Closure big and small

I would like to start by thanking Monica and Simon for a lovely dinner last night - it was a great chatty evening and I feel like Monica and I could become firm friends. So here's to the future, starting with a return dinner some time soon.

Yesterday was one of my down, tired days, so I knew I had to sleep last night - and I was out like a light at 11.30pm, awaking just before 8am - wow! That was the best night's sleep I've had in ages (especially since I stopped taking the sleeping tablets) and I felt so refreshed, I actually jumped on the running machine and had a quick run! Then my friend Bassie popped over for coffee - we were going to head out to a flea market, but it was STILL pouring with rain here, so we gossiped instead. Then we nipped into another friend's house to check out some furniture she is selling. All good - getting me out and about and not moping.

I picked Izzy up from her dad's just before lunch and we've been relaxing round the house this afternoon. She's now gone to a friend's to play and I've finished my bathroom re-design and costings, plus a bit of housework. So today I have exercised, socialised and achieved. All very important. One difficult moment which unexpectedly chipped a bit off my scab of grief was taking the covers off the sofa in the old play room (now my gym once again - there's no point Izzy going in there to play on her own). I don't know why it made me suddenly sad about William. Maybe because I was washing something else that he'd touched, washing away a bit more of him. Maybe because I have such strong memories of the children sitting watching television together on that sofa. They were such happy days. 

Tomorrow Olivier and I have a meeting at the hospital in Montpellier where William died, to talk about the care he received while he was there. They plan these in systematically for parents three months after the death of their child. When they called to confirm last week I asked what percentage of parents went to these meetings and was told that it was most of them and that it was a difficult moment, distressing even, but no-one regretted going. I guess it could go some way towards being a mini-closure, given that closure is not a word that will ever work in the long term, but a closure of that chapter maybe. I've been trying to think what questions I may have for them and can't think of any. Could his brain have recovered ever? I guess that's one but I know the answer and I know that it couldn't have. But despite not having any concrete questions to ask, I do feel that I want to go so I don't regret not going later. So we'll see what happens. At least I have persuaded Olivier to go with me, so that's good.

I was feeling more positive today. I guess it's been just over two weeks since I started the anti-depressants so they must be working. I can't feel them working, but you're not supposed to, so that's quite normal. Life is more bearable on a daily basis though. Time and pills. So I decided today I finally had the courage to call my parents. Unfortunately neither of them wanted to talk to me, told me so ("something I read on your blog - it was disgusting") and then hung up. Er, now let me get this straight. Just over two months after the death of my son, I am told that I should stop emotionally draining the people around me, twice for good measure. I leave the restaurant in floods of tears, spend 40 minutes sobbing by the side of the road, receiving not a single phone call to enquire as to how I am, as they finish their meal and leave to drive back to their house four hours away and then I never hear from them again. And I'm disgusting? I think there would be some very pertinent psychological terms to use here such as 'projection', better known as 'pot kettle black'. Well I guess that's that then. At least I've had some closure there. No more parents. How sad for everyone. At least I tried. You certainly can't say I do things by halves! I've lost William, my mum, my dad, my step-mum, and probably Olivier. 

But I'll survive.