Grief, The Dementor of My Life

I don’t know if you’re a Harry Potter fan, but the movies were a constant in my house with my two kids. I can’t tell you how many times we watched them. So, maybe as I go through this journey it’s why I think of the Dementors.

For me, grief is like being blindsided by a Dementor at any given moment. One minute I’m making coffee, the next, a cold, suffocating feeling washes over me. It starts low, a whisper at my ankles, then creeps relentlessly upwards, stealing the air from my lungs. Tears prick my eyes, threatening to spill at the slightest movement. My body, a strange paradox — it feels heavy, like I’m wading through molasses, yet hollow and bone-chilling cold at the same time.

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This grief is a bully, hijacking not just my mind, but my entire physical being. It renders me immobile, the crushing weight making even the simplest act like getting up from the couch feel like climbing Mount Everest. This journey through grief is one I never signed up for, a path littered with surprise Dementor attacks that leave me gasping for air and emotionally spent.

The worst part? Just like a Dementor feasts on happy memories, grief steals my joy. It makes me question if laughter will ever truly return, if the sun’s warmth will ever reach me again. It’s a relentless assault, leaving me questioning everything.