by Liz Deacle | Podcasts
It’s the first time in eight weeks I’ve left the house.
Apart from getting groceries, walking in nature, and spending an hour or two working at our local cafe, my safe place to grieve has been at home.
Alone.
In this episode, we wanted to share our first overnight trip away since losing Mum. We went to see our son, Sonny, in Hamilton, New Zealand. In the real world.
Filled with grief but determined to do something normal, this is what the experience looked like.
Thank you for listening and watching. We love you.
Arohanui
Liz and Brian xx
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by Liz Deacle | Podcasts
Lately, when I drop into bed at night, I find myself asking how on earth I got through the last twelve hours.
Quite often, I don’t remember what I did or half of what I said.
Yet, if you passed me in the street, you’d think I was a normal, everyday person going about her day, coping. Doing grown-up stuff. Making videos. Living without a mum.
This episode was inspired by you.
It is made in recognition of all those who have reached out to me, people who have shown their love and support and shared their grief journey stories.
People who, from the outside, look happy and sorted and appear to have it all together.
But, like me, they don’t. Not always. And that’s okay.
As a good friend said to me, “Grief is a journey, not a destination”.
Brian and I are here today, so neither of us has to make that journey alone.
Always remember, our hearts beat with yours.
Arohanui
Liz and Brian xx
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by Liz Deacle | Podcasts
We weren’t going to release this podcast episode.
The original plan was to discuss whether, after losing her mum to cancer six weeks ago, the deep sadness Liz is feeling is normal grief (as one would expect) or a worryingly worsening depression.
And while that’s what we did end up discussing, the route we took to arrive at the conclusion was different to what we anticipated.
We were ready to scrap the episode and start again.
But. We changed our mind.
On reflection (and a large red wine later), we agreed that these authentic, unscripted, messy conversations are often the most valuable.
We certainly hope so.
You are incredibly important and cherished by us both. If you are suffering in any way, please talk to a professional who can help. You are loved, and you are not alone.
Until next time. Kia kaha.
Arohanui
Liz and Brian xx
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by Liz Deacle | Personal, Podcasts
No description. No words. Just a story.
And a thank you. A huge, huge thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to share the intimate details of such a sad and heartbreaking time. And for confirming that no matter who we are, where we live, what we look like, or how we spend our days:
Our hearts beat as one.
And now, a tribute to the woman who made it all seem so very easy.
I love you.
Liz x
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My Blog: It’s a Drama
by Liz Deacle | Personal, Podcasts
Wrong. Wrong. And wrong again.
You’d think that I’d have learned by now. I’ve had fifty-three years to practice, after all.
But no.
Still, I make the mistake of thinking that to make things ‘better’ and ‘easier’, I must look outside of myself.
Go far afield. Spend a ton of money and wrap my mum and me up in cashmere rugs, then sit alongside Rose and Kathy Bates in first class on the Titanic.
Way off, Liz. Not even close.
This week’s podcast update is brought to you with love, tenderness and gratitude. And a few tears.
We wanted to share three things that happened to us in the past few weeks. Small serenities that brought unexpected comfort and respite while we attempt to navigate the imminent loss of my lovely mum.
Thank you for allowing us this safe space to share the intimate details of this challenging time in our lives. You are wonderful.
Yours,
Liz and Brian xx
PS: If you enjoy the podcast and would like to show your support, please consider leaving us a short 5-star review. It only takes a minute. You can review the It’s a Drama Podcast here Thank you x
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by Liz Deacle | Personal, Podcasts
This was one of the hardest podcast episodes I have ever recorded. But it was necessary.
I won’t watch the recording back because I know for a fact that I’ll get cold feet and tell Bri to delete it.
So. I hope it’s okay and that it isn’t too upsetting for you—my sincere apologies if it is. My intention was never to make you feel sad, only strong. Hugged. Confident. Brave enough to speak your truth. To always say what you wish to say to the people who matter the most.
Because the world needs truth.
The world needs real.
The world needs people like you.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for listening.
Yours,
Liz x
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