I took my rainbow Harrison (3) to a Kindy event today – an under 8’s day. It was supposed to be fun, supposed to be a family event, with an animal farm as well, until a little girl in his class grabbed my other hand and said ‘my mummy couldn’t make it can I walk around with you and Harrison.’ And of course I said yes, but just like that the grief washed over me. I shouldn’t have a spare hand to grab, they should both be taken, by both my boys, but only one is still here on Earth.I’m tired of knowing that there are simply more of these painful moments to come. I lost my first-born, so at that time I never really knew all the things I would miss out on until Harrison came along, and now, as he does these things, they are things I am also missing out on with Jasper. I can’t make people understand – and nor would I want them to – it’s soul destroying and you cannot make people understand that your heart will physically ache for the rest of your life. Before Jasper, I didn’t even know a heart could ache. And yet still I hear that I should be grateful for what I have, when in actual fact, the loss of Jasper has made me able to appreciate happiness and joy more so than before – to really appreciate what I do have. But no matter what, the empty room is always empty, and nothing brings back what you have lost, and what you can never have. I will never get mementos, hold his hand, argue with him, meet his first girlfriend, get tired of him arguing with his brother, watch him get married and see his children. All of that died the day he did. And yet I watch his younger brother achieve what was robbed of him every day.
And I realised – I am so sick of grieving. It’s been almost 7 years and to some I am a veteran and to others I am still so new on this journey. Some things have gotten easier but not the things I miss out on... that Harrison misses out on. I’m sick of still feeling like that – sick of still feeling confused, still feeling guilty, still feeling like I could have done more, still feeling angry, feeling sad and above all feeling discouraged in myself that I haven’t done better.
I’m tired of my grief. I don’t want to feel sad. I don’t want to have an internal breakdown when one of my son’s friends wants to join us to look at the farm animals. I don’t want that hole in my heart to be pierced open at the drop of the hat. And I was asked today – if you could spend only 15 minutes with your loved one in heaven, would you? Of course I would. I’d do it in a split second just to hold my baby boy in my arms again. To tell him that I love him one more time. To make sure he is happy. The explosion of grief would be terrible, but I live with grief every day, so why wouldn’t I just to see him again?
For the most part I enjoy all the beauty in life and am grateful for what I do have. Every day with my rainbow is a blessing and I often get comments of how clear the love we have for each other is. But you can’t control emotion and it crashes down on you, drowning you like a wave and all you can do is try and stay afloat until the wave recedes.
Tired. At the moment it is a word that sums up my life. Tired of grieving. And knowing that the road is stretched out in front of me, never-ending, is one of the most tiring things.
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Wife to Corey and Mumma to two boys: Jasper Rhys in heaven and Harrison Phillip Robert in her arms. Jasper passed away after PPROM at 23 weeks and birth at 26 weeks, surviving for 10 hours in the NICU unit. Currently completing a Master of Social Work with the goal to aid in the safety and protection of all children, because all children deserve to feel safe and loved.