Category Archives: Grief

Apr27

Month 15 (+1) results ~ normal?

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Monday 27th April

Shortly after ten this morning my trials nurse phones to tell me the results from the tests I had almost two weeks ago. I have malignant melanoma, (stage 3c), and have been on a clinical drugs trial, Combi-Ad, since January 2014. It is an adjuvant treatment combining two drugs, Dabrafenib and Trametinib. It is a double-blind trial, so I don’t know whether I was taking the real thing or a placebo. But the monitoring has been incredibly worthwhile.

Anyway, the drugs part is now over, and I’m seen every three months, for check-ups in dermatology, haematology, oncology, and also have CT scans.

My nurse was happy to report that all is normal, with no evidence of metastatic disease. Plus, my thyroid gland shows normal levels from a blood test, as the oncologist thought it did perhaps look slightly enlarged.

So there we have it. I am normal.

But that’s not what I feel right now. Very far from normal. I wish everything was normal, like it was before. Before we lost our son. I cannot get used to this new normal. I seem to be ‘well’, but that is nothing to celebrate without my son being here. That sounds a little selfish, but I just wish we had had more time with him. We had so many plans, so many more places to visit, so much more fun and laughter to have.

Early afternoon sees us visiting our son’s graveside, to remove some of the old greenery from the floral tributes. We bought a basket of yellow marigolds, that should bring some bright colours for him.

This now, has become our new normal. Standing beside his grave: talking, wishing, tidying, crying, just wanting to be close to him.

I don’t like this new normal at all.

Apr26

Love you

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Sunday 26th April

Having come to visit you today and standing by your grave, it is so difficult to say goodbye and walk away. It’s as if we are turning our backs on you, and carrying on as normal, without you.

That is so far from the truth. We are struggling to cope with the adjustments we are having to make. We believed you would always be a part of our family life. That we would always be together. Planning days out, booking holidays, having fun, looking after you. Much of the last thirty years was centred around you. Our son. With special needs. A loving, caring, gentle child.

It is natural for us to have wanted you to remain with us forever. That was how it should have been.

You have been taken from us, but the love we have for you will never ever be taken away. The depth of our love for you, that all your family, friends and acquaintances had for you, will ensure some things will live on forever; memories, events, and that special place that you hold in many peoples’ hearts.

Love you lots.

To the moon and back.

Love you more.

And all the world.

xxxx

Apr25

Missing you

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Saturday 25th April

Not a lot to say today.

Feeling lost and lonely without you.

Missing your company, missing you so very much, missing everything you did for us and with us.

But we’ll keep putting one foot in front of the other, and try to overcome these obstacles of painful distress.

It just doesn’t seem right that you’re not here with us.

Sending love and kisses to heaven xxxx

Our son, now forever young x

Apr24

Graveside musings

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Friday 24th April

It’s grey and damp, and the mizzle sticks to your clothing and hair, covering you with a fine beading of moisture droplets. The songbirds are singing their springtime melody and a grey squirrel skitters down the trunk of a tree.

The council gardeners have been along this morning, mowing the grass, and tidying up the cemetery. And we have decided to do the same at your graveside. It’s been sixteen days since your interment, and some of your funeral flowers are not looking their best. We pick out those that have wilted and gone a bit brown. Your name in letters though, still looks amazing; the white chrysanthemums have been splendid.

We have brought along a new, heavy, stone rose-bowl pot, in which to place sprays of flowers. Today we have chosen orange and white carnations for you.

We stand silently, remembering, reflecting, reminiscing. It is such a peaceful, but sad place to be.

You are not alone. We will always be with you. We’ll look after you.

Sleep tight my darling boy xxx

Apr23

It’s Thursday again

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Thursday 23rd April

I don’t think I like Thursdays anymore at all. It’s now six long weeks since that dreadful evening when I couldn’t bring you back to life. Despite mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions, you slipped away and gained your Angel wings. I tried so hard, but you had gone. And now our lives have been changed irrevocably

I will always remember your face as I turned over your warm, but lifeless body. In our bed, snuggled under the duvet, finally at peace and pain-free. No more doctors, scans or chemotherapy.

Visiting your graveside has become a daily pilgrimage. We water the flowers trying to keep them fresh, we touch your wooden cross with the simple brass nameplate, and we talk to you.

Our younger son thinks this is a little unhealthy because it makes us sad and unhappy. But I find standing beside you and speaking to you strangely comforting. We just want you to know that we are close by, that we think of you all the time, that we don’t want you to be alone.

Our son. Our Angel.

We love you. We always will.

