I know alot of bloggers have been reading Philip's blog. I stumbled upon it via Tracy's blog via goodness knows where ... like many of you I have been touched by his words, humbled by his courage in expressing his grief and smiled at his memories. It has touched a raw nerve...
You see the thing is this, last year - on Saturday 29th April at 11.15pm, to be precise - my darling little boy died. There, I've written the 'D' word... it's out. He was 12 but 2 weeks away from his 13th birthday. He was my eldest child and his last 9 years were a constant fight for survival, more of which, I guess, will be explained in later posts.
For the last 18 months, the internet has been a constant companion. The first few unbearable months were spent reading of untold sadness on sites devoted to bereaved parents. I felt like I had joined an exclusive club. After some time something in me altered and the negativity I was surrounding myself in was beginning to bother me. I couldn't bear to think that my whole life was going to be awful forever. Don't get me wrong; I have a sadness within me that knows no depths and my thoughts stray to my angel at any time, whether I'm ready for them or not.
So, there it is. The thing that now shapes my life. From the beginning I decided that this wasn't something I wanted to 'get over'. I knew from day one that my choice was to learn to live with my loss side-by-side, within me maybe. I think it was a good decision. Yes, I can function now. I can even laugh and smile. More than some people, I can find joy in simple things. And this is what keeps me going. The blogs I read are filled with things that interest me because they are filled with things that I, myself, like to do. It has been a revelation, this world of blogging. For me, it started innocently enough and now I have been able to find the courage to do what needs doing for my own sanity, and that is remember my beautiful boy whilst finding things to do with my time.
I hope I can find the right mix, so bear with me. Maybe one day, a photo will make it on here. The jury is still out on protecting our anonymity. I will call him Splodge, it was one of many nicknames! I haven't told a living soul that I do this. I need a place where I can be myself.
Here's something that I miss about Splodge - he had the softest hands imaginable, like butter. We used to tease him and say it was because he never did the washing-up!
I will end this post now with this: ever since he grew his wings and became an angel, every now and then a white feather appears in front of me. I take this to be a sign that I have a constant companion...
I feel quite exhausted now. Tomorrow I am off to a parents workshop about Spirituality in Bereavement. I am genuinely curious about faith but have no strong feelings either way. Maybe tomorrow I will feel more enlightened?