A thousand days have passed since I had the news that Rich had died.
A thousand days ago, I woke up and I remembered the news the Police had brought the day before.
A thousand days where I have thought about him every day, missed him, loved him.
A thousand days where my child has, at some point every day, had that lost look in his eyes. It comes less often now, and for a shorter time, and that is what having intervention at the right time can do for a child.
In a way, I can't get my head around it all still. There are moments where I expect him to walk in the door, to drop his bag in the middle of the floor for me to fall over. There are moments when I expect to hear his voice telling me that the coffee fairies have been, or that there is a hole in his cup, or that he is the worlds best taste tester.
Weirdly these days, I expect him to be a part of the life I have with J though. Not to replace J, nothing could do that, but to be here. We all still talk about him a lot, he's been on all our minds whilst I've been moving the bedrooms because he built that bed for the AC, and part of my mind can still see him doing that, still hear him chuntering on to the AC about it. He is a part of our every day lives and I have to say how much I love J for accepting that, and helping AC talk about it and cry if he wants to and all that kind of thing. He supports us both in so many ways.
Has time been a great healer? In lots of physical ways, yes. 1000 days ago, and for some time afterwards, I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping, I cried a lot, I was exhausted, I couldn't cope with simple tasks. These days I am doing all those things. (I'm still exhausted and should probably speak to the doc about that, but hey, that's working/teaching motherhood for you!)
In lots of mental ways, I'd have to say yes. I can think beyond the next two minutes. I am not in fear of what the next police car in my layby will be. I don't have to have my son within sight perpetually incase something happens to him. I am able to section that part of my life off, gift wrap it with happy memories, and then open a new section where I can love again, (and I do!) and live again and trust again and risk again.
Yesterday was tricky in some ways, because I had to face the fact that it was 1000 days since he kissed me goodbye. I had my FB friends, and my twitter peeps, (@Madyline) and real life people, and I got through. I didn't tell the AC because he doesn't need to remember the focus being on the numbers, on the death, he needs to focus on the memories, when he remembers it needs to be in a good way, and he does.
1000 days.
It's a long time.
Showing posts with label grieving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grieving. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Just a cup of tea
I am back to drinking tea again after a long Lenten period without it. The last section was the worst. Joyously though, I seem to have broken my sugar addiction in tea and I am happily drinking it without 2-3sugars.
2 sugars is 23 calories.
2 sugars x 7 cups (minimum) = 23 x 7 = 161 calories, daily.
161 calories x 47 days = 7567 calories.
7567 calories = 2lbs of fat.
Except it wasn't about that. As a by product I am slimmer in the waist (it would take a miracle to shrink this backside!) and I am more lively, less prone to needing to sleep in the afternoon/early evening and so on. As a byproduct.
So what was it about? After all, it's just a cup of tea.
I haven't regularly attended church in about a year. In fact, a year last month, when I had my arthroscopy last year. I don't know why I haven't been. Some of it is to do with being away every other weekend.
A lot of it is to do with struggling with my faith after the aftermath of Rich's accident.
In a way, I could deal with his death, I could manage to assimilate that, and see the rightness of the ending of his physical pain, his mental pain, and love the idea of him being with God. The powerlessness of his brother taking his ashes, or the She-Ex refusing to tell me anything about the BG unless she wanted something, or the complete lack of contact from his family, just made me despair. How could God want us just whitewashed from his life, like the AC and I never existed?
The continuing fallout and stress caused by things like DVLA, like the banks, like Dairy Crest bills from when he was living with the She-Ex (seriously? £450 to Dairy Crest? HOW do you do that?) led me to question my view on the world. His family were family for the good bits, for the showy bits, but wanted nothing to do with the actual hard work of him being dead. His brother's big words of "let me know what he owes and I'll sort it out" turned out to be smoke and mirrors, which was the same with most of what he said. But I dealt with it, occasionally *still* deal with it, and am proud of the fact that I have managed without them, thus proving everything Rich said to be true, and validating why I'd never met them in all the time we were together.
The ongoing pain of realising that he and I would never have children together, that I would never have more children with anyone, that the AC is the sole child of my flesh, is difficult in the extreme. It isn't just that I wanted a big family, or that it was a dream for both of us, that we valued each others parenting styles and skills, that we loved each other, it is deeper than that. It is part of who I am, and my ability to get pregnant, but inability to carry past 6-8 weeks makes me feel as though I am less of a person. After all, as I have said before, 15 year olds on a council estate can do this, why can't I? Am I that much of a bad mother that God's choice is for me not to? Or is it that He knows something I don't? (Obvious, but true lol!) Was it better for Rich and I to lose those we started, than to raise 2 grieving children?
The continuing, but changing, pain of living with his loss, and living with the child who knew him and loved him and was bereft by his death, of answering the questions, of holding the sobbing body, of coping with the outlet of emotion and reassuring him in all the ways I can, is exhausting. Trying to find ways to talk him through what happened, at his own pace, without badmouthing Rich's brother or the She-Ex can be a task of diplomacy in itself. (My opinions are mine, and expressed on here for my own sanity. He doesn't need to hear them, he can make his own mind up later on.)
There are other reasons, better reasons. Sometimes I miss communal worship, the feeling of being all in one thought. Other times, I am glad to be in a field, watching the lads fly planes, and glorying in God's creation without the walls of Church. I am glad to be in the open.
My non-attendance at Church doesn't mean that I don't believe. I could no more stop believing in God than I could fly under my own power. I am open in my prayers to Him, guilty of not spending enough time with Him, know I don't read His Word as much as I should, and need to get better at all of those things. I have spent a long time being unhappy with Him, not trusting as I should. I struggled to see the bigger picture - of how the pain my son and I were going through, caused by his death and the aftermath, made sense in the plan.
I am slowly coming towards an acceptance, but not an understanding. OR rather, an understanding that it is ok not to understand, it is better just to accept, and appreciate what is here, rather than picking old wounds. After all, picking causes scars, not smooth healing. (All our mothers said things along those lines) Whether this will lead me back to church, or to a more insular faith for a while, I don't know.
So, for me, every time I wanted a brew and didn't, it made me think of God, and what He was prepared to do for me. It made me aware that I had made a promise to God, and that I should keep that promise. And that He has made me promises, and kept some and others are not "not-kept" but more "yet to come to fruition". It has been a physical reminder of my faith.
It's just a cup of tea, but it is so much more.
2 sugars is 23 calories.
2 sugars x 7 cups (minimum) = 23 x 7 = 161 calories, daily.
161 calories x 47 days = 7567 calories.
7567 calories = 2lbs of fat.
Except it wasn't about that. As a by product I am slimmer in the waist (it would take a miracle to shrink this backside!) and I am more lively, less prone to needing to sleep in the afternoon/early evening and so on. As a byproduct.
So what was it about? After all, it's just a cup of tea.
I haven't regularly attended church in about a year. In fact, a year last month, when I had my arthroscopy last year. I don't know why I haven't been. Some of it is to do with being away every other weekend.
A lot of it is to do with struggling with my faith after the aftermath of Rich's accident.
