It has been a while since I've blogged. I have slipped out of the habit, or the need, to blog as often as before. That doesn't for a minute mean that I have nothing to say, but it is more a case that most people don't listen now like they used to.
It is now 3 years, 1 month and 6 days since I held my son in my arms and had to watch him die. I could dress this up and make it more gentle, and say he 'left' or he 'flew away' or he 'became an angel', but I can't say that in this blog because he did die, and so did my future plans and my 'family unit’.
I have realised now that this wasn't my hardest day. My hardest day has been living every single day since that moment. Feeling for things, and searching for things to make my life 'worth it'. I haven't yet found that, I am still searching. I still know exactly how many days I have survived.
But, I can now pretend.
I can laugh more freely, but noone really looks in my eyes.
I can cry now and again, but noone gets to see my despair.
I can joke around, but noone sees the tears of the clown.
I live my life in 3 parts. Before Haydon. Haydon. After Haydon. There will be no other part.
Am I who I was before Haydon? - No. I barely resemble her, in looks or values. I can't list everything because the changes are too vast, and they hurt too much to remember.
The people that know me really well see glimpses of the old me, but briefly. They love those moments, I can see it on their faces, and their body language. They hope that the old 'Me' is finally back. But it doesn't last for too long because then I remember. Then I feel, and I think, and I'm the new 'me' again.
I no longer hide my grief to protect others because the hardest thing is hiding him, that boy, my son, my life and love, my heart. Haydon. I may wait to say what I have to, because not all times are appropriate, but if I feel the need to speak up and out about him, I will. That is different. His life is just as valid as anyone else's child. His experiences count and they do matter. Hiding him hurts me.
This year is bringing further change. A change that I never for one second thought I would celebrate. Or that Jim would celebrate. But, we will. We are ending our days of fertility. The advice was always that I wasn't strong enough physically after all my losses to try for another child, but after Haydon we didn't want another child anyway because we only wanted him. We struggled with the guilt of not wanting another, either though adoption or fostering or surrogacy. We allowed ourselves time to change our mind, but our minds are still the same. No other child would be him, so we are ending this phase permanently. We have sought advice and the wheels are turning. My health is still fragile, so Jim is getting a Vasectomy.
For my entire life of being surrounded by children, and raised with so many, all I wanted was a big family of my own to love. Jim only has a brother, so for him the idea of a large family was frightening, but exciting. We hold no excitement or hope for this anymore. We are focusing on 'Us'. Just 'Us'. And our beautiful hearted dogs that are our 'family' now.
We expected that decision to be hard. It wasn’t.
So where am I? I am still putting one foot in front of the other and I am still easily thrown, still lacking confidence and panic at the thought of large crowds and busy places, but I am more able.
You can't describe this journey. Not really.
But I can thank those who have walked beside us, and still are walking.
(written 12th May 2015 and originally published on Helen’s blog myweebubba)