My Journey

Again, it’s been a while since I blogged, a sign that things have been tough and challenging. And it really has been. I will write about that another time.

My sister died of sepsis on 27 09 18.  I am devastated. I am in mourning as I’ve never known to mourn before. If one reels with shock, I am reeling. If one limps from loss of a shoe, I am limping. If there is an icy wind, I am freezing. I cannot express my loss. I am overwhelmed.

A week later, my dog died. He had not been himself for some weeks. I am lost without him. The cottage feels empty, there is no sound of him running up the stairs, taking a drink, pulling out his box of toys. He is not resting his head on my knee, not giving my nose a kiss, not snuggling up to me. I can’t feel his breath behind my neck,  hear his yawn, or feel his paw pat me until I tickle him.

I am empty.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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