In a way, I could deal with his death, I could manage to assimilate that, and see the rightness of the ending of his physical pain, his mental pain, and love the idea of him being with God. The powerlessness of his brother taking his ashes, or the She-Ex refusing to tell me anything about the BG unless she wanted something, or the complete lack of contact from his family, just made me despair. How could God want us just whitewashed from his life, like the AC and I never existed?
The continuing fallout and stress caused by things like DVLA, like the banks, like Dairy Crest bills from when he was living with the She-Ex (seriously? £450 to Dairy Crest? HOW do you do that?) led me to question my view on the world. His family were family for the good bits, for the showy bits, but wanted nothing to do with the actual hard work of him being dead. His brother's big words of "let me know what he owes and I'll sort it out" turned out to be smoke and mirrors, which was the same with most of what he said. But I dealt with it, occasionally *still* deal with it, and am proud of the fact that I have managed without them, thus proving everything Rich said to be true, and validating why I'd never met them in all the time we were together.
The ongoing pain of realising that he and I would never have children together, that I would never have more children with anyone, that the AC is the sole child of my flesh, is difficult in the extreme. It isn't just that I wanted a big family, or that it was a dream for both of us, that we valued each others parenting styles and skills, that we loved each other, it is deeper than that. It is part of who I am, and my ability to get pregnant, but inability to carry past 6-8 weeks makes me feel as though I am less of a person. After all, as I have said before, 15 year olds on a council estate can do this, why can't I? Am I that much of a bad mother that God's choice is for me not to? Or is it that He knows something I don't? (Obvious, but true lol!) Was it better for Rich and I to lose those we started, than to raise 2 grieving children?
The continuing, but changing, pain of living with his loss, and living with the child who knew him and loved him and was bereft by his death, of answering the questions, of holding the sobbing body, of coping with the outlet of emotion and reassuring him in all the ways I can, is exhausting. Trying to find ways to talk him through what happened, at his own pace, without badmouthing Rich's brother or the She-Ex can be a task of diplomacy in itself. (My opinions are mine, and expressed on here for my own sanity. He doesn't need to hear them, he can make his own mind up later on.)
There are other reasons, better reasons. Sometimes I miss communal worship, the feeling of being all in one thought. Other times, I am glad to be in a field, watching the lads fly planes, and glorying in God's creation without the walls of Church. I am glad to be in the open.
My non-attendance at Church doesn't mean that I don't believe. I could no more stop believing in God than I could fly under my own power. I am open in my prayers to Him, guilty of not spending enough time with Him, know I don't read His Word as much as I should, and need to get better at all of those things. I have spent a long time being unhappy with Him, not trusting as I should. I struggled to see the bigger picture - of how the pain my son and I were going through, caused by his death and the aftermath, made sense in the plan.
I am slowly coming towards an acceptance, but not an understanding. OR rather, an understanding that it is ok not to understand, it is better just to accept, and appreciate what is here, rather than picking old wounds. After all, picking causes scars, not smooth healing. (All our mothers said things along those lines) Whether this will lead me back to church, or to a more insular faith for a while, I don't know.
So, for me, every time I wanted a brew and didn't, it made me think of God, and what He was prepared to do for me. It made me aware that I had made a promise to God, and that I should keep that promise. And that He has made me promises, and kept some and others are not "not-kept" but more "yet to come to fruition". It has been a physical reminder of my faith.
It's just a cup of tea, but it is so much more.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Motherhood
Today there is an article here from the Guardian. It is written by a woman who has no children, wanted children, and resents the fact that SAHM's complain about their children and wanting 'me' time.
Today there is a blogpost from Melksham Mum which writes about being exhausted, needing 'me' time, facing going back to work and still being the main carer and how she has every right to moan about the things that are difficult in her life, and if that is parenting, then that is parenting.
Yesterday I spent time with a mother of 3, aged 6,4, and 3, discussing the physical impossiblities of keeping up with their untidying abilities and how the men in our lives Don't Understand.
Yesterday my son asked me what it was like to be a big sister.
So where do I sit? I have my beautiful son, who has gone through more in his life than most children. Unlike the miserable and bitter woman in the first article, I did make the effort to find decent men, and I did find them - they are out there. Rich and I had a gorgeous future planned, with children and loveliness. Getting pregnant isn't a problem. Keeping the baby apparently is. Whilst Rich and I lived together I had at least 3 miscarriages. When I was still with the AC's father, I had 2 miscarriages. Rich was prepared to work through it with me, to do anything for us to have a family together. But he died.
J doesn't want more children. He has his son. I have mine. Whilst I would like us to have a child together, that's not something he has ever wanted. I don't know if I can bring myself to go through the hope-and-disaster that pregnancy means for me. Perhaps him makling the decision for us is the way forward, I don't know. I know it hurts though.
After all, millions of mothers have families. Millions of second and third and fourth and more babies are born every day. It's not that I'm infertile - I can get pregnant fairly easily. It's not that my body can't grow a baby - see the 8 year old coughing and snugging on the sofa for evidence. It's just........ I don't know.
So where does that leave me in terms of these two articles?
I have the utmost sympathy for Melksham Mum. She reminds me of Five Minutes Peace by Jill Murphy. (Not that she is an elephant.) I want to take her children to the park whilst she has a bath and a cup of tea or what ever else it is she needs to do. I want to drop by and leave her a shepherds pie in the oven so she doesn't have to cook for one night. At the very least I want to go round with my son and a tin of biscuits (sometimes a packet is not enough) because he is good at entertaining small people and I can make tea. Yes, she chose to have those children, in the same way as I did. Yes, she's finding it hard work to have small children and it'll be harder when she goes back to work in some ways, but she is living her choices every day and making them work - even on days when it doesn't feel like she is making them work, she is. I know the joy and the tiredness that pregnancy and birth and toddlers and growing up brings. I know her world.
I have some sympathy for Miserable and Bitter Woman in the article. She made her career choices. She made her relationship choices. She did those things without thinking about the consequences later on. She is now living with those consequences, and not enjoying them. She's finding it hard to be childless and manless in a world of families. I know the pain of not being able to have children, of being told you're too old, of wanting and not being able to have. Whilst she has never been told, as I have, "Your baby died about 2 weeks ago." it doesn't mean that either of us has the monopoly on pain and loss. It is glorious to have the AC, but it means I know what I am missing with not having more children, both the good and the bad.
The difference between the two, is that Melksham Mum is tired. Miserable and Bitter Woman is miserable and bitter. MBWoman is blaming the rest of the world for her misery, for rubbing that misery in her face and garnishing it with our perfection. She is so caught up on the idea of children that the reality of it is out of her understanding. Melksham Mum lives with the reality every day, and some days might be too tired to see the idea of the children, because parenting, when done properly, is hard work, is perpetual, is utterly never ending. MBW could adopt, could have private IVF, could find ways out of her misery if she put her mind to it. MM just has to wait, and time will take care of it for her, but I suspect there are days when she wonders if she will survive that long. (You will honey, you will!)
