And then you worry…

Losing your child has a lasting impact on the rest of your life. Of course it has. In many ways.  Not knowing why adds another dimension. One minute they were fine, the next they were gone.

I do not think anyone would ever get their head around that one.

One of the ways it impacts is worry.

When you have a subsequent child or you already have other children, all of a sudden all bets are off.

Any sickness, no matter how seemingly trivial or normal for childhood, can morph into something that makes you believe the grim reaper is rattling at your front door once more.

Is this just flu or meningitis?

Is this really just a sore tummy or something more sinister?

Is this headache and vomiting just a virus or the signs of an aggressive brain tumour?

Is that sound in the middle of the night just a congested nose or laboured breathing? Perhaps even a bout of pneumonia you never even knew he had?

I am sure that the way we find ourselves reacting these days is a normal side effect of what happened to us. You know your brain is getting ahead of itself every now and then but there always is that niggling doubt; that fear, that maybe it’ll happen all over again.

If something so very rare could take your child, the chances of something much more common striking don’t seem too unrealistic then. In fact, in the middle of the night those worst case scenarios often seem to be the only plausible explanation as to what is going on with them at the time.

It is probably different for everyone but for me, the winter months and in particular December and January are difficult.

When Eoghan gets sick during that time, I invariably draw comparisons to Patrick and his ear infections and sniffles…all of which were so perfectly normal. He had had a good stretch but was sick over Christmas and into January…not very and as always, he took it in his stride. Never a child to complain much and in such good form the morning he passed away.

And then, just like that.

So now I worry. Not excessively and every minute of every day but it has become a constant in my world.

And it can be bloody exhausting.

A missed call from the crèche can send me into a mini panic... Perhaps not so much now but certainly at the start.

An ambulance passing at full speed with sirens blaring whilst I am on my lunch time walk equally so. My head immediately goes to that day.

Perhaps, not having been there myself makes this a little worse for me. The imagination takes over and paints a horrible picture of how things probably unfolded while I was sitting in Germany unable to do anything.

As always, these are just short, fleeting moments; long enough to remind me that this is me now. This is part of my life forever.

So now I’m more inclined to stay home with Eoghan if he is sick. I work from home with him sitting beside me on the couch, cuddled into me and browsing YouTube.  Like any tot getting sick, his timing can be truly awful but at the end of the day what can you do. It gives me comfort knowing that he is with me and I am sure he prefers having one of us near him when he is feeling miserable.

The Most Wonderful Time of The Year

Another Christmas is just around the corner.

For us, this also marks the beginning of the countdown to Patrick's anniversary exactly one month later.
For us, it brings us back to when we celebrated his last Christmas with him, not knowing what was going to happen a few weeks later.
For us, it reminds us of the calm before that storm ...when everything was near perfect.

For others who have lost children, it too is always a time during which that miss, this ever-present miss, seems to be more prominent than on other days. You may have learnt to sort of live with it as part of your daily routine but special occasions will always be different. Your child's absence is felt even stronger then.

The last two Christmases without Patrick have of course not been the same. They've been hard. And the lead up to them were tricky. It can be very difficult to try and get yourself organised, write those cards and buy those presents when your heart is in a different place.

Sometimes, you get thrown life lines - albeit strange life lines at sometimes truly odd timings.

I seem to sporadically get Christmassy well ahead of even my usually acceptable time. This is something I have observed last year already and again now. However, I am beginning to accept this as being OK and something to embrace: Just going with the flow, organise Christmassy things and feel Christmassy whenever the mood allows me.

Why? Because I know that come Christmas and New Years, I will find it much harder to get through the days. At least this way, I might have things lined up to stop me from retreating into my shell when that miss hits. As comfortable a place that might seem from a distance, once you are there, it is not a nice experience at all....And difficult to pull yourself out of it again.

So I'm shamelessly enjoying the pre-Christmas time. I organise outings, bake Christmas cookies, write Santa letters with Eoghan and make memories with him and the husband.

Having him around, at the very least, gives us both back that magic that tends to get lost as one grows into adulthood. The talk of Santa, cuddling up on the couch to watch Christmas movies, the smell of Christmas baking and watching the hustle and bustle of people forgetting about their worries for a short while and getting caught up in the festive mood. All this is so nice.

Besides, it's all over so fast anyway and the time during which children believe in and enjoy the magic of Christmas is limited.

Wishing all families who are living with this huge miss in their lives, a peaceful run up to Christmas.
Thinking of all of you.

xxx

 

A Month of Rememberence

 

November is the month during which those who have gone before us are especially remembered.

 

This year, I thought it would be nice to make some rememberance candles to light in the evening time and remember our much loved and much missed children.

 

This month is about them and their memory:

 

Do not judge a song by its duration
Nor by the number of its notes
Judge it by the richness of its contents
Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant…
Do not judge a song by its duration
Nor by the number of its notes
Judge it by the way it touches and lifts the soul
Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful…
And when something has enriched your life
And when it’s melody lingers on in your heart.
Is it unfinished?
Or is it endless?

by Unknown Author

 

The Faintest of Rainbows

Today, I saw the faintest of rainbows. Barely visible in a sky that so mirrored how I am feeling most days now.

A bit of blue.
A bit of gray.
A bit cloudy.
A bit sunny.
A bit drizzly.

And when you have that mix, you sometimes get the faintest of rainbows. Like a sign from somewhere that hey, it's OK. Go with the flow. Allow yourself to feel. Allow the sadness, the happiness, the anxiety. They all have a place within you now. They can co-exist.

Bittersweet is what life has become. For every moment of happiness, there is that brief dart of pain, that bit of "bitter" that has now become a part of most moments.

It makes you experience some things more intensely. Like watching Eoghan growing up, his little personality developing, making his own way in his little world and even fighting his little battles.
Sometimes, when I pick him up, I stand there for a while just watching him, waiting for him to notice me. Oh, how I would love to bring home two boys from the creche every day.

I still do not understand why that has been denied to us. I probably never will. And some days, feeling happy makes me worry that it means we are moving on, somehow ignoring the pain his passing is causing. Yet, I do like those moments that happen almost out of the blue; when you suddenly just feel happy; not ecstatic but just really happy and content. Like the other night when we were after a lovely evening out and concert. Or Tuesday when I was traveling home with Eoghan in the car and he and I had a little conversation.

They also make me a little superstitious though...being scared that if we dare to dream and live a little too carefree again, that we'll jinx it all.

I am finding that lately, all this makes me do odd things and react strangely in certain situations.

