Thursday 7th May

We spend this morning with your brother, shopping, then meeting up with his girlfriend for lunch. You would have loved wandering around the charity shops with him, looking for a bargain. We talk about you often, recalling how you would spend your pocket money on books, comics and DVD’s, bought for a few pennies in these stores.

When we look at the lunch menu, I always think out loud, and say what you would have ordered, probably nachos or chicken strips, with a lemonade, no ice.

There are so many triggers that generate a memory of you. I need to start recalling and writing about all the good times and fun adventures we had. I will make that my priority.

It’s eight weeks today since you passed away. Four weeks yesterday since you were buried. It seems like a lifetime ago.

We visit your graveside on our way back home this afternoon, and we remove the flowers from the letters of your name that have faded and gone brown. You now look much more tidy.

Someone else came to visit you today, as a lovely pot of crimson red, miniature roses had been securely placed inside one of your wreaths. Who was that then? Did they stay long? What did they say to you?

We love you so much. We miss you more each day. Until tomorrow. xxxxx

 

Wednesday 6th May

Driving along to see you today, we were surprised to find the cemetery gates chained up. It was mid-morning, the sun shining, so why hadn’t someone opened up?

We parked the car a little way along the road, walked back to entrance, and opened a small side gate, which wasn’t locked.

Nothing seemed amiss, or gave any indication as to why the place had been closed.

So we walked through until we reached your resting place. Everything was safe and sound, despite the gales in the night. The tree just beside you is in full leaf, a bright, fresh green; it flutters gently in the spring breeze.

So. We talk. We tend. We tidy. We think about you constantly. We wish. We wonder. We whisper. We think about what could have been, what should have been. What we would have been doing right now. All of us. Together……..

We miss you, our dearest Angel son in heaven. xxxxx

Tuesday 5th May

Our first visit to your graveside this morning, and we’ve brought along a new glass vase and a big spray of colourful carnations. These flowers seem to last in all weathers, and appear quite hardy.

Very soon we will have to remove the chrysanthemums from the letters of your name. (We keep saying this, but holding on until the very last moment). They are slowly turning brown, and not looking their best. The gold, pleated ribbon around the edges still appears good, so we’ve decided to paint the insides of the letters white, and keep your name on top of your grave.

Our second visit to you, later in the afternoon, is to make sure your letters don’t blow away. (The wind has become very strong and gusty). We tether the letters with twine and tent-pegs.

So there we are my darling, you’re all nicely and tightly tucked in for the night.

We love you xxxxx

Monday 4th May

Not a day goes by that I don’t see your face, hear your voice or think of you.

You are all around us, yet forever gone.

Each of our days is the same as yesterday, the day before, and the day before that.

We are still in limbo, somewhere between here and there. Somewhere between “before this” and “after this”.

Now, nothing will ever be the same again.

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.