The thing is that with all situations it depends how one thinks of it. Cousin Helen (Another literacy reference - What Katy Did!) said that everything has two handles, a rough one and a smooth one. If you pick something up with the rough handle then it hurts your hand and is hard to carry. If you pick it up with the smooth handle, then it comes up easily and is light.
Melksham Mum needs someone to help carry the box. Motherhood can get you to the stage where you are too tired to reach out for any damn handle and you'd only have to be the one who put it away anyway. That's why children should have two actively involved parents. Single parenting can be ridiculously hard - having done it once through divorce and again through bereavement, I know what it wa like for me. I know Rich was as involved as he could be - after all, his daughter was taken thousands of miles away. The AC's dad alternates between good dad and not-interested-dad. J is an excellent dad for the AC, and the best dad as he can be for a child who is 2.5 hours away.
MBW needs to reach for the smooth handle. It's difficult, it's not always enjoyable, it's not easy to do, and sometimes you think you have the smooth handle and it turns into the rough one mid carry. Yesterday I thought I had the smooth handle on not-having-more-children until the AC swiftly turned it into the rough one with "What's it like to be a big sister?" She needs to think about more than just herself, to think about reality as opposed to the fantasy that she is creating. Yes, she needs to mourn for the children and relationships she will never have, yes, it hurts her, but it isn't our fault. She chose.
MBW needs to get over her choices and take responsibility for her choices. Melksham Mum needs a quiet five minutes. MBW could do her thing with therapy and with applying herself. Melksham Mum needs to wait around 16 years.
Me? I need to clean the kitchen and not think about having the best and worst of their two worlds.
Today there is a blogpost from Melksham Mum which writes about being exhausted, needing 'me' time, facing going back to work and still being the main carer and how she has every right to moan about the things that are difficult in her life, and if that is parenting, then that is parenting.
Yesterday I spent time with a mother of 3, aged 6,4, and 3, discussing the physical impossiblities of keeping up with their untidying abilities and how the men in our lives Don't Understand.
Yesterday my son asked me what it was like to be a big sister.
So where do I sit? I have my beautiful son, who has gone through more in his life than most children. Unlike the miserable and bitter woman in the first article, I did make the effort to find decent men, and I did find them - they are out there. Rich and I had a gorgeous future planned, with children and loveliness. Getting pregnant isn't a problem. Keeping the baby apparently is. Whilst Rich and I lived together I had at least 3 miscarriages. When I was still with the AC's father, I had 2 miscarriages. Rich was prepared to work through it with me, to do anything for us to have a family together. But he died.
J doesn't want more children. He has his son. I have mine. Whilst I would like us to have a child together, that's not something he has ever wanted. I don't know if I can bring myself to go through the hope-and-disaster that pregnancy means for me. Perhaps him makling the decision for us is the way forward, I don't know. I know it hurts though.
After all, millions of mothers have families. Millions of second and third and fourth and more babies are born every day. It's not that I'm infertile - I can get pregnant fairly easily. It's not that my body can't grow a baby - see the 8 year old coughing and snugging on the sofa for evidence. It's just........ I don't know.
So where does that leave me in terms of these two articles?
I have the utmost sympathy for Melksham Mum. She reminds me of Five Minutes Peace by Jill Murphy. (Not that she is an elephant.) I want to take her children to the park whilst she has a bath and a cup of tea or what ever else it is she needs to do. I want to drop by and leave her a shepherds pie in the oven so she doesn't have to cook for one night. At the very least I want to go round with my son and a tin of biscuits (sometimes a packet is not enough) because he is good at entertaining small people and I can make tea. Yes, she chose to have those children, in the same way as I did. Yes, she's finding it hard work to have small children and it'll be harder when she goes back to work in some ways, but she is living her choices every day and making them work - even on days when it doesn't feel like she is making them work, she is. I know the joy and the tiredness that pregnancy and birth and toddlers and growing up brings. I know her world.
I have some sympathy for Miserable and Bitter Woman in the article. She made her career choices. She made her relationship choices. She did those things without thinking about the consequences later on. She is now living with those consequences, and not enjoying them. She's finding it hard to be childless and manless in a world of families. I know the pain of not being able to have children, of being told you're too old, of wanting and not being able to have. Whilst she has never been told, as I have, "Your baby died about 2 weeks ago." it doesn't mean that either of us has the monopoly on pain and loss. It is glorious to have the AC, but it means I know what I am missing with not having more children, both the good and the bad.
The difference between the two, is that Melksham Mum is tired. Miserable and Bitter Woman is miserable and bitter. MBWoman is blaming the rest of the world for her misery, for rubbing that misery in her face and garnishing it with our perfection. She is so caught up on the idea of children that the reality of it is out of her understanding. Melksham Mum lives with the reality every day, and some days might be too tired to see the idea of the children, because parenting, when done properly, is hard work, is perpetual, is utterly never ending. MBW could adopt, could have private IVF, could find ways out of her misery if she put her mind to it. MM just has to wait, and time will take care of it for her, but I suspect there are days when she wonders if she will survive that long. (You will honey, you will!)
The thing is that with all situations it depends how one thinks of it. Cousin Helen (Another literacy reference - What Katy Did!) said that everything has two handles, a rough one and a smooth one. If you pick something up with the rough handle then it hurts your hand and is hard to carry. If you pick it up with the smooth handle, then it comes up easily and is light.
Melksham Mum needs someone to help carry the box. Motherhood can get you to the stage where you are too tired to reach out for any damn handle and you'd only have to be the one who put it away anyway. That's why children should have two actively involved parents. Single parenting can be ridiculously hard - having done it once through divorce and again through bereavement, I know what it wa like for me. I know Rich was as involved as he could be - after all, his daughter was taken thousands of miles away. The AC's dad alternates between good dad and not-interested-dad. J is an excellent dad for the AC, and the best dad as he can be for a child who is 2.5 hours away.
MBW needs to reach for the smooth handle. It's difficult, it's not always enjoyable, it's not easy to do, and sometimes you think you have the smooth handle and it turns into the rough one mid carry. Yesterday I thought I had the smooth handle on not-having-more-children until the AC swiftly turned it into the rough one with "What's it like to be a big sister?" She needs to think about more than just herself, to think about reality as opposed to the fantasy that she is creating. Yes, she needs to mourn for the children and relationships she will never have, yes, it hurts her, but it isn't our fault. She chose.
MBW needs to get over her choices and take responsibility for her choices. Melksham Mum needs a quiet five minutes. MBW could do her thing with therapy and with applying herself. Melksham Mum needs to wait around 16 years.
Me? I need to clean the kitchen and not think about having the best and worst of their two worlds.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Firsts....
In an effort to break the miasma of the last few days, I'm going to do a meme. (After all, isn't that what happens with real grief? We let it all out for a bit then plaster over the cracks and smile and be told how we're doing "ever so well!")
First Kiss: was a a lad at a school disco. First proper kiss was my first real boyfriend, who I am never allowed to forget by my family. In fact, I never get to forget any of my boyfriends because my family remember them all and tell everyone about them. In particular, Hairy Alistairy.