When my last surviving grandmother passed away earlier this month and I was contemplating traveling to the funeral, I could not shake this sense of deja-vu. 3 years ago almost to the day, my other grandmother passed away and that time, we took Patrick to Germany for the funeral. A few short months later he was dead himself. So I am finding myself in a bit of predicament.

I hate not going.
I cannot bear the thought of going by myself.
I would not want us all to go together because it feels too much like 3 years ago.

If we went, would this mean something will happen to Eoghan, too? Of course not! But try telling that to my head; a head that is worried that maybe, just maybe it might.

Having not been able to leave Eoghan for a night since he was born, I think this would be too big a step. So I sat with it for a while. So much so, that my husband asked me 3 days later what my parents were on about on Facebook about my grandmother. I hadn't actually told him! Well, I did not want to on the day because a few days prior he had lost a friend of his suddenly also. I mean...how much bad news can you deal with?!

After much pondering, I now know what I'll do on the day of her funeral and I am happy enough with my decision.

I am taking todays faintest rainbow as a sign that it is a good one.

"And I will love you longer, than the Great Wall of China".
(Jack L, Great Wall of China)

The Grief that Won't End - Complicated Grief

It is commonly accepted not only that there are several stages of grief but also that one does not work through them in a linear fashion but can hop from one to another in all sorts of directions.

The general consensus is however, that eventually, with time, the initial acute grief in its various shapes gives way to something that is more manageable to live with. It no longer is all-consuming, debilitating. You never stop missing the person you lost of course but you learn to live with missing them in a healthier way....If that makes any sense.

So then there you go...stumbling through the fog of your own grief, going around in circles, morphing from one shade of you to a different one every other month, coping, managing, missing, laughing, crying, going crazy, longing to resume normal life, being afraid to forget....Forever waiting for this grieving thing to run its course and to find the old you again.

Only it never happens for you and you do not understand why. You wonder what is wrong with you. You shrug the feeling off and carry on regardless...ploughing ahead trying to be super-human. And with time, when things should get better, you grow ashamed and scared of admitting that, actually, things have not changed very much at all. The world moves on, your world moves on and a large part of you gets left behind.

Then you feel guilty for still being stuck in that place. You are afraid of appearing to be dwelling on it and not letting go. You are scared that you are systematically failing your partner, other children, family and friends. Surely, your addled mind is reasoning, they must grow tired of this.

So you continue to try and cover it up, to seek normality by throwing yourself into work and stuff that needs doing...ignoring your body's plea to just stop.
You chastise yourself that after all, others have difficulties in their lives also...so why can you not seem to manage to function? You start avoiding people, social gatherings...Only able to deal with a few people at a time.

Then you look into the mirror and while the person looking back at you appears to look the same, you do not recognise her at all. And you question whether the world would not even be better off without you.

---

It is like the grief that won't end. It is exhausting. After running on near empty for too long, your batteries are totally flat. Finally you realise you must take time out and assess just why after all this time are you still feeling like you are in the middle of those first weeks (though you tried hard to ignore that fact). What is keeping you there?

It is quite hard to come to that conclusion because somehow it feels you failed. You tried and tried but you just failed. What's wrong with you?

So for the longest time I have struggled to understand what is happening to me. Tried hard to just get through it...blinkers on and straight ahead. Be grateful for what I have. Felt like a failure for not being better.

Then I stumbled across this article on something actually called "Complicated Grief". So, it would appear, that deep down I am shallow after all and happy to buy into "labeling". ^^ Finally something I could identify with!

For most people, the initial acute grief transforms into something more manageable to live with, in time.

"It’s a transformation from acute grief to what we call integrated grief,” Shear explained. “The person stops dominating your mind and rests peacefully in your heart.”

Complicated grief occurs when something hinders the natural progression of grief.

Ticking most of the boxes here, me. Yay?!

So what is hindering the natural progression of my grief? Well, I think I have a few ideas.

1. Having been away when it happened.
2. Expecting Eoghan so soon after probably made me put off dealing with everything. I do recall thinking that I really could not lose the plot altogether as I had the baby to think about too and I did not want it to be affected.
3. Dealing with a new baby and tot so soon after.

Don't get me wrong...points 2 and 3 are absolute blessings but as a result, I think I may have buried it all and when it kept bubbling up over the last year or so, it felt wrong...its timing felt all wrong.

I think the more time passes the less accepting one is of ones own grief....You simply should not be struggling so much after that length of time...should you?

Perhaps that is just me.

And let's be honest, more often than not, it is far more convenient to keep your true emotions hidden than taking on the battle of facing them.

In reality, Patrick's death, to me, feels as unreal as it did the day it happened. I cannot get my head around it. While the last two and a half years have not all been as gray as I am painting them to be here, it has been an enormous struggle lately. The writing had been on the wall for the last few months and I think things have finally caught up with me.

That big crash/bang/wallop I was waiting for in the spring of 2011 is finally here. Recognising that and knowing it needs to be dealt with, is a first step.

But it was one heck of a journey to get here. Full of confusion, missing, self-doubt (or hate), not understanding what's going on inside my head or my heart. Verbalising all that is often not something I do well. How can you put into words what you do not understand yourself? Or rather, it takes time to untangle that mess of thoughts and feelings in my head to get something halfways coherent out there.

I'm far from being out of the woods but I think I have reached a clearing of sorts. And that clearing is knowing now what I think my issue is: being stuck in a grieving that won't end.

http://socialwork.columbia.edu/news-events/new-treatment-program-grief-won-t-end-0


Miss you lots, Sproggy-pops. xxx

Who'd have thought...

I sometimes reflect on my teenage years and early twenties. From where I am sitting now, they seem so carefree and easy.

There are things that I recall that now make me smile or cringe, occassionally both. At that stage in our lives, we look towards our futures and see aspects of our lives mapped out in front of us. Most of us do it. It is normal. We see the usual in no particular order: Partner/House/Job/Children/Travel.

We're only vaguely aware of potential hiccups along that path of ours. Perhaps change/loss of jobs, moving house, illness, perhaps the kids bit taking longer than anticipated...

There are some things however, that one never anticipates. They just do not enter the equation at all because, if we even are aware of them, they are always those that happen to other people...not us.

Never in a million years would my teenage-self have seen my early thirties-self doing the things, thinking the thoughts and feeling the emotions that I find myself doing, thinking and feeling.

