My blogging mojo is all gone, though it might be here if there was any time between housework and educating and holiday and taxi driving pantomime dancers around. And everyone else's christmas, which they remembered nearly as late as I did and so corresponding quantities of panic have been detected in those ordering from our shops as in me ordering from elsewhere.
I'm not writing because I (still) don't know what to say. My festive cheer is long gone, never to return. If I am ever an old lady, I will be an old lady who kisses great grandchildren goodbye at the end of a Christmas Day and falls gasping to my knees that none of them belong to the line of my first born son. It's a long time to grieve, all stretched out ahead, with life as a distraction, a bandage but not a cure. Christmas is nothing, not religion, not joy, not hope or happy, just a string of difficulties and obstacles. A big act, a big pretend.
If I believed in god, which I do not, I'd snort in the face of something that only had to lose their son for 30 years and then call him back. Big deal. I'd give my eyes and teeth for my baby to have been born somewhere else where I could know he was alive and safe and would one day come back. It doesn't seem much of a sacrifice to me. There is no message in christmas that gives me comfort now; once it made me feel inferior, now it makes me feel angry.
Three Christmases in, I can tick some boxes. I've addressed the missing present stash by hiding all Bene's at work. It makes the space less visible. I'm buried in panto runs and distracted by sick little boys and stressed out girls. I can Christmas craft again, though in point of fact I can't, since there is no time. I'm just not thinking about it, not thinking the thoughts. I'm not seeing the missing advent sweet, or the excited little boy enjoying his first understood christmas who is, ghostlike, just behind my knee. Not seeing, not thinking.
And then, in one casual sentence, all the pretence crashes down.
And here I am again, on my knees, crying for a boy I lost for no reason I will ever understand.
Nothing seems the right thing to say. Im just so sorry that you didn’t get to keep Freddie, its really not fair. (((Hugs)))
No words, just tears.
I’m so sorry Merry. Nothing useful to say, just sobbing, incoherent and wishing I could give you a big hug. xx
Lots of love xxx
Merry. Right there with you. It doesn’t end. And sometimes it feel that there is such a terribly long way to go. I miss her so much and I’m fine, just fine. Provided that I don’t think. Because I’ll be that old lady too.
I’m so deeply sorry that you are without your Freddie.
I’m so sorry Merry. I think about Freddie (and the others) even more at this time of year. Sending so much love to you xxxx
I’m so sorry Merry…it’s so unfair. I will walk with you for a time as I endlessly see the spirit of my son playing between my two children.
Five years ago, just after Christmas, we learned that our baby would not survive to term. We have been riding the rollercoaster of grief ever since.
You cope, you’re fine, and then it comes and cuts you again.
D
xx
It feels so redundant saying ‘Sorry’ but it seems the only word. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you must be feeling. All I can say is that silly five letter word.
Sorry. Sorry for your loss and the pain you have to endure for a lifetime. I can’t give advice on how to cope, but, if you ever needed anyone to talk to or email or anything… I’m a good listener.
Sending you best wishes and hugs.
Morgan x
I can not read this and run, but I have no words that can make anything right. Life is cruel, unfair and nothing I say can or will change that. I am crafting to hide my pain and sadness.
You write so very, very well. I just wish this wasn’t your story. I’m so sorry.