First Guy I Slept With: would be that same First Kiss fellow. But several months later. TBH, I wished I hadn't bothered, because until I met Steve, sex was pretty much a non-starter. But Steve was very giving. And then there was Rich, who rocked my world. We rocked each others worlds, because we'd both been without decent sex for so long, that it was a complete eye opener. And now there is J, and I'm not talking about him on here in this context because it is rude. But I am very, very, VERY happy and that's all I'm going to say about that!
First Time I Fainted: Never have!
First Time I Left Home: October 1994 when I went to Uni at 19. I came home for one summer, hated living at home again, (although I love my parents and my family) and left for good.
First Video I Ever Rented: I don't think I ever have. So I shall replace this with The First single I bought : which was Thorn in my side, by The Eurythmics. Actually, that is nothing to be ashamed of, unlike my brother, whose first single was "Every loser wins" by Nick Berry from EastEnders.
First Word I Spoke: Mum-mum-mum-mum-mum-mum. Does that count?
Now I am supposed to tag people, so I shall tag Chef Penny at Our Crazy Adventures in Autismland just because I like her!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Powerful writing and a vow.
This week I have done some of the most personal and most powerful writing I have done on here in a long time.
It started off ok, with Kates Listography about mugs and with my boy laughing properly for the first time in a long time.
Tuesday was a blog post about a list of things I had done, and then a blog post that I went to sleep in the middle of writing and didn't get time to finish - probably because of the massive list of things I had achieved.
Wednesday was the response to the blogorhythms post by HimUpNorth in which I explored the purpose of my bloggingness.
Thursday and Friday though, were hard work.
Thursday was about going to the bank on Wednesday and sorting out life insurance.
Friday was about the conversation I had with my son on Thursday, a conversation that nobody should ever have to have, because everyone should know where their loved one has been scattered.
It's been weighing on my mind since then.
We will never know where Rich was scattered by his brother. Legally, his brother took the ashes, legally, he scattered them. I have never said any of it was illegal. But I looked into my child's eyes, and I know it was immoral. I have tried to understand, I read through that blogpost earlier and I realised how reasonable I sound, and how easy it would be to blame the brother for being a nasty person. But he wasn't, he was grieving. He was grieving for the loss of a brother he hadn't seen in 5 years, for the relationship they could have had, for the father they had both lost. But in his grief, he forgot about a 6 year old who had lost the man he worshipped. Grief does that. It makes people selfish and act in different ways than they usually would. It's why his Afghanistan medal has gone to the BG and not to the child who earned it with him. It's why the flag from his coffin is where that is, and not with the child who needs it in the States. Flags matter in the States. His medal matters to my boy. But I had no legal right to any of it, because the paperwork couldn't be found, and when it was, well, I chose to leave things as they were. I chose not to hurt any more people.
But now I look at my child, still grieving, and I think, "Why? What can I do?" I can't do anything about my situation, we will have to make it through the best we can, and we will. I have never heard from the brother or his family again, aside from a cousin of FB every now and again in a FB kind of way. None of them came to the inquest for the man they loved so much that they did what they did. I went. The boy wanted to go, but I told him it was a school day, and he couldn't.
I am proud of that child though.
Proud of the way his six year old self worried about BG before anything else when he heard the news.
Proud of the way he stood straight next to me and waited for the coffin, proud of the way he walked behind it and refused to cry, because armourers don't.
Proud of the way he has carried on, every day.
Proud of the way he went to the services of Remembrance, the Reading in, all the things that none of Rich's family had time to go to.
Proud of the way that he put his heart on the line again by loving J in the way that he does, fully aware of how much it would hurt if anything happened to J and he lost him.
Proud of the way he fights his fears of my death, J's death, how he tries so hard when we have to go somewhere, and how relieved he is when we are home safe.
Proud of the way he talks his feelings out instead of keeping them in.
Proud of the way he tries to understand what the brother did, tries to forgive him for taking the last thing we had - a place to go for Rich.
Proud of him as a Scotty's Little Soldier, a charity that helps the children of the fallen.
Proud of his spirit, his fight, his love.
I know he'll make it through, but he and I have talked, and we want to stop this happening to anyone else. Not the death, because death is like that. It happens. But this situation. We'll find a way. Because no other child should have to suffer like my boy does.
It started off ok, with Kates Listography about mugs and with my boy laughing properly for the first time in a long time.
Tuesday was a blog post about a list of things I had done, and then a blog post that I went to sleep in the middle of writing and didn't get time to finish - probably because of the massive list of things I had achieved.
Wednesday was the response to the blogorhythms post by HimUpNorth in which I explored the purpose of my bloggingness.
Thursday and Friday though, were hard work.
Thursday was about going to the bank on Wednesday and sorting out life insurance.
Friday was about the conversation I had with my son on Thursday, a conversation that nobody should ever have to have, because everyone should know where their loved one has been scattered.
It's been weighing on my mind since then.
We will never know where Rich was scattered by his brother. Legally, his brother took the ashes, legally, he scattered them. I have never said any of it was illegal. But I looked into my child's eyes, and I know it was immoral. I have tried to understand, I read through that blogpost earlier and I realised how reasonable I sound, and how easy it would be to blame the brother for being a nasty person. But he wasn't, he was grieving. He was grieving for the loss of a brother he hadn't seen in 5 years, for the relationship they could have had, for the father they had both lost. But in his grief, he forgot about a 6 year old who had lost the man he worshipped. Grief does that. It makes people selfish and act in different ways than they usually would. It's why his Afghanistan medal has gone to the BG and not to the child who earned it with him. It's why the flag from his coffin is where that is, and not with the child who needs it in the States. Flags matter in the States. His medal matters to my boy. But I had no legal right to any of it, because the paperwork couldn't be found, and when it was, well, I chose to leave things as they were. I chose not to hurt any more people.
But now I look at my child, still grieving, and I think, "Why? What can I do?" I can't do anything about my situation, we will have to make it through the best we can, and we will. I have never heard from the brother or his family again, aside from a cousin of FB every now and again in a FB kind of way. None of them came to the inquest for the man they loved so much that they did what they did. I went. The boy wanted to go, but I told him it was a school day, and he couldn't.
I am proud of that child though.
Proud of the way his six year old self worried about BG before anything else when he heard the news.
Proud of the way he stood straight next to me and waited for the coffin, proud of the way he walked behind it and refused to cry, because armourers don't.
Proud of the way he has carried on, every day.
Proud of the way he went to the services of Remembrance, the Reading in, all the things that none of Rich's family had time to go to.
Proud of the way that he put his heart on the line again by loving J in the way that he does, fully aware of how much it would hurt if anything happened to J and he lost him.
Proud of the way he fights his fears of my death, J's death, how he tries so hard when we have to go somewhere, and how relieved he is when we are home safe.
Proud of the way he talks his feelings out instead of keeping them in.
Proud of the way he tries to understand what the brother did, tries to forgive him for taking the last thing we had - a place to go for Rich.
Proud of him as a Scotty's Little Soldier, a charity that helps the children of the fallen.
Proud of his spirit, his fight, his love.
I know he'll make it through, but he and I have talked, and we want to stop this happening to anyone else. Not the death, because death is like that. It happens. But this situation. We'll find a way. Because no other child should have to suffer like my boy does.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Heartbreak and acceptance
I don't know what to title this post.
How do you title a post that even writing it just makes me want to cry?
Yesterday my boy got up out of bed, and came downstairs. He does that everyday.
And then he said "Mummy, I want to talk to you."
"Ok sweetheart."
"Will I die before you?" This isn't unusual. This comes up every couple of months.
"I don't know baby, it's unlikely." In this house, we never say never, about anything, because we never know what is around the corner.
"Mummy, when I die, I want to be burned, like Richard, and I want my ashes put with his."
My heart fell. How do I tell him, again, that we can't do that? How do I explain again? I tried to deflect it away.
"Well, we can take them to Thetford where we put his bike kit ashes, and we will scatter them there."
"No, I mean, with his real ashes, his body ashes." No baby, no, don't say that.
"Well, that is difficult darling, because we don't really know where Richard's ashes are." My heart is tearing now, because I can see the hope in his eyes, see him wanting to be reunited.
"Why did I-t-B take Richard away from us?" I don't know baby, I don't know.
"Because he was Richard's brother and he loved him and he was grieving for him and wanted to have him close to him." I hate being reasonable. I hate it, I hate it.
"But he didn't love Richard like we did." No-one loved him like we did baby, no-one could.
"Well, he loved him like a brother, and we loved him like a boy loves a stepdaddy and like a Mummy loves a Daddy." He was your world my darling boy, he was the centre of your universe, he loved you and taught you and protected you and cherished you.
"But I want to be scattered with him." I know. I know.
"Well, I don't know if we can do that, but we'll do the best we can." I don't know what that best is, but I'll do something. Anything. I'll do whatever I have to do for you my boy.
"I love you Mummy." I know you do darling boy.
"I love you too." With all my heart, with all that I am.
And then he raised his voice and called "Love you Richard." He loves you too. He'll never stop loving you. You'll never stop loving him.
"He can hear me, can't he?"
"I believe he can. And see you." I believe it. I don't know how, but he told us he would never leave us alone.
"And see BG." Always he thinks of her too. She was the first person he thought of when I told him about the accident.
"Good." Pause. "We can scatter me at Thetford if we can't find where Richard is. He'll find me."My heart is breaking for my brave brave boy. For his faith, for his confidence, for the love, for the hope he still has.
"Yes baby, yes he will." He will. He will. There is a God and He will put you two back together again.
Then he asked about breakfast. That's how matter of fact all of this is for him. He knows what happened after the Celebrations, because I had to tell him, because he had to know we weren't going to collect the ashes and scatter them with Richard's family. He understood that there was nothing we could do - Rich and I weren't married, I had no legal right over the ashes of the man I loved and lived with and worked with and raised a boy with. He heard me beg for the chance to be there.
But he sees through it all. He's not bitter about it, he's not angry, he just wants something he can't have. He's not planning on dying any time soon, he told me later, but he wants to have things organised. He gets to the centre of it all - "He'll find me." - a fact, a confident fact, believing in Richard the way a little boy should believe in his Daddy, even when he is a Stepdaddy.
So I've called it "Heartbreak and acceptance." because that's what this is for both of us. When he had gone to his fathers I cried from anger and frustration and sadness and the re-feeling of the shock of one mans inhumanity towards a little boy. Then I was proud of my boy, and loving of God for my boy, and for his humanity and understanding and his faith and his love.
Itwillallbefine.
There are no other options.
How do you title a post that even writing it just makes me want to cry?
Yesterday my boy got up out of bed, and came downstairs. He does that everyday.
And then he said "Mummy, I want to talk to you."
"Ok sweetheart."
"Will I die before you?" This isn't unusual. This comes up every couple of months.
"I don't know baby, it's unlikely." In this house, we never say never, about anything, because we never know what is around the corner.
"Mummy, when I die, I want to be burned, like Richard, and I want my ashes put with his."
My heart fell. How do I tell him, again, that we can't do that? How do I explain again? I tried to deflect it away.
"Well, we can take them to Thetford where we put his bike kit ashes, and we will scatter them there."
"No, I mean, with his real ashes, his body ashes." No baby, no, don't say that.
"Well, that is difficult darling, because we don't really know where Richard's ashes are." My heart is tearing now, because I can see the hope in his eyes, see him wanting to be reunited.
"Why did I-t-B take Richard away from us?" I don't know baby, I don't know.
"Because he was Richard's brother and he loved him and he was grieving for him and wanted to have him close to him." I hate being reasonable. I hate it, I hate it.
"But he didn't love Richard like we did." No-one loved him like we did baby, no-one could.
"Well, he loved him like a brother, and we loved him like a boy loves a stepdaddy and like a Mummy loves a Daddy." He was your world my darling boy, he was the centre of your universe, he loved you and taught you and protected you and cherished you.
"But I want to be scattered with him." I know. I know.
"Well, I don't know if we can do that, but we'll do the best we can." I don't know what that best is, but I'll do something. Anything. I'll do whatever I have to do for you my boy.
"I love you Mummy." I know you do darling boy.
"I love you too." With all my heart, with all that I am.
And then he raised his voice and called "Love you Richard." He loves you too. He'll never stop loving you. You'll never stop loving him.
"He can hear me, can't he?"
"I believe he can. And see you." I believe it. I don't know how, but he told us he would never leave us alone.
"And see BG." Always he thinks of her too. She was the first person he thought of when I told him about the accident.
"Good." Pause. "We can scatter me at Thetford if we can't find where Richard is. He'll find me."My heart is breaking for my brave brave boy. For his faith, for his confidence, for the love, for the hope he still has.
"Yes baby, yes he will." He will. He will. There is a God and He will put you two back together again.
Then he asked about breakfast. That's how matter of fact all of this is for him. He knows what happened after the Celebrations, because I had to tell him, because he had to know we weren't going to collect the ashes and scatter them with Richard's family. He understood that there was nothing we could do - Rich and I weren't married, I had no legal right over the ashes of the man I loved and lived with and worked with and raised a boy with. He heard me beg for the chance to be there.
But he sees through it all. He's not bitter about it, he's not angry, he just wants something he can't have. He's not planning on dying any time soon, he told me later, but he wants to have things organised. He gets to the centre of it all - "He'll find me." - a fact, a confident fact, believing in Richard the way a little boy should believe in his Daddy, even when he is a Stepdaddy.
So I've called it "Heartbreak and acceptance." because that's what this is for both of us. When he had gone to his fathers I cried from anger and frustration and sadness and the re-feeling of the shock of one mans inhumanity towards a little boy. Then I was proud of my boy, and loving of God for my boy, and for his humanity and understanding and his faith and his love.
Itwillallbefine.
There are no other options.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
It'll never happen to me.....
We say that. Everyone says it, and everyone lives their life by it.
