I have lived in the world of grief for months. It’s a lonely world where grief becomes your friend, as its existence is the only other existence that you’re truly aware of. My grief takes the form of two characters. First there’s The Wave. I first felt The Wave when walking down the road as I returned from the local shops. I felt my shopping bags getting heavier and my legs had started to slow down. Each step became mammoth, forcing me to stand still and feel the pain of losing my mother wash over me. The second character of my grief I’ve named The Bruiser. The Bruiser is a seven-foot tall sweaty wrestler who won’t let me get through the day without a fight. Taking advantage of my weakened state, I’m regularly in the ring with the Bruiser, he wrestles with my already broken body until I have no fight and succumb to the full-on gut-wrenching pain of loss. I lie on the floor, The Bruiser has me in a headlock and I scream in pain. My mother has died.