An overdue catch up

It’s been a while since my first post. I think I might have exhausted all my reserves with that one but now, a couple of years on, things look quite different.

The journey has been difficult to say the least. It’s not one anyone should ever have to endure but it’s part of so many people’s lives and I hate to think that others would feel the same way as I have and I do. It’s so unnatural.

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I watched a clip of Celine Dion this morning at her first concert back after losing her husband and she starts to sing “All By Myself”, you know that song, it’s pretty emotional at the best of times and I watched her body language, watched her struggle with the fact she was a consummate professional and was going to deliver this song with it’s challenging high notes and she hit the big one but it’s what happened after that hit me hard and had me crying.

She was visibly so proud she had hit the high note and done it beautifully and then it struck her. The fleeting moment of happiness and elation she felt overwhelmed her and she broke down and couldn’t sing any more of the song. I felt her pain so strongly. I knew exactly what she was feeling. It’s that moment when you do something and it feels like “before”, it feels normal and then all the pain and hurt hits you in the face and you can’t take it. The reality of what you’re feeling, what you’re going through is so strong and so painful that when you have that moment of “normality” it hurts more as it reminds you what you used to be like.

I can see the nice things in life these days. I can feel happy without feeling guilty, without the reality hitting me hard in the face and knocking me back. It’s more days than not and that’s a winning situation for me.

After the last four years, I wonder if we really know how to deal with grief or more to the point, other people’s grief. You don’t have a choice if you’re dropped into it. You have to make your choice and go with it but it’s other people and how they behave and react that is a lesson to learn and at times, an eye opener.

I’m going to try and write a bit more here. I think I can probably now outline what the journey had been like. What it’s taken to get to this sort of “normal” stage and hopefully someone may get something from it to help them a bit.

I had coffee with a friend the other day and she would have been very involved in Christine’s life and it was just so nice to talk about her and all her little ways and the best thing was to smile and laugh about it without crying or feeling the loss. It’s a huge thing for me and maybe a sign that now, I’m celebrating the beautiful girl I was so lucky to have as mine for almost 23 years.

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Till next time, Love & Light to you and yours xx

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A broken heart is a physical thing

Miss you each day, every day, all the time …

It’s impossible to put into words how much you miss the physical touch, smell and sounds of your child. My beautiful girl left us on 4 October 2011. She did everything dramatic in the month of October for years. I used to always know that come October, something would happen and it inevitably did.

She was almost 23 years old but had the body of a 12 or 13 year old and the face of an angel.

We knew she was going to go but the shock when it happened was still huge. Like maybe it wouldn’t happen. Like each time before she threatened to go and came back. Maybe we thought, maybe she would do the same but she seemed to have other plans.

So much went wrong around the time she started to decline. People didn’t do what I expected. Didn’t behave the way I thought people, friends or family might. They avoided us. Didn’t contact us. Why? Probably because this place is unknown for most. It’s that place where you don’t know what to say or do. I’ve spoken to one or two others in the same situation and we all say the same thing – don’t say anything because nothing you can say will make this better. Just let us know you care. That you’re thinking of us. That we’re not alone. It’s horribly lonely and it’s the worse place in the world to exist. It’s made worse by the feeling of total isolation. What could I compare it to? I don’t know because the death of a child is not widely spoken about. It’s not something “normal” so you have no point to compare it to.

But back to the most important thing. I can still feel her beautiful silky hair under my fingers as I stroke her head in my mind. I can still smell her as I lean down to kiss her forehead. Her beautiful eyes always wandered over to look at me after a kiss. Not really seeing me but she knew I was there. Her exquisite and delicate little fingers with their beautiful nails. I can feel them in my hand still. And that’s when the pain hits. Not being able to touch her, talk to her, hold her hand. It’s indescribable.

A broken heart really is a physical thing. It really does hurt. Right in the middle of your chest. It hurts so much. Who knew?

Hug and kiss your beautiful child today and everyday. Tell them you love them. The most precious thing you will ever own.

Soraya