Happy Birthday, My Precious Child

It was eighteen minutes past six when you arrived. A crisp morning at the end of winter.
You didn't arrive kicking and screaming. It was quiet chaos. In hushed urgency the doctors and nurses resuscitated you. You made it. Then. In the end there was no chaos, just a quiet ending.

I miss you everyday, but especially today. I have to try not to think too much about the 'ifs and buts'. Lord knows I've fought hard to hang onto the last few shreds of sanity I still have, but sometimes, like unpleasant, unexpected guests, they do arrive and then I wonder - what if you were still alive? Where would you be in your life? And I wonder, what if you were here now....  I have to stop myself.

I talk to you. All the time. I remind you that you're still the eldest and need to keep an eye out for your brothers. I know you hear me.

I love you.
Mom.

I Feel Angry Today...

I feel angry today.
I went to see Zane yesterday. Of course he's not there. Not really, anyway. His grave looks terrible. Firstly it looks terrible because it has his name on it, but it also looks terrible because the loose stones have become less and the grass forcing it's way onto the grave, more. I apologised to him and promised to sort it out. To be honest I don't think he really cares. But I do.

I feel angry because people tell me 'You have three other children to think about. You need to move on.' Some of the people that say this don't have any children. Not even a dead one.

I feel angry because at times the grief still overwhelms me and comes on suddenly and unexpectedly and I burst into tears sometimes at the most inopportune moments.

But then, I think this: Growth does not always come without pain, but always with reward.
And so - each day I learn and grow, and know that the reward will be for me to be a stronger, more insightful, sensitive person and to enjoy the greatness that life still has to offer.

A Good Week

It has been a good week. A whole week! I feel so grateful and blessed. This is the first week in 5 months that I have spent more time in proper clothes than in my dressing gown. I am making progress. Okay - I know I must be careful not to get ahead of myself. My therapist says I might have a few more setbacks before I manage to start 'walking' (I mean this emotionally) again, but I am so pleased with this progress and I believe, truly believe, that any setback I suffer will not be the same as the gaping, dark hole I have come from.

I miss Zane. I miss him so much. I am sad that I don't have the opportunity to see him as an adult and have that kind of adult relationship with him. I am sorry that he isn't here to see his brothers. But, I know that I can find peace and I am on the path going in the right direction.

I buried my son today

I buried my son today

3 years ago.

A Jewish coffin.

Under the sweltering African sky turned red,

Wind

Hard rain drops

Dusty ground.

Broken flowers

Broken heart.

Zane.

Mo Chuisle

My son died today

Three years.
He was gone before he died, actually. But while the machine forced him to breath, I could pretend he was there.
I have never seen the death certificate, I didn't look at the report of the post mortem.
I forget how tall he was and I'm not too sure how much he weighed. The details did not interest me.
I did not want to know.
I didn't go to the place where he had his accident, I did not go to his place of work.
I didn't see the motorbike.
I saw his empty room and his clothes waiting to be washed. I could still smell him. I could still hear his voice.
And I can mark the exact spot where I was when I knew he had left this earth, before they told me he was gone, I could feel the invisible twining from his spirit to mine, snap, ever so silently. And when it snapped, my heart shattered like a mirror crashing to the floor. 

A heart still in pieces, some pieces still missing, pieces he took with him. And what is left, doesn't work too well anyway.
And because of that, I'm not too sure about who I am now.

This crippling grief...

I wanted to go back in time. I wanted to say - on this day 3 years ago this is what was happening. But suddenly it became too hard. It's hard to get the words down when you're trying to fight the thoughts away. And maybe that is the problem here.

I believe that grief is solid. I believe that is is just there. Well, this grief in particular - the grief you suffer (and believe me you suffer) when your child dies. This is what I think; I love my children. It's a love that is there. It's not a love that can become more or less. It's there in it's entirety. Total and complete. And that's how I feel about this grief that I have for Zane. The grief is now there sitting alongside the love. The grief, also in it's entirety.

It was this day 3 years ago that I again got on a plane, this time to go to my eldest child, Zane Richard, after getting the call that he had had an accident on his motorbike. I had taken a notebook with me. An attractive black, narrow, leather note book that has the word Journal embossed in gold on the cover. I thought I would use this as his recovery journal, that when he was all well again, I could read to him what the journey had been like.

So on the plane, this is what I wrote;

6 November 2007
Tuesday
My Darling Zane-
How does one explain in words
the pain
and heartache a mother feels
when her child is suffering?
I keep seeing your
beautiful face
in my mind.
Please stay!
Please hang on!
Can you hear my voice
in your heart?
Can you feel
my love for you?
Zane, I love you so much!
Please hear me!
Hang on - I'm almost half-way there.
Can you feel how everyone is rooting for you?
The prayers that are being said
do you hear them?
Please, Zane!
Don't go!
We have so many
years ahead of us -
this family -
Stay!
Stay and be a part of it!
In my mind
I hear your voice.
"Mom" is what you say.
Please don't go.
Do you hear me calling
your name in my heart?
Zane.
Zane?
I'm on my way
Please wait for me
Hang on!
Hang on!
I hear your voice
in my heart.
"Mom"