A trigger that made my heart drop…
Yesterday, I was rummaging through my wallet to clear old receipts and I found a note with Eddie’s weight and height, written my GP. I remember being at the surgery and my GP telling me to stop worrying about his reflux. He was feeding well. He was big, healthy and strong.
I remember feeling embarrassed about being a neurotic first time mother. And so proud of my big, baby boy.
We are in Cornwall for a long weekend, staying at a beautiful guest house overlooking the sea in a town called Mevagissey. Phrases we used when going away do not translate or have the same meaning anymore, e.g. we are going away for a break from work, we need a break from it all or we need a holiday. Grief does not temporarily pause when you go away. Wherever we are, wherever we go, Eddie is always with us. Here in thought and in our hearts.
We have explored the coastal shores and discovered quaint towns and harbours. The weather has been kind, despite our track record of bringing the rain with us. But every time we stop on a walk to soak in the fresh sea air, our heavy hearts pine for our baby boy. All of our discoveries and enjoyments feel incomplete. The scenery is breathtaking but I am yet to find peace in my soul searching.
However, it has been important to spend time with Chris. Just the 2 of us. But I can’t help but think we should be 3. Not 2.
15th October 2014. A date that was of no significance to me before. It now marks 6 months since I lost my darling boy and is also international infant and pregnancy loss awareness day. It is something that I would have been completely oblivious to in the past but today it unites me with all bereaved parents whether they lost their baby during pregnancy, at, during or after birth. We are all united by the same, albeit different, tragic loss of a child.
All across the world, we are asked to light a candle at 7pm in remembrance of all the beautiful babies that have died. And all I keep thinking is in 3 months time I should be lighting a candle to celebrate Eddie’s first birthday.
It is just so wrong and so unfair.
Exercise has been helping me move through my grief. Apart from the obvious health benefits, playing tennis has been therapeutic for my mind. It allows me to focus on something other than my grief.
I have been playing tennis over the past few weeks with a friend who is an exceptionally good player. I typically lose each game (but it’s the taking part that counts, right?) and he kindly offered to give me a handicap to place us on an even keel. In my competitive state, I flatly refused his offer on the basis that if and when I finally win, it will be that much more rewarding.
And this week it happened. Without the handicap, I got my reward. I got my victory. It may have been one win out of many loses but it FELT SO GOOD. So good that I even did a little victory dance at the end (and properly embarrassed myself).
My grief is like a yo-yo. Up and down, down and up, not knowing how I am going to be feeling from one day to the next.
The other night I was accidentally copied in to a group email by my one of my (former) NCT friends. I didn’t spend too long looking at the contents but receiving it felt like a sucker punch to my stomach. It was a genuine mistake, and I have since received an apology, yet a horrible reminder of what my life should have been.
But like a yo-yo, I was pulled up a day later when support came in from the most unexpected of places. I received a lovely email from someone I had never met before. She wrote the kindest words of support and offered to give me the lamp she successfully bid on from the the silent auction we held a few weeks ago. It happened to be the lamp designed by Tony Chambers who I paid homage to in an earlier post. And it happened to be my favourite lamp of the collection.
It made me a very happy (and humbled) girl indeed.
I miss and pine for my darling baby boy every single day. But this is also intertwined with missing me.
I miss our old house in Hammersmith despite spending all of my time there wanting to move back back to NW London
I miss listening to my music. I deleted all my playlists after Eddie died – I just don’t take any enjoyment in listening to music anymore
I miss laughing without it swiftly being followed by my painful reality
I miss filling up my diary with social arrangements and Chris getting annoyed with me for cramming too much in
I miss being a good friend to my friends, a sister to my sister, a daughter to my parents, a wife to my husband
I miss the ability to celebrate in other people’s good news and happiness
I miss my enthusiastic and glass half-full approach to life
I miss the missed opportunities of watching 2 of my friends get married and not meeting 3 of my friend’s newborns
I miss 2013 despite my adversion for the number 13
I miss my sense of humour (though Chris would argue I find myself funnier than he does)
I miss my innocence
I miss my old life and the old me.
My mind is a troublesome place these days. Being a natural worrier, it used to be filled with apprehension and excitement for the future. Now it’s filled with doubt and uncertainty.
As the days roll on, I keep repeating the same question to myself and Chris. Will we ever be happy again? It seems like a futile question to ask. I know happiness is not an object and cannot be obtained. It is not something we can pursue or search for.
Maybe if I knew there was an end to this constant state of purgatory it would make life a bit more bearable. Yet sadly, there is no magic ball telling us what the future may hold.
As much as I want to, I can’t go back to my old life or predict what my new life will bring. I can’t re-wind the past or fast forward to the future.
What I do have is the here and now. This moment. And all I can do, is breathe.