Tending to a grave, buying books to explain to my second born about that someone that came before him. Worrying about how to ensure he grows up with some sort of a connection to that person whom he'll never get to meet. Fretting over not wanting him to feel like he is growing up in his dead brothers shadow.

Our lives changed irreversably that day. A certain innocence has left our lives forever. Our confidence was shattered...although thankfully you can claim that back...for the most part anyway.
It leaves you feel like all bets are now off though.

Where previously some odds seemed way too small to cause concern, your inner voice now pipes up:
"Just 1 in 1000 get this disease you never heard of? So what? The odds of what happened to us were 1 in 100000.....!"

Odds mean very little now. Things that used to be important, or get prioritised, now take a back seat. Really experiencing Eoghan and the things he does and says has become most important to me. Taking the time to watch him potter about. Chat with him. - Not that I did not do that with Patrick but with him, there was always the thought that sure, don't we have plenty of time to do this, go there, take him to see the other? Little did we know that time would be in short supply.

There are things and songs that remind me of before, of a time when we were younger and not burdened with what we know and what we have seen. I get sad when I think of that time. Everything seemed so much easier then than it is now. I long to be "normal" again. Unbroken.

But then, did we think times were as great as they seem now then? Probably not.
Do I cherish the time we had with Patrick? Definitely yes.
Are we no longer putting off things we want do because, sure, isn't there plenty of time? Hell, yes!

Still, every so often something happens that makes me think:
Who'd have thought we'd be "here".
I didn't.

Sometimes

Sometimes, being  the  new me  just  becomes too  much.
Sometimes, I  just  want  to  go  back  to  being  my  innocent  self  from 3  years  ago.
Sometimes, I  just  don't  want  to  know  the  things I  know  now.
Sometimes, I  just  don't  want  to  feel  what I  must  feel  for  the  rest  of  my  life.
Sometimes, I  just  don't  want  to have  to  do  those things  that  most  of  my  peers  don't  have  to do.
Sometimes, I  just  wish I  could still  be my old  self.....

When you first lose someone like we did; sudden and unexpected; your body and mind go into shock and self-preservation mode. You're in a fog and go about your daily business almost mechanically...like going through the motions but feeling very disconnected from it all. You talk about your loss like it is a sad story you heard. You hear yourself say the words but you heart is too numb to feel any emotion as you talk about "it".

People say, that is your brain shielding you from something so terrible that you could not possible process all in one go. Instead, the fog lifts bit by bit as your brain comes to learn to live with your new reality, your new normal. As this new normal is pretty much going to stick around for the rest of your life, your brain consequently takes its time getting you used to living with it.

I suppose that is part of why they class the newly bereaved as such for 5 years.

Almost two and a half years in, there are still moments when a new part of this, our, reality reveals itself to me. You sit there and it dawns on you that this too is now part of you, part of your life.

It can be difficult to get used that. Of course you are aware of the obvious things...the stuff that you'll never get to do with him and that he'll never get to experience. Graduation from Montessori, 1st day at school, etc. As time goes on you become aware of other things that'll never happen for you now.

Taking him to his first Munster match.
Trying to get him out of bed as a teenager.
Worry about him when he is out partying with his friends.
Watch him sweat it when he brings the girlfriend (or boyfriend) home.
Seeing him on his wedding day or try to cope with a newborn.

There is so much. So much to make you stop and go: "Oh!...another thing that we (us and him) have been denied."

This is when your brain allows you to bit by bit realise the true enormity of what happened...with all the repercussions and consequences that come with it..

Like watching a subsequent child grow up and reach all the milestones...and more to the point watching them do all those things that your other child should have been doing also. Small things, ordinary, every-day things. Things that most of us take for granted. Like hearing them say I love you.

That is what the Miss hits regularly and you realise this is it. This is the new you. And you get on with it, determined to make every moment you have with your family count. Because you cannot change what happened but you can make the most of the here and now...

1 year 9 months 21 days

Is, as per the post mortem report, the exact age Patrick was when he passed away.

On August 16th this year, Eoghan will be that age exactly. A day I am moving towards to with mixed feelings.

I anticipate a sense of relief that Eoghan will have made it past that age.
Perhaps I won't go to bed wondering if he'll still be alive when I wake up in the morning quite as much anymore?
Maybe, I won't call the creche in a little semi panic every time I have a missed call from a private number? (Their calls show up like that...).
I don't know but can only play it by ear.

But, I also anticipate a bit of a sense of loss because all of a sudden Eoghan is out there on his own..

Though  he  now  gets  to  be  the  individual  he  of  course  deserves  to  be, we'll never again be able to say: "When Patrick was Eoghan's age he also...."

There is something dreadfully final about that.

It makes me more determined to ensure Eoghan grows up knowing about his brother and hopefully feeling some kind of a connection. I'd hate for Patrick not to mean anything to him.

It is cruel enough that he will never get a chance to enjoy that bond between brothers and have Patrick be his best man at his wedding...At least I hope Patrick will appear in a speech or two. I could not imagine going through an occasion like this without Patrick being mentioned...and missed.

That does not mean we continue living in the past. It does not mean we do not enjoy the here and now and look forward to the future.

BUT...our son Patrick is part of our past and will still be part of our here and now and our future. All this is part of us now and some might find it weird that I say I hope he will be talked about and missed at family occasions.

I say: Why not? He belongs to this family. Why should it be only ok for him to be remembered in silence? Why should it be wrong for me to want to hear his name mentioned now and every day for the rest of my life?

If we included his name on a birthday card, most would think this is not right and actually quite weird...he's dead after all, isn't he?

To those I say: Have you any idea how weird it is not to be able to sign his name anymore? How much of a traitor I feel for excluding or even denying him by just signing off the card with Steph, Pat and Eoghan? Yet, I'd feel odd for putting his name down at the same time.


Patrick is not our sad little family secret; he is our son.

The only positive thing I take from his passing is that it makes me savour every moment we have with his brother. Spending time with him, enjoying the cute little things he does and says. It may have made me a more attentive parent.

Thank you, Sproggy...
xxx

Superheroes - A Reflection on Fathers Day.

Superheroes

On Father's Day, we traditionally say Thank You to all the dads in our lives. There may be cards and gifts made by little hands, breakfast in bed and sloppy kisses.

In a special way, we should acknowledge our grieving dads today, too; our every-day superheroes...the very ones who often so gracefully carry the heartache of their partner's loss as well as their own.

Thank you for holding us and drying our tears when it all gets too much to bear.

