“Jenni looked awful yesterday, really terrible, but she’s looking much better today.”
“Amazing what makeup can do, isn’t it?!”

I smiled along with them. But only because I wasn’t actually wearing makeup.

I was standing in a small traditional church in a small English town on the coast. It was an absolutely beautiful day; cold, a perfect clear blue sky. In the distance, seagulls. In my line of vision, a big arrangement of white lilies and beautiful stained glass windows catching the light from every different angle.

I was exhausted from travelling hundreds of miles via delayed trains. I had flu and a temperature. But more importantly, I had to watch my boyfriend and his brothers carry their dad’s coffin through a packed church in front of hundreds of friends, family, customers, and staff. It felt like most of the town turned out. There were people still having to stand at the back despite all the extra chairs that had been put out. There were people raising a glass in the streets.

It’s still too raw to write about in detail, even though I could write thousands and thousands of words about it all, because it truly was a week that lasted a lifetime. I’d have loved to have seen Bob one last time before he passed away, but I’m not sure he would have wanted me to. He couldn’t eat or speak by the end. Cancer is a bitch.

Four deaths in three weeks combined with travelling over 1200 miles in the freezing cold with flu sounds like the perfect recipe for a depressive episode. The reality was that it made me numb. That didn’t stop me crying, or stop me being angry, or stop me being sad. But it did kind of make me feel that I lost sight of my life and who I am as a person and how I want to spend my time. It’s all still weird and wrong-feeling. I can’t be ‘me’ (whoever that is) right now.

I haven’t had time to rest or even process very much. I’ve worked through my flu, largely ignoring it because I physicallu don’t have the time or energy to deal with anything else right now. I’m turning thirty years old next Saturday, and very happily saying goodbye to twenty nine, a year that started fantastically in the Nevada desert, and is ending so sadly in a world of turmoil and acute sadness. And I think it’s okay to not try and find a silver lining or slap on a cheerful smile or pretend to be feeling a different way to how I actually am. Sometimes the important thing is to accept that things aren’t okay instead of trying to mask it.

It’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to think that mindfulness is a ridiculous trend, and it’s okay to be who you are.