The Day I Finally Felt Her Again – Grief Glimmers of WeeGee

On Wednesday, I woke up in the same fog I went to sleep in. I’ve been pushing so hard in recovery, and it’s been really difficult. The effort I’ve put into fighting Clippy (my ED) has rewarded me with emotional instability, depression, and a lot of staring out of rainy windows in tears, hugging Biscoff the bear. Add in a night of cluster headache attacks, and I was exhausted. I felt so done.

My son and I had planned to go and get food – not just any food, but our favourite food from Marks and Spencer. Honestly, I didn’t want to go. I felt like I’d been run over by a double decker bus. But not having any food I like would only give Corrupted Clippy more ammunition:

“There’s nothing in the flat you like to eat anyway.”

So we got dressed – both begrudgingly, since my son was just as tired – and headed out. But it felt like… someone else came with us.

The Glimmer of the Elephant

It was a cold day, so I was bundled up in my long gilet, my Pusheen hat, and my noise-cancelling headphones. I was listening to Stay Gold by First Aid Kit (It’s at the bottom of this post if you’d like to listen), which just so happened to be the most apt song for how I felt – and for what happened next.

As I was walking along the pavement, I saw a glimmer directly in my path. It was shining out to me like a star in the night sky. I knew I had to see what it was. I knelt down – and it was a little charm. I picked it up, and a tiny silver elephant revealed itself in my hand.

“It’s AN ELEPHANT!” I excitedly exclaimed to my son in the middle of the pavement on a busy street.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. But I could believe the feeling I had: that this was WeeGee saying she was with me. Her blog is called “How Do You Eat an Elephant?” Bite by bite.

That morning, I’d felt completely defeated. Tired of fighting Clippy. And then I walk outside and a little elephant is directly in my path? At exactly the time I needed my best friend – the one I went through recovery with, the one who is no longer here.

I felt her properly for the first time since she died, on a Wednesday afternoon.
It comforted me. I still wanted to cry, but I smiled thinking of her.

Recovery is so hard without her. It’s one of the reasons I’m struggling so much with fighting Clippy. She made it easier. She gave me hope. She was the star in my dark night. She guided me. She encouraged me. She was always there.

And now, a little silver charm elephant lies on the pavement with me, shining out to me the same way she did. Guiding me the same way she did – the little elephant reminding me how recovery is bite by bite.

I have a deeply scientific brain. I know the charm probably fell off someone’s bracelet, and I just so happened to come across it. That might be all it was – a cosmic coincidence. But I can’t deny the feeling that wrapped me in her comfort.

The way I felt seen again, just for a moment. The way I felt togetherness with her again after all these years. And just in case WeeGee thought I needed another nudge, there was about to be one more coincidence. Enough to make me question my entire belief system.

It arrived in the form of a pair of ducks.

The Glimmer of Duck Feathers.

Continuing to walk to town, and with me being completely bombarded with feelings of WeeGee – still with the little elephant charm in my hand, as if WeeGee and I were holding hands quantum entangled through the distance of time – I saw another light directly in our path. The glimmer of duck feathers, while a little duck preened himself in the middle of the pavement and then I saw his duck fren behind a little fence.

The ducks took me straight back – on a weird little memory journey – into my recovery thirteen years ago. WeeGee and I loved Marks and Spencer food. It’s delicious, and well… fancy. Even when we were doing well, I struggled with eating anything in the daytime. I’ve always had this Clippy-related tendency to skip breakfast and lunch. It’s something I’ve done often since she died – only eating one meal at dinner, even before I relapsed.

WeeGee once suggested trying a meal deal from Marks and Spencer for lunch. They add a bit of novelty. They’re ready to eat. You don’t have to stand in the kitchen overthinking every sandwich. So I picked one up – a duck wrap, a drink, and one of their little cakes. I was really proud. I couldn’t wait to tell her.

When I got home, there were two ducks standing right outside my flat.

At the time, I didn’t live near a river. I had no idea where they came from. They were just… there. Staring at me. Blocking the entrance. I felt guilty – like they somehow knew I was about to eat one of their own. Like they were there for anticipatory vengeance.

I carefully navigated the fluffy duck obstacles, got inside, and called WeeGee.

Me: “I bought the meal deal at Marks and Spencer. A duck wrap. But you’ll never guess what – I got home and there were two ducks outside my door. They wanted revenge, I think. Look, it’s bad enough I have to fight my ED, but I can’t take being an enemy of ducks too. No one on my treatment team warned me of this. How am I supposed to eat this now, when they’re right outside my window staring at me”

We laughed so hard. I did eat the wrap still hearing quacks in the background. But I’ve never eaten duck since. I didn’t want to cause a duckpocalypse.

I laughed thinking of it again while snapping pictures of the ducks on the pavement. Because here I was, on my way to Marks and Spencer for recovery food – again – and here they were. Again.

That little story became one of our in-jokes. And that meal deal idea ended up being the reason we created the Christmas Sandwich Competition. Every year, we’d try all the seasonal sandwich meal deals to find the winner. It became our way of softening the holidays, which were always hard because of how much they revolve around food. It started with that duck wrap, and our love of fancy little meals from M&S.

I haven’t ever seen ducks on my way to town before. And today of all days?

When cosmic coincidences start stacking up like this, it does make me wonder about the universe. Or maybe there’s just some law of ducks I haven’t come across yet in my quest to understand Loop Quantum Gravity.

The Glimmer of Her Presence, Finally

I’ve felt terrible for the past five years because I haven’t really felt WeeGee’s presence. People would say, “She’s still with you,” and it would really upset me – because I didn’t feel that at all. I didn’t feel her. I tried. I tried so hard.

I talked to my Jellycat Penguins like they were her. I wrote letters to her. I made a memory box for her. I made drawings of penguins and bears together for her. I lit candles for her. I placed meaning in everything – tried to build a connection to her across the infinity of space and time – but I never felt her. Not properly.

I thought I was broken. Or a terrible best friend. Because I’ve felt other people I’ve loved who’ve died – my grandmothers, my grandfathers, my uncle. They all come to “visit” me. But all I felt with WeeGee was this great, gaping hole where she should have been. I long for her so badly.

The only time I really felt her presence was on New Year’s Day 2024 – at exactly 00:01 – and it floored me. It made me realise, in that moment, that she was really gone. Gone forever. That realisation triggered this ED relapse I’m in now. Because I ran. I couldn’t bear it. To feel her so clearly, just for a moment, meant I had to finally grieve her. And even though it had been four years, I still wasn’t ready.

I still don’t know if I am.

Right now, I’m sat here back at home after buying food from Marks and Spencer, looking at the little elephant charm in my hand and with my Jellycat penguin Pesto next to me. And all I want to do is tell her about today.

I miss her so much.

There is one truth though.
While fighting Clippy has brought emotional instability, depression, and a lot of staring out of rainy windows in tears – hugging Biscoff the bear – this fight has also led to something else:

The ability to finally feel that WeeGee is still with me.

And while grief hurts like hell,
while recovery is so hard,
and I am somehow doing it even though I don’t want to –
even though I don’t know if I’m ready,
even though part of me still wants to run…

Maybe it’s still worth it.