Peace

Peace is a dream on the horizon. It's elusive and mostly unachievable but occasionally, it's filmy silhouette caresses my fingertips. It gives me hope that I will not always feel turmoil, horror, blackness.  It dips and rises and gently hovers above me before dissolving into the atmosphere.

Hami loved the beach

Today I touched it. I know what it feels like and I hope to feel it again and I found it in the most unlikely place. In water.

My beautiful baby boy died because of water. Even writing the word 'water' fills me with horror, dread and pain. Quicksand camouflaged as icy blueness. As much as I'd like to, I can not escape it. As the mercury arches over 30 degrees most days, my children beg to swim in my sister's pool (ours is off-limits). How can I refuse the joy it gives them to splash and play with their cousins? For a few weeks now I've been forced to watch them play in the pool. I still glare at it through narrow eyes but I allow my children to revel in its relief. My kids don't blame the water for taking Hami away, they blame the gate for not doing its job.  I blame myself, my husband blames himself. Blame, guilt, regret. Nasty, soul-destroying feelings. But the water played a part in the horrific nightmare that never ends.

Me in water? A completely different matter.  Even on days when the temperature touches 40 degrees I swelter, revelling in the uncomfortable feeling it provides. How can I consider it? How can I find relief in the very substance that took my son away? Some days I even have difficulty living when my son is not.

I did it.

Yesterday I took a step. Actually it was a massive leap.  I awoke at 4.50am and my sister and I drove to the beach to meet up with a group of runners for a gentle 7 km jog. Nourishing food for a starving soul. But even in the early hours of the morning, the humidity sapped our energy and as we returned to the main beach all of the members of our group took off their running shoes and entered the sea.  I didn't second guess myself. I didn't think about the implications. I just did it. I allowed the gentle waves to crash at my back and pull at my hair. The power of what I was doing didn't escape me for a single second. I kept my head skyward as if to show my son. "Look Hami! Look what mummy is doing. Are you proud of me my darling?"  I wanted to shout. I tried to keep the terrible negative thoughts from entering my mind and I mostly succeeded.

I wanted to hate the sea. I wanted to curse it's refreshing saltiness, but I only emerged feeling slightly more healed than I did when I entered it. I don't want to give the water credit for its restorative qualities, but in a small way it licked my gaping wounds.  They will never be healed, it's pink rawness ever-present, but there is something about embracing nature, hope and life that forces you to see it's beauty. I needed to be reminded that my life is not over, as I think/want it to be most days. It can be renewed. It can be renewed in the most unlikely of places.

It is now just a few hours away from midnight. My daughter doesn't understand why we aren't celebrating New Year's Eve as we do most years.  "Daddy and I don't feel like celebrating," I explained.  "But New Year's Eve is meant to be celebrated," she said.  "Not this year, I'm sorry" I replied.  I feel very little for it. It is a not a chance for new beginnings. It is not a blank page in a new book. The slate cannot be wiped clean.  Hamish is my past, my present, my future. He is my forever. A new calendar year means nothing to me except I'm another day closer to being reunited to my sweet, beautiful angel.

However, I do have goals for the next year and the year after (call them resolutions if you will):

1. To write a book for Hamish
2. To ensure my children feel loved and treasured every day
3. To honour Hamish every day
4. To tell my husband I love him every day
5. To nourish my body and soul
6. To be a good friend
7. To live a meaningful life
8. To feel self-worth
9. To live more simply
10. To feel gratefulness


It's ambitious to be sure, particularly for a woman unable to make plans for tomorrow. Achievable? I hope so.

Whatever, your dreams, goals, aspirations are for 2013, I wish you all the very best.

Thank you for listening this year.  I'm lucky to have found such understanding and support.

Love,