One month ago today our darling William passed away in my arms. His body recovered but his brain did not. He was always such a strong little lad. In the past, twice, once to take a blood sample and once to check his eyes, it took two nurses to hold him down in order for a third to perform the intervention. They all commented on how strong he was. He had the back of a future rugbyman, that's for sure.
God it's hard today. I alternate between feeling sick and feeling faint. This morning I packed away all his cards of condolence for his memory box. Such beautiful words and they will all be read again many times in the future. Thank you again to those who wrote.
I also packed up all William's toys from the kids' playroom, sorted them out and put them in his bedroom cupboard. That was bloody hard. I did it through a constant stream of tears and sobs. I'm not ready to pack his bedroom up yet. I go there to talk to him sometimes. His bedroom is the only thing left that smells of him, or at least the smell reminds me of him. Before I knew it, all his clothes, and even bedlinen, were washed.
Sleep is the most important thing for me right now. The psychiatrist has prescribed me sleeping tablets, but they end in 'zepam' and the directions say not to take for more than a month and I have maybe an irrational fear of becoming hooked. It's only been just over a week but last night I skipped taking one and fell asleep after reading for a while (my escape - books), but a couple of snores next to me woke me at 6.20am and that was it - reality, realisation, horror, no more sleep. So I took my book and my pillow to William's room and read on his bed and even dozed for a few minutes. Calm time.
I don't have any vices any more. I don't smoke (gave up for the kids - which is a term I can't use any more), I don't enjoy cooking (where I used to love cooking a hearty osso bucco casserole or create sophisticated hors d'oeuvres like verrines of mint and cucumber gazpacho) - food holds no interest for me any more. We're living on salad and melon. I've lost half a stone (which I needed to so please don't worry).
And I don't drink any more either. A couple of weeks ago, Olivier and I went out to a small local restaurant because we couldn't be bothered to cook and, as usual, we shared a bottle of wine (and didn't eat much through the tears). That night I did not get to sleep till 6.30am (yes, the next morning). I paced the house, I tried our bed, William's bed, Izzy's bed (she was at her dad's), the sofa, reading, tv... nothing worked - flash, flash, flash every time I closed my eyes. Horrible images, still fresh. It was after this that I decided to give up drinking and I asked the psychiatrist about sleeping tablets. Because the next day, when I awoke at midday, was a truly horrendous one.
So sleep is my commodity, I guess my one remaining vice, although I don't have that much control over it. If I feel like it, I lie in because, well, why get up? I have no-one to get up for. No-one who needs me any more. When Izzy is here, she sorts herself out in the morning - she's so independent. Don't know where she gets that from (that's sarcasm but I don't feel like putting an exclamation mark). But mostly I have to get up as soon as I am awake and start doing things, keep my brain occupied.
I've written a lot today to calm me down. And it has a bit. And hopefully I'm booked on a weekend for bereaved parents in a hotel in Northamptonshire 7-9 September. I think it will be good to talk to other parents in the same situation. I'm counting the days...
Dear Nicole,
ReplyDeleteAs one of your other friends said on Facebook, every time I write something to you, I delete it and start again. But just pressing “Like” doesn’t seem to be doing the best I can to help. I have no special knowledge or experience of what you’re going through, but your blog is giving me some insight into it. It’s my impression that writing is helping you in a small way; I hope so. I think it could well be useful one day to other people who have to go through something similar. You write really well. Keep up with it as long as you feel it’s helpful.
I carefully read the advice you posted on how to help bereaved parents. I really want to do some of the dos and none of the don’ts. So, every day I am thinking of you, and I’m thinking what can I do to help? I bet there are hundreds of people who are reading your Facebook posts and blog posts and feeling the same way. I want to do something, so I am writing this, but I realise this kind of thing can sound incredibly crass from someone who’s not had to face the loss of a child; they’re silly little things that might just help. Please ignore it if it seems trite - I mean well, I promise.
When you write it seems like you are taking something too horrible to contemplate and putting it outside yourself where it can do less damage. I wonder if music might also help you when you are having trouble sleeping and are having intrusive thoughts and unpleasant vivid memories. I think if you are able to concentrate on the music it might block out intrusive thoughts for a while. But at the same time music can deal with emotions that are beyond words - so perhaps it can offer some solace where no words can, or maybe bring expression to thoughts that can’t be shared but need to come out somehow?
A year or two ago I was having trouble sleeping and I started listening to classical music at bedtime. Rest assured I haven’t become a classic music buff and I don’t know much about it. However, one particular piece had an amazing effect on me, after about 15 minutes I seemed to go into a kind of trance, and I came to, I don’t know, an hour later when it reached a dramatic and beautiful resolution. On the way I’d been completely transported but taken through a rollercoaster of emotions that I couldn’t express in words; deep stuff, clicking into place. Every time I listen to it, I get the same experience (as long as I can listen concentratedly and quietly for the first 15 minutes). I think if I could give you one thing that would help you now, it would be that peaceful hour. It’s Mahler’s 2nd Symphony:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mahler-Symphony-No-Philadelphia-Orchestra/dp/B001N26H06/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1344009134&sr=1-1
I would also give you a cup of this, which sometimes seems to help me sleep:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B006662I6G/ref=asc_df_B006662I6G9050222?smid=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&tag=hydra0b-21&linkCode=asn&creative=22206&creativeASIN=B006662I6G&hvpos=1o2&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=10640286141130855852&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=
Lots of Love,
Tom
Perfect Tom, perfect. Thank you so much for taking the time to write such a lovely long message. I'm downloading the music right now onto iTunes and I have an alarm clock next to my bed which is also a docking station. xx
DeleteHey Ham,
ReplyDeleteGreat blog, interesting and insightful reading, but also positive in the way that you present the process of working through your grief - your thoughts resonate in unanticipated ways for parents including me. I have no magic words of wisdom for you Ham right now, but it's so important that you continue to write your thoughts down and get them out there. Many are reading and trying to understand how to walk the road with you. Be super nice to see you when you get back to UK if poss.
Take care and hang in there
JCX
Hi John - Thank you sweetie. My blog is helping me immeasurably. Could be back soon and will let you know... x
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