Yesterday though, in case it happened to me, I arranged my life insurance, critical care cover and beneficiaries thereof. It works out that if I die, or get one of the several diseases or conditions that are covered (and it's fabulous cover, so it will cover it!) then J and the AC, or J and I, get the money to pay off the mortgage and the loan. Also, if I die, then J and the AC get the money from my death in service grant.
It wasn't difficult - although I wept a bit in the bank. But the bank man was very understanding, and it wasn't embarrassing. The question was "Have you every seen the doctor for mental health or depression related issues?" I said yes. The computer asked why. I said grief. The computer asked when was the last time I had an 'attack' that affected me. I looked at Bank Man, and he apologised, and we agreed that it never goes away, that it will always be a part of my soul, that I can't say it will never affect me again, or say when the last 'attack' was.
Last time I thought about him? yesterday morning.
Last time I cried for no reason? about a month ago.
Last time I cried because I heard a song? about a week ago.
Last time I missed Rich so much that I could hardly breathe, so that I couldn't think, so that I just wanted to tumble to the floor and lay there until something else happened, when I was so full of grief and fear and unshed tears? Last day of term last year. It has hit me badly both times, and I think it always will.
So we agreed to tell the computer that it was about a year ago, and the computer was happy with that.
So there we are. I signed the papers, and I have insurance.
When Rich died, he didn't have life insurance. Why would he? It wouldn't cover him for Theatre of War, and we never envisaged there being any other problems. He was going to get some when his divorce came through - the divorce that we had paid for twice. Had the She-Ex had sent the paperwork through for the divorce, we'd have got life insurance and she would have benefited from that as well. Her choices meant she didn't. Life is like that. In a way it was worth all our struggles so that she saw the results of her choices. I wasn't even thinking about money - his death wasn't a financial opportunity for me, it was a massive tragedy. She would have got the dependants allowance that she currently gets - but the AC would have got it as well. But life is like that too. There was the bike insurance, but as we paid for the bike, and we paid the insurance, I had no qualms in claiming that. I could have got more if I had allowed them to sell the bike, but I wanted that widowmaker to be destroyed. There was no reason for the crash you see. No other vehicle involved in the initial incident. Nothing on the road. Even the police said it was one of the most well-maintained bikes they had seen. I know what the eye witnesses said, and that was exactly how I thought it had happened in the beginning. It was just his time to go. Life is like that.
I totalled up what I was worth last night - almost £350,000. But only dead.
Money, contrary to what a lot of people think, and several in particular, money isn't everything. I know that it won't make the pain any less, or the anger, or the frustration. It won't make seeing a loved one on a mortuary slab any easier, or feeling the thinness of their fingers and the coolness of their head. It won't stop the numbness striking in the middle of the day, disabling thought and action for hours on end. But it's going to mean that J and the AC don't have to worry and fight to have somewhere to live, don't have to think about bills and other such stuff.
They can just get on with missing me. As indeed they should, for I am awesome. ;-)
Yesterday though, in case it happened to me, I arranged my life insurance, critical care cover and beneficiaries thereof. It works out that if I die, or get one of the several diseases or conditions that are covered (and it's fabulous cover, so it will cover it!) then J and the AC, or J and I, get the money to pay off the mortgage and the loan. Also, if I die, then J and the AC get the money from my death in service grant.
It wasn't difficult - although I wept a bit in the bank. But the bank man was very understanding, and it wasn't embarrassing. The question was "Have you every seen the doctor for mental health or depression related issues?" I said yes. The computer asked why. I said grief. The computer asked when was the last time I had an 'attack' that affected me. I looked at Bank Man, and he apologised, and we agreed that it never goes away, that it will always be a part of my soul, that I can't say it will never affect me again, or say when the last 'attack' was.
Last time I thought about him? yesterday morning.
Last time I cried for no reason? about a month ago.
Last time I cried because I heard a song? about a week ago.
Last time I missed Rich so much that I could hardly breathe, so that I couldn't think, so that I just wanted to tumble to the floor and lay there until something else happened, when I was so full of grief and fear and unshed tears? Last day of term last year. It has hit me badly both times, and I think it always will.
So we agreed to tell the computer that it was about a year ago, and the computer was happy with that.
So there we are. I signed the papers, and I have insurance.
When Rich died, he didn't have life insurance. Why would he? It wouldn't cover him for Theatre of War, and we never envisaged there being any other problems. He was going to get some when his divorce came through - the divorce that we had paid for twice. Had the She-Ex had sent the paperwork through for the divorce, we'd have got life insurance and she would have benefited from that as well. Her choices meant she didn't. Life is like that. In a way it was worth all our struggles so that she saw the results of her choices. I wasn't even thinking about money - his death wasn't a financial opportunity for me, it was a massive tragedy. She would have got the dependants allowance that she currently gets - but the AC would have got it as well. But life is like that too. There was the bike insurance, but as we paid for the bike, and we paid the insurance, I had no qualms in claiming that. I could have got more if I had allowed them to sell the bike, but I wanted that widowmaker to be destroyed. There was no reason for the crash you see. No other vehicle involved in the initial incident. Nothing on the road. Even the police said it was one of the most well-maintained bikes they had seen. I know what the eye witnesses said, and that was exactly how I thought it had happened in the beginning. It was just his time to go. Life is like that.
I totalled up what I was worth last night - almost £350,000. But only dead.
Money, contrary to what a lot of people think, and several in particular, money isn't everything. I know that it won't make the pain any less, or the anger, or the frustration. It won't make seeing a loved one on a mortuary slab any easier, or feeling the thinness of their fingers and the coolness of their head. It won't stop the numbness striking in the middle of the day, disabling thought and action for hours on end. But it's going to mean that J and the AC don't have to worry and fight to have somewhere to live, don't have to think about bills and other such stuff.
They can just get on with missing me. As indeed they should, for I am awesome. ;-)
Monday, February 13, 2012
So it's true.....
I should not be allowed near technology when under the influence of prescription drugs. Particularly the ones with "May cause addiction" on them.
They work on the headache by overlaying it with a load of mush until the headache can no longer be felt. I suppose we're meaning in the same way as the Princess couldn't feel the Pea. Except she still could. Look, you know what I'm trying to get at?
Anyway.
Mistakes made yesterday :-
Confusing Fleming and Faraday and trying to insist that it is Faraday who had the left and right hand rule. (Left for motors, right for generators)
Then trying to insist that Faraday cage was not Faraday but Fleming. (I am truly ashamed of that.)
Then referring to what was dropped on Hiroshima as a nuclear bomb. (no, it's an atom bomb. I know that. Again with the shame curtains)
Then criticising T-Boys table manners, at table. Admittedly, he was reaching for more cake with a large lump still being chewed over in his mouth, and we had just spent 15 minutes waiting for him to finish his meal, which was totally different to that which everyone else had, and he *still* messed about with eating it, but I probably shouldn't have asked if his mother had ever considered teaching him some manners as he was looking like a right Council House Brat. Oh yes, and J's mum and dad were there.
