Overdue Tears at Inappropriate Times.

Nanny, Nannah and I, celebrating my results.

I got my final degree results yesterday; I am now the proud owner of a 2:1 in BA (Hons) Multimedia Journalism from Bournemouth University. I am ecstatic. All the hard work finally seems worthwhile. All the stress, the tears and the tiredness has been made good.

You may be surprised to hear that on receiving this news I wept, with a heavy heart and an emptiness that seemed to fill this whole house. Yes I was happy with my results, I had no aspirations of getting a first class honours. But I got my results with the funeral card of my Grandad in my hand.

Some of you who read this blog regularly might remember a post written on the day of my Grandad's death in March. It might seem silly to some of you that I should still be crying about the death of a man who died at 84; healthy, happy and with great friends and family around him. But I seem to have had delayed mourning. I was, of course, devastated for the weeks following the news, but I was so snowed under with University work and various other small drama's in my life that I had to just get on with it.

 I didn't cry in the company of friends or family (it is, apparently, one of my flaws according to my Mother) as I find it embarrassing and self pitying. I haven't gotten upset in front of my Dad for fear of pushing him over the edge. Since the death of his father he has been hollowed. His voice is so weak and defeated and his eyes break my heart to look into. I just wish I could fix it. And that's a big part of my sadness too- my helplessness, my inability to make anything better when I wish with every fibre in my body that I could bring some light into his darkness, to shine something into those shadows. But I know I can't.

So, although I've cried countless times alone, I hadn't really dealt with it properly. And now it hurts. It aches and it tugs at me. I know all things must pass- my recent delve into Buddhism has taught me to accept that sadness is inevitable and that nothing is constant- but it hasn't seemed to make the slightest bit of difference. If anything it makes me furious (an emotion completely contradictory to Buddhism teachings). How dare any thing, religion or person, suggest that the death of such a great man is just how the world is, that I should accept it.

I know many of you will cringe reading this and think I'm just a whiny little dramatic bore. Well fuck off and don't read any more. Because this is how I feel and that's exactly what I write here.
And no there are no confessions of public humiliations or sexual disasters, but if I were to make it up I wouldn't be being honest. And I don't believe in that.

So this post ends with a note of respect and remembrance. I am so devastated that you are not here to celebrate and be proud of me at such a pivotal time in my life, but I am eternally grateful for the support you gave me along the way and I hope that, in some way, you can feel my love.

That's all for now
Jojo xxx