Thank you for shielding us from some of the whispered enquiries as to how we are "holding up" when all too often, nobody seems to be asking how you are.

Thank you for soldiering on and going out to work; sometimes even before you were truly ready to; grief your companion along much of the way; so that the family is provided for. You should not have to do that.

Thank you for continuing to live and smile for us and any other kids you might have. Please know it is OK to not always feel like it. 

Thank you for accepting us as we are on the good, bad and downright ugly days - offering your never-ending love and support. Please know we'd do the same for you.

Thank you for being the reason we got to have this child - because despite what happened, we would not want to change that for the world.

Please know that we can be rocks for each other in this - because nobody can or should be expected to be a 'superhero' all the time. You are allowed to grieve for this little person whom you have watched being born into this world and being torn right out of it again before their time.

It's not OK to be told you must be strong for us. 

It's not OK that you are expected to carry our grief as well as yours.

It's not OK that you're expected to resume 'normal service' way before you might feel ready because you need to keep providing for the family.

Because despite of what we were told men should be:
It is ok to hurt.
It is ok to cry.
It is ok to be angry.

It's ok to need more time. Then and later!
It is ok never to "get over it".

We know dads like to mend things that are broken (and in fact are often really good at it!) but:

You will not able to fix this one...as much as you may want to...and that too, is OK.

Know that you are, always have been and always will be a very special
daddy.
With Love
xxx

There are days when you expect that you will be feeling raw and sad. Days when you anticipate the MISS will be massive. And you try to steel yourself just to realize afterwards it was not as bad.

Then there are the days when you know you should be having a good time and all of a sudden all you want to do is shut out the world and switch yourself off for a while.

Once more, I have been blindsided by the MISS though I felt it brewing for a few days.

I am not sure whether it was a combination of going away for the weekend AND my birthday that triggered it or just my birthday … but hit it did.

I just do not seem to be getting any joy out of my birthday anymore. The day has lost a lot of its meaning to me and all I wanted to do was pretend it was not happening. Somehow, the normal routine and the daily grind are my friends along this journey. They keep me focused, keep me functioning. Breaks, changes to the routine and special occasions leave me all muddled up because they appear to emphasise the Sproggy shaped hole in my life. Everything just turns into a reminder of what is missing. As much as I want to, I am unable to shake that bout of depression leading up to the day and on the day itself. Those are times I feel scarily low… often amazed at the new depths I reach.

It’s a vicious cycle really and perhaps, if I allowed myself to let it be what it is, I would not get as bad.

However, as I am very much aware of not looking forward to the day and missing Patrick so much on those occasions, I then begin feeling incredibly guilty for feeling that way. I get very cross at myself for moping and not taking comfort in the many good things in my life as I feel I should. I beat myself up for not counting myself lucky to have a wonderful husband, a cuddly and huggy son and so many people who care about me. As a result, I start worrying: Worrying that those bouts of intense grief are turning me into a neglecting mother, numb wife, absent-minded friend and all around bad person. I wonder why I seem incapable of putting this aside and give my other son, husband and the world around me the attention they deserve? And I question why anyone would possibly want to stick with me.

All these thoughts result in a downward spiral that I get sucked into for a time. Once I am out the other side, I know that really, I am not like this as much as I think I am. I know that, overall and all things considered, I am functioning reasonably well. But it is easy to be reasonable when your mind is clear. Not so much when it is foggy and full of negative thoughts, worry and sadness. I do find it scary when those negative feelings and thoughts temporarily take over and make everything seem so much worse than it actually is.  People know that in those times I become a little bit of a recluse as I am trying to make sense of what my head is going through. I have to become quiet and listen to those thoughts before I can attempt to straighten them out and make sense of them.

Just maybe the husband is right and I need to allow myself to feel what I feel. I know that I am appreciative of what I have in life – just as much as I am painfully aware of what I have lost. And perhaps I would not have the level of appreciation without that loss.

Still, there are plenty days when I wish I could have remained blissfully unaware of this side of life...

From the Great Limerick Run to Darkness into Light...

Monday May 5th was Great Limerick Run 2013- day. This year, we chose CRY Ireland (Cardiac Risk in the Young) as the charity we wanted to support as a small token of appreciation for having screened us following Patrick's death.

They are entirely self funded and rely on the generosity of the people to keep what they are doing. Their screening and research offers the families of sudden death victims so much.

Sometimes, just some peace of mind in knowing the rest of the family have been checked out.
Sometimes, a bit of closure in pinpointing a possible cause of death if another family member is found to be having some sort of heart or genetic defect that the deceased may well have had also.

While we may never truly know for sure, they do help families feel a tiny bit safer again after the rug was pulled from under them in such a big way.

This year, I set myself the challenge to run the full 10K and was really thrilled with my time of 57 mins and 47 secs. Credit also goes to my parents who, despite not being spring chickens anymore, jogged the 10K in an impressive enough time for their age categories.

The following Saturday, I also took part in the Darkness into Light 5K Walk/Run in aid of Pieta House (Help for Suicide and Selfharm) together with friends. It meant getting up at 2.30am to be ready for the 4am start but was such a great experience. You literally walked from the dark of night into the break of dawn...together with some 6000 other people...adults, children, dogs. A symbolic walk from the darkness that depression, suicide and selfharm brings into the light of hope towards a way out.

On both occasions, I listened to the song play list on my phone and both times this song came up during the run:

Passenger, Let Her Go

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you'll understand why
Everything you touch surely dies

Staring at the ceiling in the dark
Same old empty feeling in your heart
'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast
Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep

For me, it's lyrics somehow symbolise the intricacy, fragility and sometimes downright weirdness that can be ones outlook or mental state.

It's usually only in the dark of night when the bad thoughts hit worst. When you are alone and all is quiet. This is when people often feel their most desperate.
So many times it is when we've lost people or things that we truly appreciate what we had in them.
In an instant everything can change and sometimes it seems like everything good in our lives slips from our grasp.
When you have lost a loved one, those moments before you drift off to sleep is often when your thoughts turn to them and the sense of loss you feel at knowing you cannot ever hold them again in this life.
One minute you can be insanely happy and the next so low that it knocks you for six.

Something about the lyrics and the melody always makes me feel a bit sad and reminds me of the losses in my life and how I may have felt on occasion.

Life can be tough, unpredictable and sometimes downright mean. One can only hope that people who struggle with life and what it throws at them, have a support network; people whom they can turn to. While in the darkest of hours the thought of having to live through one more day may be almost too much to bear, the perceived "solution" is never that.

