It's that time of year again. St Patrick's Day commences an emotional voyage through the rapids of memorable dates starting with my son's birthday today and ending with his death at the end of June. Henry would have been 15 today.
Fifteen years of healing, and it's true, time is a great healer, I am able at last to imagine what he would be like had he lived. I picture him as a tall, fair haired young man by now, with stormy grey eyes and killer eyelashes. He would have high cheekbones and a firm rounded chin, probably with a dimple. He would be bright and quiet and patient, not at all into sports, he'd have a wickedly silly sense of humour and his face would dimple whenever he smiled.
You might wonder why I choose to torture myself in this way but it actually brings me comfort. Almost as much comfort as the memory of him sleeping on my chest, a tiny, soft, warm bundle curled up wheezing and panting slightly due to his breathing problems but evidently very contented to be sleeping on his Mummy. That memory is wrapped up in many layers of other memories and whenever I'm too stressed to sleep, all I have to do is unwrap that precious gift and I begin to relax and drift away.
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Set adrift on memory bliss
at 6:37 am
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14 Comments:
You know, if it works for you, who's to judge?
Take you comfort where you can - life is hard enough.
Puss
Puss - Do you think someone might judge me unfavourably for what I wrote? You're right life is hard enough without all that.
Jane, sending you ((((((HUGS))))))
Dxxxx
To be honest I do not know how to comment on your bog.
First I think mourning for 14 years is not right. If it still is a problem I think you should get help in getting your life continue and seek professional help to come from here to tomorrow. If your son wanted to have a mother without a life, he would not let you alone.
second I am heart and kidney transplanted since ten years. I have a good life and feel your pain through the dialyses and hope for the day to come to you as well. Have you ever considered a living donor.
I got your site from mrs Neisbitt, but I (not knowing you) am a little uncomfortable in writing to you.
I am not a sympathizing guy but I am an empathizing transplanted.
You may copy my comment to mrs Neisbitt and perhaps she can tell me more about the argument that makes your life go on. Live when you can. You have people that loves you today. Happy Easter
I'm so sorry for your loss. Since I'm new, I had no idea you had suffered the loss of a child.
It may make it more painful to surrender to memories but I believe, as you do, it helps. Otherwise it just becomes buried pain. It's comforting to remember loved ones.
{{Hug}} I'm thinking of you.
Here's to Henry!! And to you, my lovely. xxx
Denise - thanks. And BTW - the eagle has landed!
Arne - hello and welcome. I think something must have been lost in translation, you see the point is I'm not mourning my son any more, I'm rejoicing in his memory.
As for a live donor transplant, if you read some older posts you will see that my lovely hsband will be donating me a kidney later in the year. Wish us luck!
Mousie - thank you. I know there is a school of thought that the death of a baby should be written of as one of those bad life experiences. One woman asked me if perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't had him at all. No!! He may have been very small and had a very short life but he was a very big part of my life.
Amy - hurrah! You got it! Cheers duck.
What can I say, in the face of such a moving testament to living with what I can't imagine living with?
You inspire me every time I visit.
Oh, and yes, I agree that some essential part of this didn't come across to Arnea. You DID communicate what you meant to, Dear Calamity.
When CS Lewis knew his wife was dying of cancer, she asked how he could be happy, and doesn't it hurt to be with her, knowing that she was going to die soon? He said, "The pain then is part of the joy now, but the joy now will be part of the pain then." This is why we dwell on loved ones we've lost, even though it hurts to do so- for the joy in the pain. It isn't our tears or mourning that keeps them alive, it's the joy of "then".
Go with it. Snuggle down and close your eyes and be lost with Henry for as long as you like.
Then, when you come back up, take good care of yourself as you carry on for him, for your husband, for yourself and all of us.
HUGS and happy easter!
Absolutely beautiful, Jane. "That memory is wrapped up in many layers of other memories...all I have to do is unwrap that precious gift..."
Thank you for sharing this profound gift with us.
I'm sorry my comment is late. That is a very moving post. Thank you for sharing it with us Jane x
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