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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.