In between these events, I also wrote a post yesterday (on my phone which has eaten all of the layout!) which has apparently got Rich's ex-wife's all uptight. I referred to a standing joke that he and I had. It's my blog, my memory, my way of looking at things, my peculiar sense of humour, my defiant optimism that laughs in the face of danger and misery.
According to the email I had yesterday though, it was me taking potshots at her.
"I had intended on giving you my current address.
They work on the headache by overlaying it with a load of mush until the headache can no longer be felt. I suppose we're meaning in the same way as the Princess couldn't feel the Pea. Except she still could. Look, you know what I'm trying to get at?
Anyway.
Mistakes made yesterday :-
Confusing Fleming and Faraday and trying to insist that it is Faraday who had the left and right hand rule. (Left for motors, right for generators)
Then trying to insist that Faraday cage was not Faraday but Fleming. (I am truly ashamed of that.)
Then referring to what was dropped on Hiroshima as a nuclear bomb. (no, it's an atom bomb. I know that. Again with the shame curtains)
Then criticising T-Boys table manners, at table. Admittedly, he was reaching for more cake with a large lump still being chewed over in his mouth, and we had just spent 15 minutes waiting for him to finish his meal, which was totally different to that which everyone else had, and he *still* messed about with eating it, but I probably shouldn't have asked if his mother had ever considered teaching him some manners as he was looking like a right Council House Brat. Oh yes, and J's mum and dad were there.
In between these events, I also wrote a post yesterday (on my phone which has eaten all of the layout!) which has apparently got Rich's ex-wife's all uptight. I referred to a standing joke that he and I had. It's my blog, my memory, my way of looking at things, my peculiar sense of humour, my defiant optimism that laughs in the face of danger and misery.
According to the email I had yesterday though, it was me taking potshots at her.
"I had intended on giving you my current address.
However I went by and read your blog, and I see you still enjoy taking potshots at me over two and a half years after Richard died.
Grow up."
Well, I have. So if it makes her feel better, I can offer a public apology on here. She used to laugh at us, she said, but laughing at a memory of laughing at her with Rich is A Bad Thing. I don't want to upset anyone - I've got past that. I have a lovely life again now, and J and I were talking last night about how there is every chance that that was arranged by Rich and God. I don't need to dwell on the negative parts of the past, just on the bits that made me laugh, and that memory was one of them.
Speaking of laughing, yesterday the AC laughed properly for the first time I can remember since the accident. Long belly laughs, not just a bit of a giggle, which has been more and more since J has been in our lives, but proper big long laughs.
There he is, in his Scotty's Little Soldiers top, of which he is a very proud member, and laughing at Mr Bean. To see him regaining his love of the world again piece by piece, is a remarkable thing. To hear him laugh like that, is priceless.
I am a very lucky woman. (who is also on half term this week, so may be talking more drivel than usual, but will be staying away from prescription meds like that one!)
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Voodoo lol!
It is a long time since I've had a cold of this magnitude lol! This is now getting to the ridiculous stage. Ong he one hand, I look like a drunken Rudolph (I have the sunken bleary eyes to go with the red nose!) but on the other hand life could be worse.
By that I mean that even though I look like an inebriated reindeer, I have a man who tells me I look gorgeous, children who are playing nicely, and cassarole for lunch, cooked by J's dad.
I also completed the overview for next half term yesterday as well. We're doing a lot of fabric work! Hurrah!
Oh.
Looks like that is the end of my coherent thought for a while. Back in a bit.
*sneeze*
(and the voodoo title? Lol. Private joke between Rich and I, to do with a certain American who reckoned she was something special in the Wiccan world at that time!)
Thursday, February 9, 2012
UP and at 'em!
I've never been a lay-a-bed person. Some people can sleep forever in the mornings, or not even sleep - just lie there being awake, but not doing anything. I'm very much once I'm up, I'm up.
Before 5:30am today I had
*got dressed
*unloaded the dishwasher
*reloaded the dishwasher
*loaded the tumbledrier
*loaded the washing machine
*made a cup of tea
*planned the numeracy for today
*planned the literacy for today and tomorrow.
*tidied around the front room (as much as one can when one is decorating)
That's the only way I can keep on top of things lol!
Last night I was out with J and the AC at flying, and the AC is really getting good with the NightVapour now. J is training him up to be able to fly the Discovery in the summer in the open air, and is really pleased with his progress. I can't fly. I just can't. It is just not something I can spatially do very well. I mean, I can hover the helicopter and make it go where I want and things like that, but then that's it. AC and J are doing all kinds of tricks, and I'm not. That's cool lol! I can't be good at everything (even if I am Mary F-ing Poppins - yes it still makes me laugh!)
Then the AC was on my laptop whilst he was waiting for batteries to charge and his turn to fly - he doesn't tend to fly with the older men at the moment, because he is respectful of it being their space, and because he knows that the NV needs a lot of room. He's a good boy. So he was on my laptop and he was working on Powerpoint. They have been doing Powerpoint at school and really enjoying it, and he wanted to make something. I was doing written work, so I let him get along with it.
His presentation was 3 slides long.
The first had a picture of the three of us, and the words "To the best mummy and stepdad ever."
The second had a picture of he and I together, and the words
"My mum is the best because ........
She helped me get through when Richard died.
She snuggles with me
She is really proud of me when I get 10/10 in my spelings. (that last was apparently deliberate." Yeah, my boy rocks irony lol!)
Before 5:30am today I had
*got dressed
*unloaded the dishwasher
*reloaded the dishwasher
*loaded the tumbledrier
*loaded the washing machine
*made a cup of tea
*planned the numeracy for today
*planned the literacy for today and tomorrow.
*tidied around the front room (as much as one can when one is decorating)
That's the only way I can keep on top of things lol!
Last night I was out with J and the AC at flying, and the AC is really getting good with the NightVapour now. J is training him up to be able to fly the Discovery in the summer in the open air, and is really pleased with his progress. I can't fly. I just can't. It is just not something I can spatially do very well. I mean, I can hover the helicopter and make it go where I want and things like that, but then that's it. AC and J are doing all kinds of tricks, and I'm not. That's cool lol! I can't be good at everything (even if I am Mary F-ing Poppins - yes it still makes me laugh!)
Then the AC was on my laptop whilst he was waiting for batteries to charge and his turn to fly - he doesn't tend to fly with the older men at the moment, because he is respectful of it being their space, and because he knows that the NV needs a lot of room. He's a good boy. So he was on my laptop and he was working on Powerpoint. They have been doing Powerpoint at school and really enjoying it, and he wanted to make something. I was doing written work, so I let him get along with it.
His presentation was 3 slides long.
The first had a picture of the three of us, and the words "To the best mummy and stepdad ever."
The second had a picture of he and I together, and the words
"My mum is the best because ........
She helped me get through when Richard died.
She snuggles with me
She is really proud of me when I get 10/10 in my spelings. (that last was apparently deliberate." Yeah, my boy rocks irony lol!)
