Saturday, 10 November 2012

Dear Alex, Acceptance-how it helps to heal...

10th November 2012

Dear Alex,

Iridescent black crows take to the air, dozens in flight, leaving barely leafed trees. Orange, brown, dying, dark hues, time of year I find hard to enthuse.

Observing nature, you learn a lot. Their acceptance of what is to come, of what was, of what will be. No choice, they just do.

For weeks I plunged, not knowing where I was, how it became. Knowing I had to, hoping I’d tear myself through. And I plunged, I plunged deep and vast, dark, it engulfed me. And treading the water was all I could do, treading water till I was almost sunk. Gulping water, taste of salt tears of loss and pain and a man I knew and one I had lost. A life I knew, and one I have lost. Of a husband who held me, a father to our kids. Now barely keeping afloat…then a slip, a tiny slither of light. So far out of reach, so far out of sight. There nonetheless and I squint, tear, drag, to reach the end. 

Because you see, this is what it is and I am blessed and I have love.

The energy I have had since allowing myself to embrace the loss, means I start afresh, renewed, not so afraid of facing the man I feel I have lost.

And I did tear my way through…I didn’t sink, I coped with the gaping valley of pain. And now I am back, fighting for you. Since, I’ve seen changes in you. More understanding, more coherent feelings you express, some of your little ways, little looks, little idiosyncrasies of who you were rise. I catch them, I inhale them, breathe them in and back into your soul. Igniting your spirit, willing it back.

And oh, how I love you, how I am willing you back. That lip curl, that nose scrunch! Those expressions, your touch, your beautiful touch…

Your beautiful inner being, you…

Time, patience, healing, breathing, focus, refocus…and a home, for a home for us all to be…

My angel, I love you,

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Dear Monty Buster...

November 7th 2012

Dear Montgomery Buster,

So my big boy, eyes I could plunge into and swim around in forever happy, knowing you were the one, the one who made me ‘mum’.

Our first born, and you’re 9! How did we get here? I remember being 9. It doesn’t seem that long ago…

And the years you’ve lived. What a story you have already to tell, in Whitby then France just weeks after your 3rd birthday. There where you loved and lived and grew and spoke another language. You, being the only boy, took much comfort in your dad. You guys had an understanding, a boy thing going on, something I’ll never get, I’m too girly!

I read back over my letter to you last year ( your dad was still in the coma after having had his accident. I remember taking you in to see him in ICU, they don’t let you in France, so I had to make them bend the rules. You walked down the corridor with me, you were so strong and so brave, you sat, asked lots of questions about the machines, and then flung yourself into me, sobbing ‘can we go now mum? Please’.

Since this happened, you have been so brave. You are growing up fast, an old wise head on very young shoulders. You are naturally extremely protective over your sisters, always have been and are so even more now. Sometimes you cry that you hate the world, you hate the house without dad here. You hate being the only boy because dad should be here too. Sometimes you get angry, and that’s okay you know, so do I.

You’re inquisitive, never leave a stone unturned, quick and sharp, funny and very clever. You have charm and you care, I’m lucky enough to be one of the last mums left who still gets a kiss and a cuddle in public! You’re full of life, of fun, so mature, your sisters always look to you for their lead. And you never falter, you do lead. You take on the responsibility of being their big brother, the only male in the house, and you instinctively protect and help and look after them all. They adore you…as I do.

I see the strength of your dad in your young shoulders. I see your dad’s reflective looks, a thousand thoughts that cross through your mind.

I see how well you are coping with all this, and the times it’s too much and you fall down and cry. Because although you know dad still loves you, you just miss the dad he was.

I can’t promise you he’ll ever be that way again, I don’t think he will be. All I do know is that his love for you carries through the ages, through skies and time and fire and rain. It is never-ending, it is unconditional and it is, like mine, all engulfing.

I promise son, I will always do my best by you, to protect you, guide you, help you. To be strong for you, to keep hold of you in tough times. I will be your stability, your constant, no matter what life throws at you.

My hopes and prayers for you are that you have seen your inner strength, at such a young age. You have seen how you can cope. What has happened is a child’s worst nightmare at your age. You are dealing with something immense, and you’re doing so well. I hope you know I am here, always, whenever for you.

That when you first came into the world, it was not me (I was under general anaesthetic, emergency section), but your amazing dad who rocked you, held you for the first time. He told me later he’d walked you, talked to you about how you and him would look after me, being boys, that he was devoted to you, to me, for an hour and half, he rocked, talked, you gazed wide eyed, not crying, up at him.

Your dad’s an amazing man, you’re his amazing little, sorry, ‘big’ boy.

Be bold, courageous, strong, help and be respectful of others. Have compassion and abundant love. Do not be broken by anything, learn from it. You’re one strong youngling!

Baby boy, my heart aches for you, a pain I’ll never lose, but I am immensely proud of you and can never hope to put into words my love for you.

Happy birthday my nine-year-old boy!

Love from your mummy xxxxxxxxxxx

Monday, 5 November 2012

Dear Alex, Old friends...

Alex and Nick give their best man speech for Jamie...

November 5th 2012.

Dear Alex,

Sitting in the warmth of the bedroom, candles flicker and flail, four children’s hearts beat, four mouths open, breathe, bodies rising slightly and falling. We all sleep in the one bedroom these days. One in my bed, I’ve moved my bed into a room with bunk beds in, two in the bottom bunk, one in the top. It’s partly me, it’s partly them, but we sleep better together and now camping together in the one room. It makes the night shift easier-in fact it’s now almost a thing of the past, they sleep, all of them, almost all the way through, most nights. Esmie has even slept in her bed alone twice the whole night through, since you had your accident, she hasn't been able to sleep in her own bed.

One of your best friends has been over from France for a brief visit and spending time with you , me and the kids. Having known him as long as I have known you, you having known him as long as you can remember, there was something about him visiting that brought an energy vast, and a love deep , brimming with brotherhood, friendship and missing.

The kids haven’t seen their ‘uncle’ for 8 months since we left France, and he’s always been a major part in their lives. It was familiar and it was well, like seeing an old friend you haven’t seen in a long time.

It makes me think of the ways in which I can speak to your spirit-those times you have guarded deep within, the smells the memories, the familiarity of your friends. I plan how I will take us all to France on holiday to see people, feel sights, get in the water, feel sand beneath your toes. Those things you once did everyday, the place we lived and nurtured our family together.

I feel how much you need people, friends, family, and, well, honestly- you need to be home. You need that now. Yes, still many therapies, but with the comfort of knowing you get to come home after them. Be part of the family again. Surrounded by the bustle, the energy, the bickering, the snatching,  the 'MUUUUMM! will you wipe my bum?' and the ‘just get out of the door for school!’ moments.

I will find a way, somehow…to get you home.

Forever yours,

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx