Today I entered the world for the first time since our beautiful son Hamish passed 12 days ago. We decided to take our 3-year-old son Master F to FitKids. He loves it so much and he's lost and lonely at the moment and needed to get out of the house. I knew how difficult it would be but I decided to face it. I walked in the door and my heart sank to the floor. Hamish was everywhere. He was wondering around collecting hoops, jumping on the trampoline, tipping the balls into buckets. The beautiful couple that run the programme sensed my pain immediately and embraced me and together we cried. They felt it too. We all struggled today. I cried when Master F got up on the stage and sang 'Twinkle Twinkle'. If Hami was there he would have done the hand actions and clapped enthusiastically when he finished. I cried when F did the uneven bars knowing Hami should be there excitedly waiting for his turn. The pain was raw and real and I missed him with every breath. Sometimes it hurts so much I don't think I can bear it. But I soldiered on, knowing I can't fail my other son and daughters.
Today I even went to the bank. We desperately needed some cash and the ATM was broken so I tip-toed inside feeling fragile and exposed. As I waited in the queue imagining Hami running around my feet, desperately willing the tears to stay put, I heard the woman in front of me getting cross with the teller. "Why are you so useless? My other bank would have no problem printing out a transaction receipt and you can only hand write it? Just do it, for goodness sake. I guess I'll have to hand-write my records," she said. I closed my eyes and tried to block out her rudeness and annoyance. But she continued on for quite a few minutes. It took every ounce of strength I had not to stride over, grasp her by the shoulders and say, "This does not matter. Why are you harassing this perfectly lovely lady over nothing? This is not important. Life is important. Love is precious. You are ruining the moment of someone who doesn't need your spite and angst." I didn't say anything. I've never been good at confrontation. But I strode out of the bank thinking to myself, "I may be full of sorrow, guilt, anger and pain but I will never take it out on others. I don't ever want to be a bitter, twisted old woman."
After lunch some friends popped around for tea and a chat and I managed to talk about things calmly with the occasional break-down. I even managed a small chuckle during the conversation and immediately felt guilty for doing so. My son has not even been gone for two weeks, how can I be anything other than shattered? The moment was fleeting but the guilt lasted for the rest of the day.
My blog has changed forever with the passing of my beloved boy. Yes, Master F had another poo-tastrophe today, yes parenting muddles with keep on keeping on without my darling but my heart and soul have changed irrevocably.
I read a book someone gave me at Hami's memorial entitled "Grief and Life". It was a poignant and heart-breaking journal of a mother who lost a little boy around the same age in a tragic accident. I could identify with so much of it but most of all it demonstrated (in a depressing way) that my journey of grief and loss will continue on for many years. That I will have to navigate my way through many, many dark days ahead. The only way I can sort through the myriad of emotions and memories of my Hamish is to write. I understand it may be too hard, too painful and too depressing for others to read. I will not be offended. I am doing this for me and for the memory of my gorgeous little boy whose life was tragically cut short.
Can I also add (with the tears continuing to stream) how overwhelmed I am by the messages of love and support. The world is a beautiful place (despite the horror I'm currently experiencing) and the people that have commented and contacted me, not to mention those who have brought food and flowers have given me comfort in moments of utter desperation.