There is always some hope. There is always a better way out. And perhaps you could look at the lyrics and the sentiment of the song in a different way:

You only appreciate the good things in life when you have had to live through the bad.
You only truly savour having the sun kiss your face after a horrid, long, dark winter (hello summer? now would be a good time!)
You "live" more intensely when you realise that you only have one true shot at this life and especially when you see people struggling with terminal illness - fighting to live.

When feeling low, a cry for help can sometimes be a mere whisper as it is so hard to verbalise. If someone is fortunate enough to be able to put into words what they are going through, it can still be difficult for them to be truly "heard" and for it to be taken as seriously as it should.

We need to learn to listen to each other better...There is no shame in struggling. There is no weakness in needing help. Nobody can be strong all the time. And above all, life is worth fighting for.

It's been a busy busy few weeks dotted with a lot of firsts and some significant milestones.

Despite the huge levels of anxiety, I think I took most of those firsts in my stride and better than I had anticipated. Though perhaps the poor husband might beg to differ. Let's just say I do not travel well and do not deal well with the standard stresses and annoyances of travel...never mind adding my past history on top of that mix!

And in between our two foreign trips to Germany (family) and the UK (work) was Patrick's birthday.
On April 5th, the day that we also remembered our own 11 year anniversary of going out, Patrick should have turned 4. There should have been cake and mayhem and instead there was a quiet trip to the graveyard with a bunch of flowers and later to the beach where we released a huge balloon. Later still, we released a chinese lantern (and for once did not almost accidentally burn down the neighbourhood in the process!).

Between the trips away and everything, I never got a chance to put his usual birthday rememberance in the paper either....Something I feel guilty about. After all:

He does not get an anniversay mass because he was a child, therefore sin-free and thus not in need of an annual anniversary mass absolving him of his sins.

That may be so but apart from the sin thing, anniversary masses are nice for remembering loved ones and for bringing family and friends together to do so. It forces us to take a couple of hours out of our busy schedules and devote them to that person...with everyone being in the same place for that purpose.

I know I know, Patrick will always be remembered and people think about him often. But you know what? Sometimes I just want physical proof of that. Like an anniversary mass, an anniversary notice or a birthday rememberance in the paper. Rightly or wrongly so (probably the latter), for me it is a measure of how much people care. Admittedly (and thus far only the husband knows my true feelings on that), I feel a pang of jealousy when I see those birthday rememberances with loads and loads of entries in them.

Because it feels life just race on ahead. Memories fade. Time can be scarce. And I need those moments to acknowledge to myself and my weird new world around me that he once was physically part of us; that his laughter filled our house and his toys were strewn around the floor.

And even though this process means opening up wounds that were beginning to heal, I welcome those moments of pain, utter sadness and wanting to cry my eyes out.

In between living our new lives as best as we can, those moments prove to me that at least I am not forgetting.

Miss you heaps, Sproggy
xxx

P.S. Interesting note: Seems the physical symptoms I had were probably mostly caused by anxiety, stress, etc. So. At the end of the day, it was all in my head. Good thing, really, because it is great to know one is healthy in body at least. The mind will hopefully sort itself out.
Interesting though...Who'd have thought that this sort of thing can have such physical manifastations!

Sometimes I wonder if those times of intense struggle and anxiety are sneakily co-inciding with times when your head is busy mulling something over before coming to a decision on that something that you never even realised you were busy thinking about - subconciously, of course.

While the triggers I identified in the last post (and some more in my head since then) were/are very real, I was a bit dumbfounded to hear myself say to the husband how I thought we should really think about moving Eoghan out of our room and into the boys room. Was this really something my brain was gearing itself up to coming to a decision to?

It would seem so. Of course we will take our time with that step and not load it onto an already full schedule of emotionally charged times (travel, Patrick's birthday, more travel etc), my head seems to be happy to have come up with a plan.

I think once more, our very different experiences of the day Patrick died are causing us to occassionally walk somewhat different paths on this journey. A lot of the anxiety I have been feeling lately is about firsts that I have not yet had to face. Most of Pat's big firsts after Patrick's death are very much linked to home, Limerick, the creche, the hospital, ambulances. All stuff he has been unable to hide from...unlike me. With that respect, he is probably a little farther down that road while I am lagging behind (although we are probably on the same stretch of that path when it comes to his lordships eviction!).

Eventually you do have to face those unpleasant firsts. You cannot hide from them forever, no matter how much you want to.

Thankfully, the strong physical manifastations of this anxiety have lessened a lot over the last days. Maybe my head has made its peace with these impending firsts. Maybe it was the husband and our friends who dragged me out St. Patrick's day night.

I got a good telling off for muddling through the depths of depression all by myself and not reaching out enough. How can you, I complained to them, when you are absolutely unable to verbalise what you are going through and what is going on your head. They did not care and may have threatened a slap across the back of the head if I did not cop on...

So we defined a code word. I use it, they know I am struggling.

And I think I will use it, because I really do not like slaps across the back of the head...


P.S. Gradually, I am getting my head around the fact that Patrick's death is not something you put behind you or move on from. You cannot close that chapter and open a new one. It will always be there. It will always be as real (or unreal) as the day it happened - but I will learn to accept it has being part of who I am now. I will need to learn to honour his memory in a positive way...ensuring Eoghan knows about his big brother but does not feel like he is living in his shadow.

Ha! Piece of cake that! .... Now what was that code word again?!? :/

Lately, I've been feeling off form physically and mentally. There's been a pretty much constant feeling of anxiety, a feeling of stress and a feeling as though an elephant was sitting on my chest. I feel overwhelmed...just not on top of stuff when I am normally super organised. A small thing like forgetting to post a letter would send me into a mini panic attack. And I have regular bouts of feeling very faint - a bit like when your blood sugar drops too low - and craving sweets. Then there are flashbacks with the occasional nightmare thrown in. Quite the mix!

Just getting through the days was beginning to seem like a major achievement. It left me feeling vulnerable, confused and shattered. This just isn't the normal me so I decided to take a trip to the docs for a bit of an NCT. He asked was there anything particular stressful happening right now. Hmmm...not really I thought although life without Patrick is getting to me a bit more again. Hard to verbalise those feelings though?  So long story short, I was asked back for a blood test to see if there was anything physical causing those symptoms. (Still pending the results).

Afterwards, I started thinking about his question and realised that actually yes, there are some pretty major things happening right now.

