by Alison | Oct 21, 2017 | .
A fallen soldier was returned to Miami airport and the picture of his wife lying draped over the casket was a heartbreaking sight.
I have spent the past week visiting Civil war museums and WWII museums seeing rows of crosses and reading sad stories.
It’s not important how we lose, it is important that we never believe we have to stop grieving.
Yes, it is a process but we all grieve in different ways and we are not text book cases. Most of us will grieve forever. Those who have not experienced tragedy are full of words, of comfort, of telling us it is just a matter of time and then you will be better, it just takes time…breathe and get better.
But in the world of grief, time is forever.
I believe that we all need to learn tolerance for those who are bereft. The best way of doing this is to help us by remembering the small things that eat at us, that makes us sad and crumble.
Start with what is important, remember special dates. Such as birthdays, anniversaries, maybe Valentine’s day, even Christmas and Easter when some feel alone or notice the absence more acutely. These are the times when the pain hurts deepest and never abates as each year passes by.
It is these special days that make us sadder and the memories sharper.
Grief is absorbed into daily routines and memories occur at odd times during our days and nights. Sometimes a glimpse at a photo, an action, a deed, or a regular chore conjures up a memory, a face, a moment shared, a pain, a sadness.
We don’t like talking about it, we don’t like having to always say why we are sad, we don’t like having to remind everyone why.
It’s a wonderful feeling to know that others remember too and are celebrating with us, and sharing our journey. Such a relief and so special. It feels so comforting to be reminded that our loved ones touched others and will always be thought of and not forgotten.
Gone but not forgotten – loved eternally.
Aidan left us 20 Oct 2010 – too soon for me, I know I am selfish and would have kept him at any cost but life has a way of deciding for us.
Love cuts us to the core, memories give us joy and moments of sadness. I will take them all – as to remember and rejoice that beautiful soul who was my boy is a blessing, and one I hold dear.
Thank you to all who walk this journey with me
X Alison
by Alison | Jun 25, 2017 | .
As June creeps closer I feel changes in my body, my sleeping patterns and my emotional stability. My inner time clock is preparing me and reminding me of the time of the year, perfect timekeeping for birthdays, anniversaries and festive occasions.
I’ve recently being sitting in a soggy place of sadness because of what someone has said. Their presumptive attitude of me and my feelings, and their dramatic way of putting that across initially just made me angry. But letting those words sit with me for a while and then looking at them, and talking about them made me realise how easy it is for them to throw words around – to presume and to be dramatic in the process all the while not having a clue what they are talking about.
I understand my grief.
I know where it comes from and why I have it wrapped around me. I get why sometimes it constricts me and other times it just floats around me. Occasionally it tickles my throat and prevents me from getting my words out. Other times it’s on the words I speak or the lines I write. Then again it can rear itself as a cyclone of pain, tearing through my bones, picking up my broken pieces and smashing them about. Or sitting in the calm of the day and seeing a bird fly above or a feather float towards me it can grip at my heart. But there are days when I can walk through the hours and it sits quietly within. I can gaze at the day and feel solace with it.
I don’t need therapy to teach me that.
I go to therapy to deal with the unpleasant stuff that comes my way. To try and make sense of pain caused intentionally, or selfishly, to make sense of the world or why I am still here. Why I should stay here, and why I should not carry guilt that some would like me to carry on their behalf.
I love my therapist who tells me that I’m logical, and caring, and that I would repeat what I’ve done because it is who I am, that I love and care, that I don’t like seeing injustice, that I want to help others and that I am me through all the pain. That some of life feels unfair, and the biggest injustice is that I lost both my kids, that life does feel unkind but that I embrace it, live it, feel it and carry on.
The pain is the memory. The memories involve the pain and the grief, but it also allows the joy of memories to heighten and rise above.
As I write this, the clock has moved past the hour and today is my son’s birthday. My throat is thick and tears have sprung and glisten and blur my vision. I ache. My heart pounds and I just sit in this sadness that is seeping through every pore and spilling onto the keyboard.
Love does make your chest hurt and feel like you’re about to explode… but so does grief.
A distant bird is calling, the night is still yet, and I can hear Aidan say ‘hello mother’ ever so quietly. I often tilt my head because I hear him on the wind, or on my walks. I talk to him, I talk to Laila. I tell him how much I miss him and how much I love him. I tell him how much I miss being hugged. I tell him how much I miss him telling me he loves me. I ask him to stay safe and keep Laila close.
My silent clock will keep reminding me of the seconds, minutes, hours, days, month and years that are passing.
My body will always remind me of my children, my love, my sadness, pain and grief. But it is also the keeper of all the memories, the moments of happiness, of sadness and of my unconditional love for my children.
Later today when the sun has risen I will smile and toast you, my boy, a happy birthday. We will celebrate you, and sit with you on the hill basking in the sunlight…and I will let those memories of your beautiful soul wash over me.
Aidan Cale – thank you for being my son.
by Alison | Jan 9, 2017 | .
I will never forget the day I told you we were having a girl and saw your delight
I will never forget the overwhelming love I felt when I held Laila at birth
I will never forget the look on your face when you saw your sister for the first time
I will never forget the incredible bond you shared with your sister
I will never forget the joy she brought the two of us
I will never forget the love you showered on Laila and your gentleness with her
I will never forget the laughter and fun you two had together
I will never forget the morning I told you we had to let her go
I will never forget your anguish, and mine
I will never forget how tenderly you held your sister as she lay quietly in your arms after taking her last breath
I will never forget us laying Laila to rest in Kirstenbosch Gardens
I will never forget our wake for Laila, saying our goodbyes, and you playing your saxophone at Kirstenbosch, surrounded by friends and family
I will never forget at 16 when you turned to me and asked me if it was ok that you did not think of her every day
I will never forget the sadness in your eyes when you said how sorry you were that I had to go through this a second time
I will never forget that you celebrated your engagement on Laila’s birthday in 2010
I will never forget you, or your sister.
