11/12/2025
I’ve been thinking a lot about grief today.
Not in a bleak way, but in a very human, reflective way.
Losing Toby not long ago was devastating — he was such a huge part of my life and a real source of comfort. And today I learned that a friend of mine has lost her lifelong friend to cancer. Even when it’s expected, the sadness still lands deep. I just wished I could have been there to give her a big hug.
And it’s not just that. A couple of people from my burlesque class have recently lost their dogs unexpectedly too. It feels as though grief has been all around me lately — confronting, yes, but also strangely connecting. I’m surrounded by people who genuinely get it. People who know that love, whether for a person or a beloved animal, leaves a mark that makes loss feel so real.
Moments like these make you look at life differently.
You speak with a neighbour who’s struggling with his health.
You realise that once you’re past 50, there’s a new awareness of your own mortality.
You understand that grief isn’t an occasional visitor — it becomes a quiet companion as life goes on. We lose people, pets, places, chapters… and somehow we grow around those losses.
But this morning, I looked out of the window and saw the most incredible pink sky. I sent a photo to my friend and said, “Look at the sky she’s left behind.” She shared it in a group WhatsApp with others who knew her friend, and soon people all across the country looked up at their own skies and saw different colours — soft peach, gold, purple, pink — each one beautiful in its own way.
It reminded me how connected we all are. How grief is something every one of us understands. And how beauty still appears — sometimes precisely when we need it.
Moving north, simplifying my life, choosing what truly matters — it all feels like part of a shift. Not getting older, but getting wiser. Paying attention. Noticing the sky.
We only get so many summers, so many winters.
But we all share the same sky.