1. Traveling for the first time in two years and pretty much the first time again with a kid since Patrick passed away. I've been avoiding travel, especially travel involving planes, ever since. Most simply put, my head says:

Home= Good and safe
Travel/Away = Bad bad bad. Avoid.

2. Traveling with work for the first time since Patrick died just 3 weeks after coming back from Germany. Now, I did decide I would try as the trip makes sense and is only as far as the UK and the husband and Eoghan will be able to come with me. So it is not a case of me not having a choice here.

3. Mothers Day...which actually caught me by surprise...sneaky little fecker.

4. Eoghan growing up and getting to be ever closer to "that age".

5. Getting Irish citizenship

So, an awful lot is going on.

The travel plans seem to bring on flashbacks, memories and nightmares. When I look at pictures of Patrick, it still always hits me like a ton of bricks...that realisation that it did actually happen. That realisation is followed by my mind taking a wander back to Germany to the time when I was given the news...Or to Patrick's grave and thinking that it just cannot be true. This is followed by an overwhelming feeling of sadness and "miss".

Many different things can bring on that "miss". Looking at our wonderfully bright Eoghan and realising he is fast approaching that same age. A song. A news item. And sometimes it is so strong, it almost takes my breath away. It still hurts so much. And it is still as hard to put those feelings into words. So while that is impossible to me, I continue to end up hiding so only the poor patient husband who does not have much of a choice has to put up with this miserable guts by his side.

I do sometimes wonder if those really bad patches can be some form of PTSD flare-up. How do you know? Are they supposed to happen this long after? What do you do about them without munching drugs? This road really is full of twists, turn, potholes and one way streets. Hopefully I'll be hitting a smoother stretch soon because a lot of peoples patience is being tested here....

Really, I do wish I was able to at least end all posts on a very positive note. While time does help you live with this (cos you very well do not have a choice anyway), there are constant up and downs....mostly ones you never saw coming. The day of my citizenship ceremony was a really good day. I had a lovely time...been paying for it since though. :/ Humph.

Overall though I guess that losing a child is just something that'll never have a happy ending...So apologies for the lack of positivity. At the very least it is an honest account of this particular journey...once I am somewhat able to put it into words.

For some reason, the lyrics to the song by the Swedish House Mafia "Don't Your Worry Child" have struck a real chord with me...

There was a time
I used to look into my father's eyes.
In a happy home
I was a king, I had a golden throne.
Those days are gone,
Now the memory's on the wall.
I hear the songs
From the places where I was born.

Upon the hill across the blue lake,
That's where I had my first heartbreak.
I still remember how it all changed.
My father said,
"Don't you worry, don't you worry, child.
See heaven's got a plan for you.
Don't you worry, don't you worry now."

It sort of brings home to me that my husband will be denied those kind of moments with Patrick. Helping him through the disappointments in life and being there for him, lifting him when he is dealt one of life's blows...forging that father-son relationship that is so special.

I don't know why, but in particular those verses always make me a little sad and emphasise what we're missing out on.

Then again, maybe Heaven does have a plan for us in all of this

Sometimes, there is no sense

When you lose a loved one, no matter what age they are or what relation to you, you often find yourself trying to somehow make sense of their passing.

If they were ill, we take comfort that now they are at peace. If they were old, we take comfort in them having lived a long, fulfilled life. If it was sudden, we tell ourselves that at least there was no great suffering. I think we cling on to those thoughts because they make it all feel a little less awful and desperate.

When Patrick died, we too clung on to this. Knowing he just slipped away in his sleep brought some comfort. He did not suffer. We did not have to watch him fade. He just went to sleep.

While this does not take away from the sense of loss we feel and how much we miss him in our lives, it makes living with “it” that bit more manageable ... at least for me.

As the 20^th anniversary of little Jamie Bulgers death approaches later this month, my heart goes out to his parents and family and those who lost children through violence and crime.

How do you live with knowing what was done to your child and how they died without going insane? How do you keep going without the shock, grief, anger and horror overwhelming and even consuming you?

Thinking about it makes me imcredibly sad and I hope that Jamie is at peace and feeling loved and cherished where he is now.

My thoughts are very much with his family at this time. Let Jamie never be forgotten and let people remember him and speak of him more than of those who are responsible for his death.

Earth Angels

Recently, there has been a post on the private SUDC forums mentioning a book called 'Growing Up In Heaven' by James Van Praagh. In it, he writes about souls and Earth Angels.

"Old souls are the most advanced of souls. We have all heard someone refer to another, especially a child, as an old soul. I believe children who die young are usually old souls. These souls are utterly patient. They can flow with whatever life brings their way. They are immensely kind and compassionate.
Earth angels are radiant souls. I have found that many children who come back to the earth for only a short period of time are not only old souls, but also earth angels, here to spread their light to others. These children are well beyond their years on many levels of intelligence, creativity and personal interaction. They have a natural inclination to draw people to them because of their light. Earth angels have the characteristics of an old soul, along with an intense sense of clarity and a compassionate way of handling others."

While one may look at the world of mediums and such things with scepticism, it did strike a chord with me. Fundamentally, I do believe that there is more going on around us that our senses are able to make sense of. I believe there are people who are closer to this world that for most of us remains hidden.

It was amazing to see how many other parents came out with stories about their children. All of them so similar. Just go to the SUDC memorial sites and read those childrens stories. Most of them are usually described as very happy, healthy, kind and gentle tots who'd light up the room as soon as they'd enter. Tots who would stand out in ways that would make random strangers comment on them.

Perhaps you can argue this is because as parents we'd hardly be likely to speak ill of any of our children, least of all those that passed on. But: Most SUDC cases will have in common that those children were generally healthy, not sickly. Their post-mortems will find nothing wrong with them to warrant their demise. Parents will comment how they were generally in very good form, happy and content.

Patrick was a most patient, gentle soul. Where other kids would shy away from strangers, he'd be open and trusting with them and would take them in with his charm and dimply smile. He loved the simple things in his little life. I have vivid memories of him happily climbing up the stairs at bedtime and sinking back onto his sheep pillow with a smile as he was put into the cot. He'd drink his baba, hand you the empty bottle, take the dodi (soother) and go off to sleep with the most content look on this face (mostly...of course there were exceptions!). Almost as though it was good to finally rest those old bones....

On occasion, I did catch myself thinking that kind, gentle Patrick was not for this world. I am not sure why but it was just a feeling I had.

These sort of feelings were echoed by some parents on the thread in the SUDC forum. Some recounted how strangers told them their child had something about them that made them seem they'd been around before. Some told how they could never envisage that child as a grown up.

