All posts filed under: Writing

“Dear Brittany”

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If you live in America, you are sure to have heard about Brittany Meinard and her terminal cancer which has prompted her to take matters into her own hands and decide the day she will die. It will be in 3 weeks from now, the first week in November. She is also advocating for the law to be changed throughout America and for everybody who is facing a terminal condition to be granted the choice to “die with dignity.” This is my open letter to Brittany: “Dear Brittany, I am so sorry to hear about your condition. But most of all, I am so sorry to hear about your decision to end your own life, before suffering and incapacitation set in. I do not write this letter from an idealistic and lacking real perspective point of view. You see, this time last year, I was pregnant with expectation, joy and idealism. I was carrying what I thought to be the fulfilment, the completion of my picture perfect family, a wonderfully gorgeous baby boy. Brittany, that …

Memories

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I had to carefully consider taking on the writing of this post as this is such a sensitive topic for me: memories with my baby. In the end, I decided to go ahead and include this post in my writing  journey through grief. Documenting grief  is such an important matter and so useful to so many grieving parents out there and their families. All my memories with Georgie are precious memories. Cuddles and belly laughs and feverish nights and medical procedures. Our precious time together in the hospice spent going out for walks, swimming and just holding hands all form a beautiful tapestry of pain and joy and sorrow tightly interwoven in my memory. For the joy of the memory of his big, toothless grins can not be separated in my head from the pain of his premature departure. Just like the pain of not having him here anymore, of having to live my life without his beautiful presence cannot be separated from the pride I feel every single time I think of him and …

Advice for when you have a bereaved friend

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Georgie has been gone for 11 weeks now and of course we have encountered a large array of reactions to the fact that we are now bereaved parents. 5 things and approaches I have been finding helpful: 1. Let me take the lead I have found very liberating the fact that many friends and acquaintances have allowed me to take the lead in this. A simple “sorry for your loss” usually has sufficed but for me the most precious reaction has been the utterance, either verbal or non-verbal “it is ok to feel whatever you need to feel when I am around.” I have been very honest with my emotions. In my own terms. in my personal space, which is either my home or my blog. The chances are slim that I will burst into tears on the street or in a random conversation. But if I lead the conversation towards Georgie and either rant about a baby blankie, shed a tear or tell you about one of our horrific hospital experiences, the most you …

Frustration

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It has slowly crept in. Like a dirty, minging dog into the immaculate and impeccable territory of a house-proud home owner. This feeling of frustration. Of hopelessness. Of despair. Of “I will never amount to anything much.” For years now I have longed to be of use. To my husband. To God. To society. I have prayed. I have blogged. I have enquired. I have applied. I have kept my hope. I have fought. Yet nothing has happened. For I am still only a stay at home mummy. I am still only an overqualified yet useless substitute teacher. I am still only a dreamer with big dreams of communities changing through the involvement of the church. Dreaming of the reversal of the curse of generational patterns. I am still only a mummy blogger, like so many other thousands in the UK. I am still only a writer who dreams that her words will one day change and soothe and give hope. I have so many talents. I have such a desire to help and serve …

I am it all…

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For those who know me in person, I know that you find it strange. I am sure you asked yourself how come my posts and pictures are so emotionally heavy yet my day-to-day countenance so “normal.” How come I can joke and be silly and give off about the most banal of things while in the same time I mourn the loss of my precious son. I do because I am it all: 1. I am the grieving mother who cracks up every single day in the safety of her home and the sacredness of her kitchen and cries until the knot of pain unties, just for that day, just to be able to breathe. 2. I am the angry mother who beeps her horn( I did it on Monday, in my weak defense) and calls you “lazy bum” if you park in the middle of the road at school run times. Because I have no tolerance not patience, nor do I understand why apparently healthy individuals choose to not walk an extra fifty steps. …