All posts filed under: Grief

Grief, galvanized

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I have been on the road that no parent ever wants to walk for a year and two months now. In the car today, Alex made a random remark that got me thinking and now, writing. “You have come a long way“, he said, not meaning it as a hurtful remark but as encouragement and praise. Have I truly? I suppose it all depends on the way one looks at things that molds one’s perception. Yes, it does seem we have travelled a long way on the grief path. Our life, post Georgie, has taken turns I have never known to have existed, let alone desired or planned to take before I lost my boy. If I were to put it simplistically and squeeze it all in two sentences, I guess I would say that: 1. grief has completely and utterly transformed me on the inside. 2. grief has(paradoxically and illogically to the non-bereaved) liberated me to see the world in a way I wouldn’t have been able to, had I not lost my son and …

#LiveItForGeorgie

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Many of my friends have asked recently about our plans for the 5th of July. On the day, we will mourn the loss of our baby boy afresh as the time will mark, cruelly, a year since Georgie left us. I know that this boy is loved by many more people than we will ever know and I decided to include you all in the marking of what has been the most difficult year of our lives. On the day, we will be on our own. We will spend the day remembering a sweet boy’s face, personality and character and will do things to honour his short life. This is where I want to invite you to take part. I want to launch a campaign called #LiveItForGeorgie. I want to invite you all, alongside family members and friends, to create a bank of memories in the memory of my boy. You see, Georgie never got to do many things on this earth. The simplest things, that we all take for granted. Like ….eating an ice …

Anger

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I am so angry tonight. I don’t recall being so very angry ever before. I am so angry I could punch someone, with the intention to harm and hurt. I am so angry, I could smash my whole house down. I am so angry, I had to get out of bed and come and write this as my therapy. I am so angry, I do not care who reads this and how it could be misinterpreted. I am so angry, I just want to scream. Last night, I found out the cancer Georgie had has been doing fresh victims. But most likely, my search for an answer to the “why?” will remain forever unanswered. As people do not want to associate with parents who have lost their children. As if losing a child makes me or my lost child losers. They think they are special. Different. Not like me. They do not understand that malignant cells do not have prejudices and unless stopped at the root cause, they will do the same harm, again and …

Do you know…

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Do you know how close I am to the brink each and every day? Do you know how much it takes out of me, to act as if everything is okay? Do you know how my heart aches when I see your brand new boy? Do you know how far I feel from everything that will ever mean joy? Do you know how much courage it takes to choose to live every single day, When the alternative to stop breathing and wither away brings less disarray ? Do you know how your never tested faith reeks insult to my broken heart? Do you know how your reminders of heaven nail me to the ground? Do you know that it can never be enough, To have only one child with me, while the other’s shadow hangs over us? Do you know how hard it is to reveal my bruised heart to you, Knowing that, most likely, you do not have a clue? Do you know that my baby has been gone now 11 months, And that …

This time last year…

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This is what I used to wake up to this time last year. And although the going was horribly hard and we were stuck in a hospital room and NEVER allowed out, for fear of infections, this little sweet face brightened my day. Every day. I have realised that most of you didn’t know us back then so this was meant to be an insightful blog post into what the cancer ward really is for a family. I wanted to tell you how exceptionally draining it was on our marriage, on our bodies, on our emotions to live apart. To not be together as a family for over two months. To live out of suitcases and plastic bags. To live off food that people kindly cooked for us all those weeks. To wish your daughter good night over the phone, with her crying and asking you to come home. To see your own mother crumble every time you walked in through that door, bone-weary and burdened to the ground with the load of your baby’s …