Having one of those weekends, where it’s taken far too long to write…
Where the tears are too heavy to hold onto.
I wasn’t sure to post, because I don’t feel strong enough, a moment where I feel belittled, and almost silly.
I miss her.
The moment you re-discover that being a bereaved parent isn’t just about keeping your lost child’s memory alive.
It’s about survival.
It’s getting through the next stage of grief, next part of living. The next flashback, the flash back that makes you feel like you’re there, re-living it all. Whichever part that may be. You’re moving through life, almost comfortably; until something begins to feel uncomfortable, tighter and tighter. So heavy that moving forward seems like an impossible task.
You’ve been hit with the raw stick, the rawness that you remember so well, yet you cannot quite believe it is behind you. Two Years behind you. Of course there isn’t a day that goes by without a thought, but the rawness lessens more, few and far between
People look on, wondering why you haven’t gotten better, why you’re not as strong as the next person. Most probably because the next person doesn’t have a full understanding of the overwhelming, sickening pain that gets you right out of the blue. The type which rips through your body, but doesn’t leave physical scars.
No warning, no triggers, uncontrollable emotion. When you can feel nothing else, paralysed by it all. No amount of cake and a cuppa will fix, or a jolly gossip in the park. It’s the undeniable sick to the stomach feeling, that nothing, absolutely nothing can change a thing.
I’m not in denial, nor do I need “help” because I am having a moment, where there is nothing comparable to knowing that your baby daughter is cold…in the ground.
The baby that wiggled and fed, a person who we met and spent time with, 10 fingers 10 toes, the one with the windy smiles.
It cannot be fixed. It cannot be belittled. I’m not messed up, or damaged just a mummy, who is missing her girl.
It hurts today, more than yesterday, maybe less than tomorrow.
The days where they can be so heavy that you’re almost drowning by emotion. Paralysed by the raw pain that takes you back to the very beginning of this painful journey, that even the word pain just isn’t enough to explain that feeling.
It is a life sentence, life without parole, a break or a holiday.