We. Just. Miss. You. So. Much. xxxx

Apr22

Feelings of jealousy

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Wednesday 22nd April

Jealousy. A negative emotion with feelings of insecurity, anger and anxiety. Jealousy is not a good trait to possess.

I don’t think of myself as having a jealous personality, or jealous thoughts.

But today I was jealous. And I felt bad.

We had gone for a coffee and as we were leaving we bumped into a young girl who had been on the same oncology ward as my son. She was having chemotherapy for a brain tumour. We spoke a few times in the day room when we were in hospital at the same time.

As we parted and quickly walked away, both my husband and I started sobbing. I said to him “Do you feel as jealous as I do?”. He said he was thinking the exact same thing. Why was she still alive, and our son was not? Why was she able to be walking about, and not our boy? Why did the treatment work for her, and not for our child?

Just for a moment I had some really bad thoughts. Not wishing this girl any ill, but I did feel so negative about life, and so betrayed. The battle we had put him through, the anguish and the hope. All so futile and pointless now.

It’s two weeks since we buried you.

And I just feel cheated. And it’s not fair.

Apr21

Lighting candles

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Tuesday 21st April

Your funeral was two weeks ago, in the same church where you and your brother were christened, where we were married, too.

We go there today to light candles for you. To let you know we are thinking about you all the time, and that we miss you terribly.

We sit, watching the flames flicker, the sunlight casting colourful shadows on the stone floor as it glints through the stained-glass windows.

Two weeks ago, so many people came to pay their respects and show condolences. You certainly left your mark on our town. Memories of you are so far-reaching. Such an individual, loving, caring character you turned out to be. Our son.

Going to your graveside is no easier, but we still water the flowers for you, talk to you, and end up weeping. We just cannot understand why this had to happen. We tried so hard to look after you and protect you.

We just miss you xxx

 

Apr20

Pink blossom

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Monday 20th April

It’s a sunny, blue-sky day. The blossom on the trees in the cemetery is beginning to flower. A bright, vibrant shade of pink. The tree we walk past to reach your graveside is looking beautiful. The sun is shining down on you and the birds are singing for you.

I’m trying so hard to keep it together on these daily visits to you. But despite the beauty of the day, my heart breaks because you are not with us. Our son, fell asleep and gained his angel wings far too soon.

I just find it so difficult to believe that you have gone from our lives. Each day seems without purpose. One blends into another. A long, never-ending stretch of nothingness.

Is this how it’s going to be?

 

Apr19

A quiet Sunday

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Sunday 19th April

You see, I’m back again. I don’t feel it would be right if I missed a day and didn’t write about you, or how I felt.

It seems as if it would be somehow disrespectful, or might mean that I didn’t care enough. And so here I am. And what to say, today? Not really feeling particularly positive at the moment.

Crying this morning because I miss your voice and your smile and your enthusiasm for the day ahead. Again when we light candles in the church and sit awhile. And again when we go to your graveside. Crying, sobbing, weeping.

We did love you so very, very much, and now that you’re no longer here, we are lost without you.

Time heals. Will it?

You’ll move on. Will we?

The pain will subside. When?

You’ll learn to readjust. Really?

Give grief it’s time. How long?

So many negative thoughts and feelings are flying around right now.

I do need to find some positivity in all this. I look at your photographs and smile with you, at all the fun we had together, traveling the world. We certainly packed in an awful lot of adventures throughout your thirty years.

Remember the good times. The laughs. The joy. The risks. Your happiness. Special moments. Amazing memories. Perfect holidays. Wonderful destinations.

We tried so very hard to give you as good a life as possible.

But nothing can take the pain away right now, thinking of how much we miss you being here with us. xxx

 

Apr18

Continued grief and loss

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Saturday 18th April

I really am at a loss today in knowing what to write. Do I continue to write about you every single day? Or is it ok if I miss a day or two? It doesn’t mean I love you any less, nor that my grief is subsiding.

In reality, I miss you desperately, every waking moment I’m thinking of you. There are pictures of you everywhere. Reminders of you all over the house.

Will we ‘move on’ without you? No, I don’t think so. You are always going to be in our lives, one way or another.

The cemetery was really cold and windy today, and a small pot of tulips that my sister had placed at your grave had blown over. So we positioned some more stones around the base to keep it upright. I didn’t hear any songbirds this morning either. But it was peaceful there, and we spoke to you about your brother’s birthday yesterday, and how you would have liked his birthday cake.

Sleep tight my darling son.

We love and miss you.

To the moon and back.

And all the world.

xx