Those of us who have been through child loss know as well as anyone the power of a moment in time. Grasping those moments with the child you know you may not have long, and trying to survive in the meantime and the after. It’s so easy to slip into a depressive cycle after losing your…
Guest Post by Tam
Eyes downcast, she walks by. In this way nobody can see her tears. The essence of her very being was stripped from her, all she thought she knew the understanding of the world, this world, her world. Had it only been two weeks? Has it already been two weeks? Time has no meaning in this alternate universe of incessant pain, anger and loss. The sun will come out tomorrow, but the tomorrows seem so endless. When will the tomorrow that brings joy come, when will the tomorrow of relief, of fond memory, of reflection arrive? That time is taunting her. She’s been told of it, the time that a smile will come across her face, that time where her eyes will light up and she will begin to feel restored. She needs that day…
Her step seems lighter. Those who know her well marvel, those who don’t know her probably can’t tell. She walks by, smiles at the elderly lady with the umbrella, and nods a polite hello at the man on the corner whose eyes have met hers. The air feels crisp and has the scent that only the rain falling during a summer storm can bring. She knows to the day, how long it has been. Every one of those 232 days she has thought of her, for at least half of those days she has cried for her. Even now, a tear comes to her eye, those flowers, would she have liked them?
She walks by, head held high and confidence in her step. She appears determined, purposeful and unaware of admiring glances. Something about her catches their eyes; people are drawn to her, to her easy nature, to her atmosphere of courage, and self belief.
They don’t know her past, her great loss, or her fight to find her new normal. Some of those who knew her back then don’t recognise her now.
Some of her oldest friends have moved on; into their places have come new friends. Looking back on who she used to be she can scarcely recognise that person anymore. So much has happened; the two years have flown by. Pausing at the florist she buys the prettiest bunch of flowers she sees. A small smile passes fixes on her lips; she knows she would have loved them…
Her children are grown, and have moved into their own homes. Her grandchildren are starting their own families. She reclines on the deck, holds her tea close and admires the beauty in the world around her. Her granddaughter, a baby of 21 sits silently beside her.
“How?” The one word question holds so much hurt. She has been waiting for this conversation, the fresh tears still cling to her granddaughter’s eyelashes, her innocence has been stripped away.
She is angry, she is hurting. She wants to know how she survived the greatest pain, the loss of her infant daughter all those years ago. The answer is simple yet intricate.
“No matter what happens. No matter how your heart breaks, how you cry, how often you feel as though you are breaking in two, you can’t do this wrong. You can’t grieve wrong, and someday, in the tomorrow’s that are yet to come, you will find peace, and happiness and restoration. Now hurts, so much. But it will get better. Hold on, and one tomorrow, it will get better. “