where I am 1075 days later
I’m not one for counting days, nor did I ever really notice the 25th of every month to be a special kind of rembrance day. The only days I mark out as special are his birthday and Christmas – because both are on the 25th and happen to be exactly half a year apart.
Fionn would be turning three years in 20 days, that’s in less than 3 weeks. Sometimes I wonder what kind of child he would be, if he had lived. I imagine him with curly, fair hair, but otherwise looking very much like his dad. I imagine him being a very happy, self content kind of child, inquisitive with incredible attention to detail, one who likes wild, adventurous stories and good, intelligent answers to his many, many questions.
But I can’t imagine what we would be like as parents, how our life would be different with him here. I really do find it extremely difficult to imagine him here. Maybe that is because I have finally managed to accept the fact that he isn’t here and as a result we are a childless, now (going on) middle age couple with childless, middle age issues.
Am I happy? I am. Am I content with the here and now? No. I am still searching for some kind of greater meaning, some kind of greater purpose. Don’t get me wrong, that isn’t a bad thing. Searching and finding out what you’re meant to do, can and is a fun and exciting quest. Yet, if you had asked me ten years ago, where will you be at 44? Never in a million years would I have thought I would live a life without children. I know children might have given me a sense of meaning and fulfillment, and then again, maybe not.
I feel I have grieved enough though. Enough to be able to focus on the rest of my life. While 1075 days ago grief was with me 24 hours a day, every single day, sleeping and awake, grief was all consuming, swallowed me whole, now it isn’t like that anymore. There are moments when grief hits me like being hit by a sniper’s bullet, at first I think it’s straight into the heart out of nowhere. But then I realize it isn’t a fatal, it’s only a graze. Grief isn’t such a good marksman after all.
During the past 3 years I’ve met wonderful people, women who have become friends. We all have different ways and experiences and as a result, different ways of dealing with the loss of our child or our children. There is no one way, there is no getting over it. I’d like to believe it is easier if you grieve your child and not your children or your role as a mother. But that is not my path and there is no way to know whether it is easier to learn to live with the loss of a child or children when you have subsequent living children.
I do know though there is a special kind of pain resulting out of the fact that I am one of the few women who will never to be called mum by anyone after experiencing the loss of my child.
Here I am talking about pain and loss even though that is not where my focus is at the moment. Maybe that’s why I’m not blogging so much anymore.
We’ve moved house during the last four weeks. It wasn’t a planned move and rather unexpected. The new house is much smaller than the old one. But we did it and I’m very happy we have this “new beginning”. I still haven’t unpacked everything. As a result of the downsize we had to get rid of a lot of our stuff. I have parted with a lot of the things I have kept for years thinking I would give them to our children. And I have given away my birth pool and my hyp-no.b.ir.th-ing and other baby books.
At the moment there isn’t any trace of Fionn in our new surrounding. There are no photos on display, no paintings, no driftwood pieces, no stone carving pebbles. My studio hasn’t been unpack at all yet. But Fionn is with us. And I’m not just referring to his ashes which are safely tucked away in my bedside table.