way he always did.
Holding onto him has been my way of surviving the loneliness that came after he left.
When he died, it felt like a part of me died with him a part that no one else has ever been able to replace.
He was my light, my protector, the one person who understood my language without me having to translate myself.
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He tried to understand my illness, my inner world, my sensitivities, my fears.
Losing him wasn’t just losing a parent. It was losing the one person who made the world feel less overwhelming.
And the hole he left behind… it’s still there.
It hasn’t closed. It hasn’t softened. It hasn’t been filled by anything or anyone.
I’ve learned to live around it, but it’s still a part of me.
This next step bereavament counselling feels like walking toward that hole instead of around it.
It feels like choosing to face the pain I’ve kept tucked away because it mattered too much to touch.
It feels like risking the comfort of the belief that he’s still here with me, even though I know deep down that working through my grief doesn’t mean losing him.
It means making space for myself again.
I know this will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I also know that I have to be finally strong enough to do it.
I hope that I have grown into someone with courage who can hold both the love and the loss without breaking.
Someone who can honour his memory without being swallowed by the pain.
Someone who can take this step not because I’m ready to let him go, but because I’m ready to stop abandoning myself.
This isn’t about forgetting him.
It’s about freeing myself to live fully again with him still held in the deepest part of my heart.
Natalie M Bleau
Daughter of Cecil Clarence Bleau 11021946~17022017
Love you always Dad 💙🙏🏿
