It was time to sort through boxes in the attic and without thinking too much about the process I tackled the first one. I knew that it was likely that I would come across stuff in the boxes that would upset me but to what depth, I hadn’t really given much thought to.
Pulling the cardboard apart I found myself staring down at a manila folder marked Aidan Cale. Putting this aside for later I rummaged through and questioned myself about what to keep and what to throw away. All parents go through the same dilemma of what value, will what’s in storage boxes have for others, who have to sift through your things.
Every piece of paper in that box is a memory. Having to tear up memories, cast them aside and throw them into the bin is painful. And as each piece of torn paper flutters into the bin that returned memory hurts. For me especially as these memories were all of Aidan’s illness. His medical bills, CT scans, feedback on how the tumour was behaving, emails to Dr Teo, payments, parking slips, his will, his funeral costs and details, and copies of the service booklet and chef’s hats.
I still haven’t been through the manilla folder because the box next to it has been home to Laila’s doll these past years. The doll with no clothes on was loved and held throughout her numerous hospital stays and throughout her illness, was now staring at me.
I felt myself unravelling fast and I walked away to the safety and quiet of the lounge, and just sobbed. When Gerard came to find me I tried to articulate how I was feeling. That although I have spent these past 27 years working on myself, seeking and getting help, the anger, frustration, pain and sadness just flooded back. It’s been 27 years since Laila died and 14 years since Aidan followed her.
In the seconds it took to cut through the tape on the box so did it undo all those years of self help – professional help and all the exploration I undertook to try and make sense of, and understand, why I lost my children.
When Laila died having Aidan to care for and love helped me enormously. We shared a grief but he needed his mother and I needed to step-up and keep focused and loving. Alongside I explored alternate beliefs, painted, played music, worked hard and played hard. Aidan helped me keep my balance and loving each other we were moving forward, a future unfolding and I was dealing with my grief.
But, losing Aidan left me looking into the abyss. I understand why parents who lose a child have another, to love, to hold, for life to have meaning whilst carrying the memory and pain. This time I had to deal with the combined loss on my own.
People say time heals, get over it, move on, and quote the text book stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. And I say that’s just rubbish! It’s like telling 8.2 billion people that there are 12 star-signs and that you are the same in behaviour and temperament as 68.5 million people. One size doesn’t fit all and we individually have different circumstances, beliefs, backgrounds and the cruel tragedy that befell us.
Aleisha and I went to the hill to sit with A this morning to find that someone has chopped down his beautiful tree planted 14 years ago. We both were devastated but his plant is still there under which we placed his ashes so many years ago. While we sat there the sun shone on our backs and the day was quiet which gave us time to reflect, cry, share and remember.
We have made it through another year, another day, and a new day awaits us. So to must I try and put aside the anger, pain and depression, and greet tomorrow with a smile to embrace a new memory, keeping those beautiful souls I birthed alive in my heart, my mind and all around me. Celebrating them and all those who loved them.