The third had a picture of J and he on it, and the words
"The reason why J is the best stepdad ever
He is really fun
He flick’s me in the head some time’s
He is really funny
He teaches me how to fly. "
I could have cried. J was really touched. He'd chosen to do this just to show how he felt. This is a household that is comfortable with it's feelings, that shows how it feels, that is proud of love and what it brings. Rich's death realigned our perspective - after all, you have to love that much to lose that much, and to see the boychild prepared to stick it all on the line again is warming me in a way I cannot explain.
Even just looking at it again now makes me well up in a way that only the mother of a bereaved child can understand. It is such a risk that I took with his heart as well as mine, and it's paying off.
Rich always told me two things. Itwillallbefine, and that he would never leave us alone. He kept those promises, like he kept all his promises to me.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Who am I again?
The other day I volunteered to guest post at the lovely Bodfortea's place whilst she is away doing Something More Interesting.
I wrote the blog post. I sent the blog post. She emailed me back saying she liked it (phew!) and did I want to put an introduction or a photo. Or both.
It just made me think - who am I now?
For the last 2 and a half years, I have been a widow.
For the last 8 years I have been the AC's mother.
I have been J's other half for 21 months.
For 14 years I have been a teacher.
I have been quilting and knitting for 10 years.
I have been writing since I was a smalley.
I have been cooking and baking and loving for ever!
I don't want to be just any one of those things. I am all of them.
So what do I write in an introduction?
Sarah lives and teaches in Norfolk with her son, (the AC) her other half, (J) 7 snakes and 2 cats. Her life has been complicated, ranging from fabulously contented to utterly miserable at times, but the death of her fiancé, Rich, in July 2009, gave her a bucket of perspective, and she looks at life a little differently now, because itwillallbefine (the other options are stupid!)
How does that grab you?
I wrote the blog post. I sent the blog post. She emailed me back saying she liked it (phew!) and did I want to put an introduction or a photo. Or both.
It just made me think - who am I now?
For the last 2 and a half years, I have been a widow.
For the last 8 years I have been the AC's mother.
I have been J's other half for 21 months.
For 14 years I have been a teacher.
I have been quilting and knitting for 10 years.
I have been writing since I was a smalley.
I have been cooking and baking and loving for ever!
I don't want to be just any one of those things. I am all of them.
So what do I write in an introduction?
Sarah lives and teaches in Norfolk with her son, (the AC) her other half, (J) 7 snakes and 2 cats. Her life has been complicated, ranging from fabulously contented to utterly miserable at times, but the death of her fiancé, Rich, in July 2009, gave her a bucket of perspective, and she looks at life a little differently now, because itwillallbefine (the other options are stupid!)
How does that grab you?
Friday, January 20, 2012
Broody.
I'm broody all over again.
I will never get the hang of not being broody. I know that. Well, I suppose when I am 90 or something then I will, but you know what I mean, Dear Reader. Right now, it's never.
I like being pregnant. I like new babies, older babies, toddlers, nursery age, school age, and I like them up to 8 years 7 months. That's how old the AC is, so that's as far as I know I like motherhood.
This goes a long way back.
All I have ever wanted, deep down, was a home, a good and loving man, and anywhere between 2-6 children.
I have a home, for which I work my bottom off, but at the end of the day it is *mine*. One day, it will be ours, but right now, legally speaking, it's *mine*. No-one can tell us what to do, or evict us on the spur of the moment. None of our money is wasted in rent. Every month I pay the mortgage, I pay more towards the house being ours in whole. I love this house.
I have a good and loving man. I've had terrible luck with men, - 2 divorces and a widowhood tend to make one feel slightly paranoid. I worry about losing J, but I worry deep down where no one can see it, because I know that it is paranoia, and I have seen that ruin too many relationships in the past. If I clutch at him too tightly then he will feel repressed, and I don't like that for a man. He needs to feel in charge, he needs to know I have every faith and trust him, and that I would accept a decision that he has made.
I suppose it is that last which is where I am struggling.
Rich and I were trying for a family. In the year that he died, I lost two before his death, and 1 immediately afterwards.
Always they are early, early losses. Just enough to know that they are there, and then they are gone. I think I've done it again, jut before Christmas, but I've got to the stage where I don't want to think about it anymore. Enough is too much already, as someone cleverer than me said. But to go from trying, to mourning, to never, in such a short time, has been a shock to my system.
I've had days when it feels like J would have children with his Ex, but not with me - what's wrong with me? (answer, probably nothing! Hey, hi paranoia lol!) Am I such a bad mother? (again, the answer is no! The She-Ex called me "Mary F-ing Poppins" except she used the whole word. She was that angry then, now? Who knows.) I know some of this is based on being 37 soon. Too old to start all the nappies and things again, increased chance of congenital deformity, and all that jazz.
I know.
I do know, you know. I'm not stupid.
Just broody. :-(
However, I have a beautiful and intelligent son, a kind-hearted stepson, an amazing stepdaughter somewhere in the Americas, who I will never stop loving, and a whole range of nieces and nephews and godsons and goddaughters and friends children and....
Well, you get the picture.
I am blessed in so many ways.
Just hormonally challenged.
This goes a long way back.
All I have ever wanted, deep down, was a home, a good and loving man, and anywhere between 2-6 children.
I have a home, for which I work my bottom off, but at the end of the day it is *mine*. One day, it will be ours, but right now, legally speaking, it's *mine*. No-one can tell us what to do, or evict us on the spur of the moment. None of our money is wasted in rent. Every month I pay the mortgage, I pay more towards the house being ours in whole. I love this house.
I have a good and loving man. I've had terrible luck with men, - 2 divorces and a widowhood tend to make one feel slightly paranoid. I worry about losing J, but I worry deep down where no one can see it, because I know that it is paranoia, and I have seen that ruin too many relationships in the past. If I clutch at him too tightly then he will feel repressed, and I don't like that for a man. He needs to feel in charge, he needs to know I have every faith and trust him, and that I would accept a decision that he has made.
I suppose it is that last which is where I am struggling.
Rich and I were trying for a family. In the year that he died, I lost two before his death, and 1 immediately afterwards.
Always they are early, early losses. Just enough to know that they are there, and then they are gone. I think I've done it again, jut before Christmas, but I've got to the stage where I don't want to think about it anymore. Enough is too much already, as someone cleverer than me said. But to go from trying, to mourning, to never, in such a short time, has been a shock to my system.
I've had days when it feels like J would have children with his Ex, but not with me - what's wrong with me? (answer, probably nothing! Hey, hi paranoia lol!) Am I such a bad mother? (again, the answer is no! The She-Ex called me "Mary F-ing Poppins" except she used the whole word. She was that angry then, now? Who knows.) I know some of this is based on being 37 soon. Too old to start all the nappies and things again, increased chance of congenital deformity, and all that jazz.
I know.
I do know, you know. I'm not stupid.
Just broody. :-(
However, I have a beautiful and intelligent son, a kind-hearted stepson, an amazing stepdaughter somewhere in the Americas, who I will never stop loving, and a whole range of nieces and nephews and godsons and goddaughters and friends children and....
Well, you get the picture.
I am blessed in so many ways.
Just hormonally challenged.
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