Thought I’d start something here — a simple weekly check-in. No pressure, no need to write anything profound. Just… how are you doing?
My week has been quiet. I’ve been working on the final edits of the book, and there are sections I still can’t read without my chest tightening. The chapter on forgiveness especially. Not because I regret what I wrote — but because putting into words what happened that night, the night I truly let go, still moves me deeply every time.
I went for a long walk this morning. There’s something about early mornings that helps me. The world is still quiet, nobody expects anything from you, and for a little while you can just exist without carrying the weight of everything.
I’ve learned that grief doesn’t follow a schedule. Some Mondays I wake up and feel genuinely at peace. Others, it hits me out of nowhere — a song, a child’s laugh in a supermarket, the smell of pancakes. The missing never fully stops. You just learn to carry it differently.
So — how are you this week? Big things, small things, whatever’s on your heart. Maybe you had a good moment, or maybe you’re struggling to get out of bed. Maybe you heard from your kids, or maybe the silence is especially loud right now.
All of it’s welcome here. We understand.
Malcolm
Those moments when you forget for a bit — man, I know exactly what you mean. I had one of those last weekend at a hardware store of all places, getting completely absorbed in which drill bit I needed. Then boom, reality hits again.
Court date’s coming up Thursday and I’m oscillating between hope and dread every few hours. My lawyer keeps saying “stay realistic but optimistic” which feels impossible when it’s been 18 months since I’ve seen Jake properly. The playground thing really got to me — I avoid driving past his school because I know I’ll just sit there staring at the fence wondering if he’s inside, if he even remembers our Saturday morning pancake tradition.
Thanks for starting this check-in thing. Some weeks I need to remember other people are still standing too.
Same here with those unexpected moments of being present somewhere else. They’re such a gift.
Christ, the playground thing. I get that so much.
I’m doing alright actually — had a small win with my lawyer this week, got some paperwork sorted that’s been hanging over me for months. But yeah, Mondays are rough. There’s something about Sunday night that makes it all feel extra heavy, you know?
Hope your week gets easier, Malcolm.
Oh Malcolm, that bit about the playground proper got me. I know that feeling so well — driving past all those places that used to be yours together. There’s this coffee shop near where I live in Manchester where me and Lily used to go every Sunday after swimming. Proper little ritual we had. She’d always get a babycino with extra marshmallows and I’d let her have a biscuit even though it was nearly lunchtime. Took me about eighteen months before I could even walk down that street without my chest going tight.
My Monday’s been… well, it’s been one of the good ones actually, which still feels weird to say out loud. Lily texted me yesterday — just a random photo of her art homework, nothing massive, but she wanted to show me this drawing she’d done of our old cat Smudge. First time she’s initiated contact in months. I must have looked at that photo about fifty times. My partner Dave keeps catching me just staring at my phone with this daft smile on my face. It’s funny how something so small can shift everything, isn’t it? Like suddenly the world has a bit more colour in it again.
But you’re right about Mondays having their own particular weight. Something about all those days lined up ahead and not knowing which ones might bring news, or silence, or those tiny moments of connection that keep us going. I’m trying to remember what my counsellor Sarah used to say — that showing up is enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Some weeks that’s all any of us can do.