I must admit I have visited her on a weekly basis during the past few weeks, more because I would be walking past the cemetery, so it wouldn’t have been right if I didn’t pop in to see her.
But generally, it isn’t a place I like to be.
We go to visit around her birthday, her anniversary; we give her a carnival theme in September, which changes to Halloween and then Christmas.
We visited her a lot in the beginning, at the time it felt right, it felt like it was something we needed to do; like a guilty feeling for not spending time with our daughter. But as time moved on, the more difficult it became to visit; I’ve never found the spiritual side of this loss, I never felt that she was always around me… I’d completely lost her. To me she had literally moved from one box to another, only her new box was this ugly thing that is now buried 3ft underground.
I don’t like visiting her because I know where she is; I know and can imagine where she is lying. No amount of what people tell me, that she isn’t there, I know she is….I watched them lower her into the ground.
It probably is a form of torture, imagining the totally ugly side of death, of her death. But there isn’t anything exactly beautiful about having a funeral, a burial for your child.
I used to feel guilty about so many things, about how I chose to repair myself; not visiting on a daily basis or talking to her for hours on end. She could once hear me when I spoke to her she would respond to me, now – well you know.
I’d have nightmares in the beginning about her final resting place, awful horrible nightmares; most rarely appear now, I don’t think they will ever go away.
When she was alive the word ‘Goodbye’, couldn’t get past my tongue, it was a word in my head that felt so powerful, that I felt scared to use it, every evening when we left the unit or every time during the day, I’d say “See you later.” Or “See you tomorrow.” Goodbye always seems so final, her time spent in the unit she was doing well, so I never really knew why I was so frightened to use it.
Then I had to say it, I had to say this final word, as she slipped away I had to say it, amongst the “I love you.” And “please don’t go”. Goodbye had to now roll off the tongue.
When I, we visit her at the cemetery, I now have to say it, I have to say goodbye to her, I have to walk away, to leave her there, to turn my back on her every single time.
It isn’t how it was meant to be, walking away each time, even now still hurts, she’s still dead, she still should have been here.
Visiting her on the surface, it seems okay, I take photos of her flowers, of her new toys…I still like to buy her things. But the inside it kills me. This wasn’t supposed to be our life. But it is – she is where she is. I don’t have to visit her to show that I am her Mum. Doesn’t mean I love her any less, I just have to try and live every day for her, make each day count, even the ones where we have Pyjama days.