Grief can be an abyss. A great, gaping chasm of emptiness, pain and suffering. Sometimes you flounder around in the darkness unable to get a foothold or handhold. It doesn't matter what small progress you make, you eventually slide back down to the bottom with broken fingernails full of dirt. It's cold and lonely and very dark at the bottom. It's easy to lose hope. Perhaps you'll always be there. Perhaps you'll die there.
The Great Chasm of grieving for a child sometimes feel like it has no depth or width. There is no time or space for it to begin and end. It is limitless and unquantifiable.
It makes me look at the stuff that surrounds me and realise I don’t need so much of it. I need to de-clutter, simplify. The problem is I look at the mountain of toys in the corner of the living room and think how can I give away the ones Hamish touched? The ones that made him smile? Should I? Could I? I look at interior design magazines and pine for the minimalist spaces where things are simple, functional. There’s so much room to breathe. But there’s so much love in the stuff in our house. They invoke memories and nostalgia.