Tag Archives: time

grief in time

A dear friend of mine shared an article with me recently about the concept of time when faced with the inevitability of death. Tragically the author had been diagnosed with cancer and died just a few weeks after the article was printed. 

Beautifully written and poignant, it struck a chord on how Chris and I view time since we lost Eddie.

Time is the strangest concept in grief. Time used to mean so many things: planning our future or reminicising about our past, time away to have a break, time to ourselves, time for other people, time for a change, give it time, haven’t got the time. And so on…

Time, in its essence, indefinitely moves us forward. As we approach Eddie’s first anniversary, society and some religions dictate that the year of grieving is over. It’s time to get on with our lives. 

We feel far away from these societal expectations and still find ourselves navigating through the murky waters of grief. We have lost our first and only child. Not only are we grieving Eddie, we are also grieving our lost identities. We were once parents. We are parents. And we try to channel our need to continue to parent Eddie into everything we do and keep his spirit burning brightly.

Life ebbs and flows with time, punctuated by the very highs and the very lows. We have been shown how, without warning, life can take the cruellest of turns. Such is the severity of the loss of a child that it is almost impossible to believe that life will indeed take a turn for the better.  We cling to hope but this lifts and falters from one day to the next. 

Time, for us, is a dichotomy. It moves us forward but we are stuck in transition. In no man’s land. As time moves on, it has become our friend and also our enemy. Yes, we have more coping mechanisms but it has not lessened our pain or our longing for our darling boy. And what we want most from time is an impossibility. You can’t fast forward, or press pause, and you can’t rewind. 




 

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A half-stitched scar

I am reading so many books at the moment on grief, I could open a grief library. Literally. My book shelves are full of them. Amongst the plethora of pages and quotes, some quotes stick and resonate more than others. The quote below by Elizabeth Jennings is spot on.  I know the pain of losing Eddie will never go away. Time may pass but like a half-stitched scar, I will never truly heal.

Time does not heal

It makes a half-stitched scar

That can be broken and you feel

Grief as total as in its first hour

(Elizabeth Jennings)

 

 


Watching the world go by

I have always quite fancied the idea of sitting in cafes all day long, laptop in tow, sipping on mocha crappacinos and writing a bestseller novel. I also like the idea of taking a break every once in a while to people watch and watch the world go by.

Whilst waiting for my sister, I pretend to be that person but my novel is a tragedy. A tragedy about my life. And I wonder what other people are thinking I am writing about as I tap away at my keyboard. They have absolutely no idea.

One of the things I have in abundance at the moment is time. I have never had this much free time in my life. Ever. It’s something that I always complained about not having enough of. I never thought I had enough time before we had Eddie and I certainly never had any time after we had Eddie. Never enough ‘me’ time. But now I’ve got it, I don’t want it. And what I want the most, I can’t have.

So I find myself in a state of limbo. Unable to be a mum and not mentally ready to go back to work. I have so much free time on my hands I simply don’t know what to do. It’s free time for the wrong reasons. Right now, I’m meant to be a busy mum, living my life around Eddie’s life. I should be thinking about his next feed, his next sleep, baby classes, walking and talking with other mummy friends. I should be laughing with my NCT friends about why our babies are not sleeping through the night, when are they moving on to solids and should we or shouldn’t we be following Gina Nazi Ford.

But instead I sit here, on my own, watching the world go by. And dream of what I had and what could have been.


5 weeks

It’s been 5 weeks since Eddie was stolen from me. 5 weeks since he was taken and not returned. I use the word stolen as he was taken without permission. Nobody checked with me first. A baby needs his mummy.  Eddie needed me and actually, I needed Eddie.

If time is meant to be a healer, then why do I feel worse today? Every day that goes by I feel further away from Eddie and all I am longing for is to be with him. To hold him in my arms. To smell him, to kiss him, to tell him how much I love him.

Grief is not a linear process. Every small step you take forward, an unexpected force pushes you back. You feel as if you are tentatively walking towards the sea, you see the waves ahead of you but for a moment you feel the calm. You are close enough to the shoreline, in the water, but still standing. Then a huge wave crashes over you, immersing you in the cold salty water, its force pushing you back to shore. Back to where you started. You clamber up through the sand. Breathless, exhausted, drenched with tears.


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