I received wonderful news yesterday from a couple I met at the bereavement weekend - their lost only son's wife has given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. It gave me such joy to hear this news. New life and, I hope, joy for the new grandparents. They will have new names now; they may not hear 'mum' and 'dad' any more, but they will hear 'grandma' or 'nan' or 'nana' and 'grandad' or 'grandpa' or perhaps somehting more personal to them. I'm so happy for them.
As for me, well, my tears are always just below the surface. I still cry at the drop of a hat (or the sound of Izzy's music box that William used to play with all the time, or the sight of a tiny tupperware lid with 'lamb casserole' written on it) but my wall of protection is getting stronger. It's not there to help me forget, just to help me survive. We are having a subdued Christmas this year - we still have Izzy, so we have compromised in small ways such as by buying a much smaller tree than usual (this weekend - we always do it the first weekend of December) and I didn't get all controlling about decorating it evenly all over like I usually do; I gave Isabelle the box of decorations and let her get on with it.
There is some good news: Olivier and I are making steps to get back together again and, although he hasn't moved back in, he stays here a few nights a week. We're taking things slowly. It's less painful to be around each other now and we are finally helping each other's tears. William still has an important place in our everyday lives; for instance, we have bought an advent calender for him. So, as Olivier is here some mornings, all three of us are taking it in turns to open the advent calender on William's behalf. It's sad and hard but somehow necessary. Isabelle will have a present from William at Christmas. We have decided that our little symbol that represents him is a star so she will be getting a hand-made bracelet with a star on it that I hope she will wear without losing, for once! I sign all my letters and cards with our three names plus a W in a circle to represent William. I even bought William a little bouncy ball the other day when we went on an outing to the local planetarium - it's in his bedroom. We are constantly marking his little life and this helps.
I really don't know what I would have done without Isabelle; she has validated my passage through the darkest, darkest days and into something slightly lighter and bearable. I wouldn't have been able to pull myself along and up if it wasn't for her; I would have wallowed I think for much longer. She has allowed me to reach a stage where I can say without shame that I will not let being a bereaved parent define me as a person. My grieving has moved into a very private realm now, and I think this is why I haven't blogged for a bit. It's not about forgetting William. It's about living in his name; making sure that our family gets back on track and that we manage to salvage our family unit and thrive. FOR William. I think, to have lost everything - losing William and then Olivier leaving, has made Olivier's potential return seem such a blessing.
One more thing while I am here. I wanted to recount my first experience, a couple of weeks ago, of meeting someone I knew who didn't know about William. Thank God this took a few months to happen, because it left me completely and unexpectedly floundering. I bumped into a lady who I knew before but had moved to the coast and hadn't been back this way for a while. I was with Bassie THANK GOODNESS. So, after the first hellos, this lady (who was also with a friend) asked how the 'children' were. Not wishing to make her feel awkward, I replied with 'Yes, fine' and hoped we could move off. She then said, 'Of course it's childREN now, isn't it? Because you have two now don't you?' 'Yes,' I replied, thinking please stop now and move on. Then she said, 'And your son? How old is he now? Two and a half? Three?'
At this point I just stopped talking and my fists were clenching and unclenching at my side and I was just swallowing. Bassie, bless her, stepped into the huge void and said, 'You obviously haven't heard. Nicole's son died earlier on this year.' The lady's companion gave a sharp intake of breath and an 'Oh no' and the lady I knew just looked aghast, muth open, not saying anything. It was one of those moments that I will never forget. It is still so clear in my head. Of course, then we found ourselves consoling THEM. I think this is why I instinctively didn't mention anything; to protect their feelings. But that's the first one of those situations now exerienced. Will this experience help me if it happens again? I honestly don't know, but they say the first of everything are the worst, so hopefully it won't be worse than that.
So, talking of firsts, back to Christmas. Christmas Eve was due to be spent just Izzy and I at home so that we could go to bed in our own beds, wake up in our beds and do stockings etc together. Maybe a bit sad, just the two of us, but a balance. No false effort to be jolly, no going away to try to escape the sad feelings (which would inevitably be futile). Just us, at home. Well now, if things go well, Olivier will be with us too which will be fabulous. We may even have a quiet dinner on Christmas Eve with his parents.
On Christmas Day Izzy will go to her dad's after presents and Christmas breakfast here. I have been invited to spend Christmas Day with my friends John and Theo and their family and friends - it will be the first Christmas I have ever spent without my family. But it will be good to step outside the box; do the day differently. I need to.
And then we have William's first absent birthday to face, on the 11th January (he was our binary baby - 11.01.10). In a physical sense, we have lanterns (with stars on them) to light. Mentally, it's going to be agonising.
As my blogging has become less necessary in a cathartic sense, just in case I don't blog again before the season starts, I wish everyone a contented Christmas and fulfillment and peace in 2013.
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| Christmas 2011 Rip Van William wondering why WE'VE woken HIM up and what this big sock is doing on his bedroom floor! |
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| William sort of meets Father Christmas, 2011 |