I had heard of this thought about souls before. In its most simplistic form, the idea is that all souls are reborn. They enter this world having to learn lessons in order to evolve. They come back until all lessons have been learnt. When a child dies like this, they say this is an old soul, one that had only one lesson left to learn:

To experience unconditional love.

And all our earth angels were loved beyond measure...that is for certain.

Whether we believe in mediums and psychics and all that somes with them or not is insignificant. If that above thought brings peace and hope and sense to something so seemingly senseless, then so be it. I, for one, am fine with it.
If being Patrick's mammy helped his little soul learn what he needed to learn and allowed him to experience the unconditional love of a doting parent, then it was my privilege to have given him that.

Though it makes me wonder  a bit about my own soul. What did it do to have to experience this sense of loss and sadness? Did it have too rosey a life before? Or must it learn strength resiliance and the ability to live a fulfilled, meaningful life even with this cross on its shoulder?

Or more to the point...What did my husbands soul get up to in a past life that it is being put through this? Maybe my little soul is just an innocent bystander here? One that was matched to his because it would be able to cope-ish?

 Perhaps I should ask the husband to do a little "soul searching" on this subject! :p



P.S. Just don't get me thinking about children who die suffering, due to illness or, worse still, violently at the hands of others. I do not think I'll ever make my peace with that one. :(

Dear Sproggy... (part 2)

This day two years ago we said our final farewell to you.

At this precise time, at 10.44 am, we were probably making our way to the church in the back of our family car; your little white coffin resting on our laps.

The church was packed out completely. I was and still am astounded at the amount of people that turned out to say good bye to you and I'd like to think we have done you proud.

It must have been hard for our singers who, like us, were so very upset but sang so beautifully for you. And Fr. Koenraad whom we know to be a man of eloquance anyway, seemed to know once more just what to say.

More people still were waiting at your final resting place which was so lovingly decorated with moss and flowers by family friends.

The turn out, the love and the compassion that was shown to us that day, made it so much easier to get through the day but saying good bye to you was the hardest thing I have had to do in my life.

And you know, just for the record, it is a reall really weird feeling looking at that headstone thinking that my name will appear on that some day too. I never thought I'd be looking at my own headstone in my own life time. We'll be having words when I get there, young man!

Lot's of love
Mammy

Dear Sproggy

Yesterday was the 25 January, your anniversary. Hard to believe it's already been two years since you moved upstairs. Harder still to think that you went in the first place. Despite the time that has passed, I still have trouble understanding that.

So, what are you supposed to do on a day like that? Spend it hiding under the duvet? Spend it crying or being bitter? Looking at pictures and reminiscing?

I am not sure what you are "supposed" to do but here is what we did anyway:

Because poor daddy is suffering from a nasty dose of the man flu, myself and little Skippy-do got up and let daddy sleep in a little in the morning. Your small brother polished off some breakfast and then we got dressed to go to the shopping centre to get some stuff done.
Just as we were about to leave, I noticed that your baby brother needed a last minute nappy change, so we took care of that. Boy oh boy was it a smelly one. Anti-biotic nappy, I am sure you remember them! Nearly passed out with the stink, so I did.
As I went: "Eeeeeeeeew!", your little bro thought mammy was starting a song and continued: "E-Ay, E-ay Ohhhh". Ha bloody ha! :p

Anyway, eventually we did make it down to the crescent and did a bit of a food shop (your brother is eating us out of house and home!). After that was packed away, we swapped the shopping trolley for the buggy and went off to Boots to get some mini pics printed for your balloons. Once that was done, Skippy and I headed to BB's for a coffee (for mammy) and two mini muffins (for Skippy).

Your brother did some more eating while I wrote little notes on the back of the mini pictures. Wait til you see them...I think we had the right idea.

Anyway, since that little brother of yours has the attention span of a nat, it soon was time to pack up and let him potter around the shopping centre for a while. He went in and out of shops, played with mirrors, tried bashing some expensive LCD TV's in Argos and then discovered: THE SHOE SHOP.

When passing Sketchers, he looked, exclaimed: "Shoes" and darted inside just like any self respecting woman would....I am guessing this might be Valentina's influence....you know, his moth from the creche. :p She loves shoes. And he had a great time looking around and trying to escape with a shoe or two. I am sure you would have pointed out to him that it only makes sense if you take the matcher as well! One shoe will hardly be of use to anyone...

Had to drag your man away from there eventually and we headed over to the rides in the Crescent. I popped your brother into the blue car and he sat there quite happily twisting the steering wheel.

Another little boy joined us and I think you would have been proud of Skippy and how he shared....mind you, the other little boy had one arm in a cast so could have potentially knocked Skippy out with a swing of his arm...so perhaps your ickle brother was erring on the side of caution there!
Anyhoo, the boys granddad was kind enough to stick money into the car to make it go (I know, you caught me....I kept telling you they were broken...). The two boys had a great time and mammy had a chat with the granddad and another man who came along. He asked if Skippy was my first and I told them about you being my first but that you went to heaven. He said it was very sad and he knew of someone else who lost a small baby to cot death (died sleeping on the mothers chest...how awful :/).

Well, shortly after that, daddy finally made an appearance and we went looking for food. We also found out the balloon people had forgotten about us and would not be able to make the balloon bouquet for us. Ya know, that was grand because it was bucketing rain anyway. So I said we take them on Sunday when we go out to visit your grave with loads of people who knew and loved you. It'd be nice if you could arrange for some nice weather then!

After lunch, we popped by the creche and brought them some muffins. They had a candle lit for you beside your picture. :) They miss you oodles, Sproggy.

Then, we drove out to Clare to visit granddad and granny in Corbally and to spend a bit of time there. We also went out to your grave to bring you some flowers. I hope you like them! :)

Ruth and Denis came over later that evening to mind that rascal of a brother of yours so mammy and daddy could go have a dinner in your memory. It was a yummy Indian after which we met Sean and Helen in the Dirty Duck to have a drinky....also in your memory of course.

So, you see, it was a busy day. Normal in many ways. We did things we had to do. We did things we wish we did not have to do. We remembered you. We got to speak of you. And we got to spend some nice time with your brother.

All in all not too bad.
Still wish we had you right here and I was listening to you playing with your baby brother right now as opposed to him playing by himself and tormenting the cat. :)

Miss ya heaps...
Lots of love,
Mammy

P.S. Look how people near and far are thinking of you.
Thank you Milka and Troy...Also always remembering your little one! xxx

To Do List

My to do list for today (and probably tomorrow):

Make it through the day.

