Vulnerable

Today I learnt how important it is that I 'go gently'. How in the rush of trying to maintain 'normality', I forgot how incredibly vulnerable I am. Like tissue paper, wafer thin and very easily damaged, particularly when pressed.

My two beautiful boys. Hami always smiling.

I'm reading Anita Moorjani's book 'Dying To Be Me'. It's about Anita's own Near Death Experience with cancer, what she experienced, how she chose to return and how she uses what she learnt in the other realm to 'live fearlessly' in this life.  I understand her message and would love to implement it in my own life but with grief continuing to shackle me to relentless sorrow, how do you rise above it and live as love, with purpose and meaning?  I want to be like Anita, living completely without any fear, believing tirelessly of her own worth and value on this Earth. Of course, there are certain things I don't fear, death being one of them. Death isn't frightening to someone who has lost a child to the other side (sorry I'm assuming other bereaved parents feel this way).  But in many ways, I do fear life, my new life, without Hamish.

I'm having trouble keeping my emotions in check, and that in turn, is threatening my ability to empathise with other people. I just don't see 'troubles' the the same way I used to. Most of them are inconveniences, things that can be worked through over time and overcome. I want to give. I want to give as so many people have given to me over the last 3 and a half months. I want to pay it forward, knowing that little things can make a big difference.  Unfortunately, I can't yet see outside of my own intense pain (at least just yet) and I guess today I recognised it.

We tried to put on smiles for Hami's birthday in NZ.

I lost Hamish suddenly. There were no goodbyes, no chance to get in extra kisses and cuddles. There was no chance to prepare for his departure from this life in any shape or form. He was stolen from me, abducted instantly and that beautiful, beloved extension of me was forever gone. He was my favourite part of me. He was everything I wish I was. Non-judgemental, forever happy, content to bask in the love of his family without a care in the world. What a gift Hamish was! To come, to love with his total being and to leave, not in the least bit tainted by the angst and pain that lurks in the world. In some ways, he lived perfectly. He didn't get his heart broken, his trust was in tact and all he did was give, particularly to us his family, who were very happy to receive.

Unfortunately, I am living with the broken heart, with the fractured trust, and the battered life. At some point I will want to live my life again, with meaning, with purpose, without fear.  Maybe I will, one day, but all I can do right now is breathe, to keep out of life's trivialities (or let them wash over me), and to love and take care of my family and hopefully myself.

In her book, Anita talks a lot about the importance of self-love. How crucial it is to living in bliss and embracing life. That's something I've never been very good at. I've never been a smart enough, thin enough, successful enough, a good enough mother, daughter, sister, wife, friend. I've never trusted my own instincts, trusting my friends before myself. Even when I've been complimented for writing this blog, I've dismissed it. I've set my own standards so ridiculously high, it was incredibly easy to fail and beat myself up for not being enough.

Perhaps that's a good place to start in my 'new normal life' without my beloved boy.  Perhaps I need to give myself a break, practice self-care and stop giving myself unrealistic expectations to live by. Maybe I need to stop setting high expectations of others and just accept them as they are, as people capable of great love, as I am.

Sorry, it's all rather 'on the couch' tonight. I guess healing has to start somewhere right? As my Psychiatrist tried to tell me the other day, "You don't have to be intelligent, rational and post-renaissance about it all. You just need to tell it as it is."

I'm trying.

Thanks for listening.