Sunday 3rd May

Our son is no longer with us: we grieve; we are sad; we cry daily; we don’t know how we will move on.

But he LIVED.

For thirty long years he was our child.

Asperger Syndrome meant he had many problems with social situations and communication.

He depended on us to organise his life.

He depended on us to keep him safe.

So we filled his time with much travel, different experiences, learning, and fun.

We gave him as much as we could.

He smiled. He laughed. He loved. He cared.

He was curious, he sought out new knowledge, he loved reading and researching the internet.

And we gave him so much love and affection, even though he could be very difficult and challenging at times.

But that is part of what made him unique.

Not only was he our son, but a friend and companion too.

He was an irreplaceable source of conversation, emotional support, comfort and empathy.

But the cancer that was found in him, ultimately beat him.

Ending his short, but wonderful life.

And now he’s gone……..

At his graveside today, a bouquet of carnations was left, along with a card:

 

“In my Father’s house are many dwelling places;

If it were not so, I would have told you;

For I go to prepare a place for you.”

John 14:2

 

To (my son), from God!

“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”

Jeremiah 31:3

 

We will never get over losing you.

You still had so much to do, we had so many hopes, plans and dreams for us all.

Now it seems as if our world has suddenly come to a halt.

Parents are not supposed to outlive their children.

Our future has now been changed as you are no longer a part of it.

Physically that is true, but spiritually, you will remain in our hearts and minds forever.

xxxxxx

 

Saturday 2nd May

And for the third day in a row, I receive another piece of paper with some printed words, verses, sent through the post, from a good friend. She had come across them, read the words, and immediately thought of my son.

“Safely Home……..

I am at home in heaven, dear ones;
Oh so happy and so bright!
There is perfect joy and beauty
In this everlasting light.

All the pain and grief is over,
Every restless tossing passed;
I am now at peace forever
Safely home in heaven at last.

Did you wonder I so calmly
Trod the valley of the shade?
Oh! But Jesus’ love illumined
Every dark and fearful glade.

And he came himself to meet me
In that way so hard to tread
And with Jesus’ arm to lean on
Could I have one doubt or dread?

Then you must not grieve so sorely,
For I love you dearly still;
Try to look beyond earths’ shadows
Pray to trust our Father’s will.

There is work still waiting for you
So you must not idly stand
Do it now, while life remaineth-
You shall rest in Jesus’ land.

When that work is all completed
He will gently call you home;
Oh, the rapture of that meeting,
Oh the joy to see you come!”

I do so hope my son is safe and well in heaven, having gained his angel wings. Before he passed away, we had had a conversation about heaven and hell, and he commented that he really hoped he was going to be an angel, and go ‘up there’ when the time came.

Little did we know that this would happen so soon, so very unexpectedly, so heartbreaking beyond measure.

And for us left behind, my husband and myself? We visit your graveside every day, whatever the weather. We want to be close by, to let you know we love you with all our hearts, and that we miss you so very much.

You have your Angel wings.

I do hope you are ‘safely home’.

xxxxx

Friday 1st May

A few days ago I wrote about my ‘new normal’, and not liking it very much at all.

Following an appointment with my lymphoedema nurse this morning, she handed me a set of words entitled “That’s normal”. (See above).

Many of the situations described I can really relate to.

I do cry. I do seem to have lost my appetite. I have feelings of denial and depression. And I do feel so guilty when enjoying a funny moment. To know that these are all normal feelings is quietly comforting.

And on here, I am sharing my story. A small audience is reading my journey through grief. I am grateful for your kind words of hope and encouragement.

And yes, I do remember his smile, the sound of his laughter, and the touch of his hand in mine.

Fifty days without you here makes me so sad, and yet I have so many amazing memories.

I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you forevermore. And that is my normal.

My Angel xxxxx

Thursday 30th April

Seven long, lonely weeks, and not a day goes by that I haven’t thought about you.
I may look as if things are normal, but behind the facade my heart is heavy.
This evening we go to your brother’s for dinner: he is cooking us a curry.

Out of the blue I ask him if he’s visited your grave. Yes!
I ask whether it was him who left the pink and white camellias. Yes!

Why I suddenly thought to ask him that I do not know.
It just came to me.
So, the mystery of your unknown visitor has been solved.
Your brother took it upon himself to come and say hello to you.

I think that is just lovely.
Love you both so very much. My two wonderful sons.
xxxx

 

Wednesday 29th April

On our walk around the town today we stop at the church and light candles for you. We sit for a few quiet moments, and reflect; silently the tears fall.

We are finding it so very hard to accept that you are no longer here with us.

Returning outside, we are bathed in bright sunlight, although it is still a bit chilly, and we make our way to a coffee shop to meet up with a friend we haven’t seen for many years.

We talk and talk, for almost two hours. Remembering our families and children who grew up in the town, and went to the same schools. It was lovely meeting up and reminiscing.

And of course we talked about you: your struggles and your achievements. The difficulties you faced and the wonderful experiences of the world that we were able to give you.

Just before leaving, she passed me a hand-written note:

“We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed in a moment, in the blinking of an eye, at the last trumpet.

For the trumpet will sound and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality.

Now when this perishable puts on the imperishable and this mortal puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will happen.

Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

(1 Corinthians 15)

I read this through and wondered upon its meaning.

Does it mean that death becomes a door of hope?

Does it mean that the spirit is now free from the prison and the poison in the body?

I do hope your spirit is flying and soaring free. I do hope you are smiling down upon us. I do hope you can feel our presence at your graveside today.

And yet I still cry for you.

So unexpected.

So unbelievable.

Gone in the blink of an eye.

And the sadness we feel is immeasurable.

Tuesday 28th April

We bought two new plant pots for you today; a pink and a yellow dahlia. They just caught my eye as we were shopping, and I thought they’d look pretty on your grave.

When we walked up to where you are, it was quickly noticeable that someone had been to visit you. A very bright, fuchsia-pink camellia had been placed in the earth, with its shiny green leaves arranged just so. Upon looking further, I saw another white camellia flower placed on one of the letters of your name.

Who was this mystery visitor? Do you know them? Did they stay long and talk to you? I wonder who it was who took time out of their day to come and see you.

Somehow I feel quite sad, but also touched that you are being remembered by someone in this way. I wonder what you meant to this person?