Today two years ago, I set off to Germany after leaving a happy healthy toddler in the wonderful care of the people in his creche. Me and Pat dropped him off together that day.

Make it through the day.
Make it through the day.
Make it through the day.
Make it through the day.
Make it through the day.

The only agenda item for now but not one that is as easily executed as it is typed.
xxx

Here is something I noticed: There seem to be different ways in which people deal with the immediate weeks and months following their child's death.

There are some who will retreat into their beds, bury their heads in the sand, cry extensively and cease to cope with life and living for as long as they need to.

Then there are those who get busy almost as soon as the coffin has been lowered into the ground. Trusts, fund-raising, blogging, awareness-raising...you name it, they do it. Anything to keep the memory of their loved ones alive, to make themselves feel their death was not in vain...and to keep busy.

You will not be able to foresee which category you belong to. And ultimately, it does not matter. Each persons journey through grief is different. No way is the right or wrong way though some ways are perhaps a bit more harmful to oneself than others.

I know I definitely was one to feel she needed to be busy. I would have quite happily turned the house upside down and changed everything in a bid to keep myself occupied. Time was the enemy.

As Patrick was our up-until-then only child, I went from thinking there aren't enough hours in the day to not knowing what to do with all this time I had once again...literally over night.

I needed to be busy. Organising the months mind, his birthday announcements in the papers, getting paperwork for the SUDC research program together, blogging, setting up his memorial website and organising fund-raising.

I can see the same thing happening with other people who are newly into their loss. Little Caden Beggan's parents are doing a wonderful job of raising awareness and funds and keeping his memory alive. As are Reuben's parents (Reuben's retreat) or Millie's (Millie's Trust...raising awareness of the importance of first aid on children after their little girl choked to death on a piece of food in her creche....how many of us would be unsure what to do?!).

Perhaps it is the way in which our darlings went that made us feel helpless and out of control. We figure that while we were unable to safe them, while our hands were bound...this is something we can do. We can actively work on making others aware. Sparing others the heartache perhaps. Or just help them through their own journey.

All things considered, even though one could say this flurry of activity is partially escapism, I think it is one of the more positive ways to mourn your child.

But here is the thing:
Prepare yourself for not being able to keep going at that rate forever.
Eventually, you will slow down and bit by bit what you might have put off by keeping busy will catch up with you.

The enormous tasks you undertook just a few weeks into your grief and mastered seemingly without much hassle at all, may start to look absolutely impossible to tackle. Indeed, you might wonder how you even did it all in the first place.

And you might feel terribly guilty about that. You may not understand why you are suddenly unable to get your head around organising this years fund-raising thing or anniversary notice.  It may feel like you are letting them down.

For someone like me who is generally super organised, it is neigh impossible to understand why I am sometimes stuck to the couch, a mopey mess for days on end, unable to decide what to have for breakfast, let alone go about planning the next Stroll For Sproggy.


But...
That initial flurry of activity is good...if it helps you through it.
Slowing down and dealing with this big mess is good too. It will need to be done some time.
Not being able to keep going in the same manner for the rest of your life is ok also. You are not letting them down. Choose your battles...keep doing the stuff that feels important to you and that you can continue to manage as you will have to also manage all the other aspects of your life.
As someone pointed out too, be prepared that things which were helpful at the start, end up not helping anymore later. And it is ok to turn away from them, if it feels like the thing to do.



The greatest honour I think we can give our angels is to live our lives to the fullest while remembering them and keeping their memory alive. I am sure they would not want to see a mopey mess on the couch surrounded by empty tissue boxes and photographs...Every so often that is OK...just not too often.


Well...all of this is easier said than done of course. Now I shall go and try take a leaf out of my own book.....

Dear Grief, ... Yours, Confused

I had certain expectations from you, this grief thing. I somehow thought that the more time passes, the more you get used to your new lot.

You are supposed to get "better" with time, aren't you?

Instead, it increasingly feels that each passing year can be a reminder of "how long since".
Each mile stone a reminder that there is a Sproggy-shaped hole in our midst and that time is moving at the speed of sound, apparently.
Each innocent comment like someone saying how nice it will be for my husbands parents to have a second grandchild can seem like a slap in the face  (there is another one on the way alright, courtesy of the Swedish contingent. It is the third, however, but yes, it will be very nice indeed :)).

And so I get caught in this spiral of feeling sad, feeling guilty about feeling sad because it seems you are bringing the whole world down with you and ultimately feeling like a failure as a mother, wife, sister, daughter and friend because because you do not have the strength to pull yourself out of that spiral.

After all, the world keeps turning, moving on. So are the people in it. So shouldn't I? Maybe the world is just throwing one last look at me over its shoulder going: Ya coming? No? Still "there"? Grand so, suit yourself.

You see, world, as much as you and me want me to, I cannot just "move on", snap out of it and get better in a nice sort of linear manner. There are so many ups and downs and setbacks. You might helpfully pull me along some of the way so I get up and do the things that need to be done and live a little but I keep falling behind.

Don't you know I am not the same anymore?

I have to live with his absence, every day.
I have the memory of his dying with me, every day.
I have to think of our family and friends who miss him too...especially those who did not get to say good bye and those whom we probably owe a honeymoon (see, life, your timing truly stinks!).
I have to make sense of why I cannot seem to bring myself to travel anything farther than a car journey from home.(??!)

To you, he was probably just another little boy; a has-been by now; fading out of your memory. To me, he was my world.

Sometimes, all that is just much much harder to deal with than other times and you wonder how you are supposed to keep going without losing your sanity altogether.

Right now, I just want to pull the covers over my head, sleep, wake up and find all of this has gone away. Can I, please? I am sure it is the two year mark looming later on this month but seriously, when do you know it actually did get too much and at what point should one go looking for magic happy pills?  :/

Just not sure what is normal in this process anymore...You confuse me, grief.

Of course I do not want to look back at my life and see only you. I want to live, cherish every moment with the husband (who is a true saint for putting up with me), Eoghan (that smily, affectionate little dude, full of hugs and kisses for anyone who'll have him) and any other little ones we might be allowed to have and think happily back to the times we had with Patrick.

So maybe I can manage to pull myself out of this pool of sadness, self-pity and heartache before the world (or I) loses patience with me.

Suggestions welcome cos that pool has slippery walls and feels just that bit too comfy and familiar at times.