I will celebrate you both, every year on your special days
I will love you both eternally
Happy 22nd birthday Laila Vaun – b: 9.01.1995
by Alison | Dec 31, 2016 | .
I’m in ‘pause’ mode at present. Time to reflect and give my beautiful Laila my full attention.
19 years ago we wheeled her though the bright sun to her ward in G1, to release her from all pain and suffering and to break my heart, Aidan’s and so many others.
I gaze upon her photo and see those huge blue eyes staring back at me and my throat burns. Time does not take any of that away…
Time does not diminish the burn in the throat, the tears that threaten to fall, the body that aches or the heart that does not heal.
On social media when someone dies some of the messages are annoying, to me. I know they are written out of love and kindness but, speaking to Ren last week I tried to put into words what I was feeling and she summed it up for me – platitudes.
Possibly at a time of loss for many friends and family there is a lack of understanding of death and loss so poems, words of wisdom and thoughts are put out there. Only now it is in a public forum and are read by many.
There are some thoughtful, provoking ones but there are also those that I now refer to as ‘platitudes’
My thoughts are, if you have not experienced death, pain, loss, accident, whatever, rather just speak from your heart.
I believe our initial reactions would be… how tragic, that’s awful, OMG I’m sorry to hear, how dreadful, anything I can do, please call if you want to talk, or need any help, I have no idea what to say…write how you feel as we can all identify with that, the words are real and speak to our hearts.
To write that time will heal all, is poppycock / twaddle / rubbish
Time is what we learn to live with, how to change ourselves to accommodate that, and accept that that is the way it is, and always will be.
This morning when I woke I stared out the window at a blustery start to my day, and let the sounds of the dawn pacify me.
I talk to Laila and Aidan, sometimes on the wind, sometimes in my car, sometimes just in my head as I did this morning staring out the window. I tell them I miss them, I ask them to look after each other and I tell them I love them.
Then I got up and started my day.
Now I sit and reflect as the time of Laila’s passing draws near and remember just holding her quietly and willing her to breathe. Hoping.
Hope is a glorious thing and without it I could not live, none of us could. We all live in hope and belief that miracles happen and life goes on. For me when life ends hope is never diminished. It just reshapes itself and that gives me hope.
I hope that you are having a good day. I hope that your universe is being kind to you. I hope that if you are not well that at this moment you are coping and not in any pain. I hope that for many as the clock ticks over that you have a happy start to your new year. I hope that the year ahead brings you much joy and happiness. I hope that if you are hurting or not coping that you can find comfort from someone. I hope that if you ever feel alone that you will reach out. I am always here as I am sure are others and that we are never really alone.
For some there is loss today, an illness, a hospital bed. One family lost their house today. Another is waiting a diagnosis. A few are alone, some are sad and others are working. Spare a thought to those less fortunate and take care tonight.
At 5pm I will drink a toast to my children and especially to Laila as I sit on the hill and remember my remarkable girl who made my heart swell with a love I never knew possible.
Laila Vaun Rip
09/01/1995 to 31/12/1997
by Alison | Oct 20, 2016 | .
There are many times that I stand in front of you, and you see me, but you only see what you can see.
Often whilst I stand in front of you my body is collapsing. It begins slowly…then splinters… a thousand shards of skin falling, piercing, scratching at flesh as it falls, painful. Until bits of me lie scattered at my feet. Sore and numb I quietly bend over and as I extend my hand to touch my bits they begin to glow softly, life returning.
As I gather them to me, they become soft and pliable, warm and safe and I wrap myself within myself once more.
My skin, myself shatters often, but to you and the world I look like me, the person you see and know. And I hide it so well.
There are other moments that my chest feels like it is about to explode. There is a feeling of expansion, as if every space around my heart has ballooned and is pushing all my breath out making it hard to breathe. It hurts. At other times its a tightness as if everything is constricting, sucking my breath from me.
And all the while you engage with me I am experiencing my grief moments. I swallow with difficulty, smile and reply.
These are events that I cannot blurt out and say ‘”hey I’m having a moment!” It is nothing you can see or touch so it is not easy to understand. I often wish that when you (whomever) are in front of me and I am experiencing this, that you could know so that I do not always have to do it on my own. But in truth, you cannot help me with this, and if you knew it was occurring it would create issues in that moment, you would feel helpless, or the group at a social occasion would feel uncomfortable, or it would disrupt the harmony in the work flow.
It’s my reality and grief that I must carry.
Writing this is not to upset you, it is just what I have to cope with and to learn to accept as part of myself. Not every day, mostly unexpectedly at random moments. As each day passes I learn to wear it more easily. And slipping in and out of these moments is becoming part of my life routine.
Don’t tell me to get better. That will not happen…ever. I work hard to keep my mind busy and I try to enjoy every day. I suffer quietly, in silence. I cry and I write. I remember and I shout, or talk to my children. I feel and I love. And I laugh.
I embrace you and those around me and I thank you for holding my hand, as the friendship, love and support sustains me and helps me feel whole.
Milestone days of remembrance are a reminder of the minutes, hours, days that Aidan (and Laila) are not with me. I sometimes feel that Aidan is following my life in parallel , piloting a boat, and meandering downstream waiting for us to intersect at that final waterfall of life and collide as we fly over, together.
To those who suffer – I wish all good things for you, and moments of great happiness and joy.
My boy…Aidan Cale
25/6/1986 to 20/10/2010
