the end of the year

IMG_2812I have started and abandoned a number of writings this year.  The overwhelming feelings rush over me.  I loath to admit it is the fear of loosing the entire day if I dare to acknowledge out loud or at least on paper that I am trying to keep control of one more day. This day if no other day and then the next day and then the next.  Stepping stones across the time I have left while trying with all my might to stay in the present.

I’ve got so much left to pay attention to.  People who matter  to me, events in their life and my own and joy to find.   Sadness or grief or whatever you want to call remains a constant companion.   I used to try and avoid triggers.  I gave up.   Memories of my son permeate everything.

He is everywhere and in everything . At every event I attend because I have to mention him at some point to new people and old friends just have to figure out for themselves how to handle it when I mention him casually.   He is a part of me, so if you want to be with me you have to be with him.  And that is true concerning my husband and daughter and even my dogs.  They are a part of me.  Take it or leave it.

Writing about him, or how I feel seems almost superfluous at this point.  To write of him is to write about everything.   He is in my writing as are my other family members and loved ones.   They all influence me and infuse me with their wisdom, insights and the light they bring to my life.   I feel him all the time.  Early on after his death that was not true.

I worried that I would loose that “feeling” of him.   Surprisingly it has grown and if anything it is like the cloud I travel in with him.

Oh, there are still plenty of tears, anger, frustration – impotent rage about the unfair aspect of living and dying.  I feel it when I watch the news too, or view how things are going in our world.   What little we can influence for good we should do -for whatever time we have left in which to do it.  And there is no measuring ourselves against others.  Just us, in our sphere doing what we can for as long as we can with all that we have to give to the effort.

Most important in all of this I find it necessary to be true to myself.  I am a person  my son loved ( my daughter and husband too.)  I must be me and the best me I can be.   It is my gift to myself in honor of the love my son had for me.   Its much more complicated than I make it sound.  It can become a goal or something to just remind yourself of when you are tempted to refashion yourself.  Be true to the person your child knew, morally, ethically, in your generosity and insight and your ability above all else to give love.

So if there is a wish for the new year for all who have lost a beloved child it is this:  That their memory of you might surround you and bring you comfort.  That they may remind you how beautiful you were to them and that you might become that again to someone who is still here and needs you.  There are still gifts and joy to share.

To my son.  You know I love you.  Always will.  I will be now and forever your mom.

 

About pathfinder

Artist, Writer, Walking wounded.
This entry was posted in Coping with the Death of a Child, Death, Family, Friends, Holidays, Memories, mindfulness and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to the end of the year

  1. Melissa says:

    “So if there is a wish for the new year for all who have lost a beloved child it is this: That their memory of you might surround you and bring you comfort. That they may remind you how beautiful you were to them and that you might become that again to someone who is still here and needs you. There are still gifts and joy to share.” Thank you for this. I needed it. Wishing you some semblance of peace in the coming year.

  2. JoAnn Fisher-Scholtz says:

    I wish you would find time to write a book ~ your words are magic, they bring me comfort.

  3. pandapaw14 says:

    Whether we lose our child in utero or as an adult, the pain is indescribable. When I saw your work today, I connected with your art in a way I’ve never connected with someone’s art. As I read your heart, I begin to understand why our hearts seem to have connected without ever knowing one another’s stories first. It has been 19 years since my son was stillborn, but my heart still aches. Thank you for your art. Thank you.

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