I’ve been staring at this blank page all day, trying to think up something to write about. Playing the amusing moments with Amy over in my head and despairing of ever sleeping again with Isaac.
Amy is … challenging. She’s almost three. I expect it from her, pushing the boundaries and being consistently naughty to see if my reaction is the same each time. For the record, it is.
Isaac? Well he’s just not sleeping. I’m awake with him every hour or so overnight and then up for the day around 4-5am. By the time I get him back to sleep Amy is awake. I’m a little bit of a wreck.
I should be telling you a story.
I should be pulling out the funny bits from my day and stringing them together into something cohesive.
I should be writing.
Instead I’m stagnating. I can’t get the words to flow properly out of my fingertips.
I feel sad.
Very very sad.
Mum said it’s been 42 days.
Forty-two days.
Isn’t 42 the answer to life, the universe and everything?
42 days has not held any answers for me.
I’m still heartbroken.
***
When we moved into this house, Nan helped me pack everything. She came around with boxes and bags, brought morning tea and helped me pack the entire contents of my rental house. She played with Amy and helped move things. When she left that night, my sun room was full of boxes and we were ready to move.
When this house we bought was filthy, she came up with rags and cleaning supplies and helped Nathan and I [and Nat’s family] scrub this house top to bottom. Nan remembered things that we’d forgotten, like big gloves and a thermos full of hot coffee.
Nan was the only visitor I didn’t mind just dropping in. She didn’t care if the house was messy. She’d play with Amy while I tidied.
I miss her.
So much.
***
We walked this path together.
We three.
Mum, Nan and me.
We held hands.
We discussed details.
We held each other up,
With chocolate;
Coffee;
And cake.
We walked this path together.
Through the good news and the very worst news.
When there was nothing more that they could do.
We three. Together.
***
I’m all out of funny lately.
Oh I smile and I laugh. But I’m still so awfully sad.
This is not easy.
I feel broken.
Hang in there!I know it feels neverending, but you will get through this phase. Is there someone who can come over & give you a break for a couple of hours?
It was the 3rd anniversary of my Grandma’s death the other day – she would be 101 this year had she lived. Memories of her popped into my head at odd times during the day, and I was sad that my son will never know her, but she lives on in the many stories we tell.
Hugs.
It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to feel crap.
Grief has no rules and there should be no expectations.
Peace and strength my friend, to you and your mum.
Oh sweetheart. ((hugs)) It will take time hon. Sending you lots of love xx
I am so there with you. It’s been almost three months. I keep expecting mom to be there, to help me, to laugh with me the way she always did. I miss my best friend more than ever.
*heart hurt* Hang in there.
Like Tiff said – it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to be sad and feel the empty place in your life that she used to fill. The thing is – she will always be in that place – in your life. All the things she taught you about life and living are still there – you will forever reference those things as you move forward. She made you strong – and she will show you the way out of this lethargy – an fact, she already has. You just have to remember.
I got nothing.
Time, I suppose, that makes it better bit by bit.
It takes lots of time to heal, way longer than 42 days! Hugs, it will get better eventually.
I have nothing to offer but ((hugs)). It’s been 4 years since I lost my Grammy. Some days it still takes my breath away.
Holding you close in thoughts.
All my love to you and your mum.
it will get better my lovely.
You are cycling through the stages.
It will get easier.
I promise.
Oh honey. 42 days is like yesterday. Let yourself move through the grief, and we’ll be here to cry with you now and laugh with you later.
42 days is not a long period of time. Try to be patient with yourself and give yourself the time to grieve. She was a HUGE part of your lives. ((hug))
Nan may not be ‘here’ but she is ‘there’, with you in every part of your life just as she always has been.
Hugs
” I should be telling you a story..”
You have told a story, a wonderful trip down memory lane. It’s okay to be sad, it’s only been 42 days. That’s no time at all.
Memories keep your beloved Nan alive inside your heart. They sometimes bring tears and sometimes bring smiles. It takes time to heal and it hasn’t been a long time! Helen Keller said, “What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeplly becomes a part of us!” Big hugs from SA xx
Nobody expects you to be doing anything, except your children. Somehow they are the most demanding ones and the ones we dont mind bending over backwards for. But this blog of yours, its an escape when you need it. It’s also an escape for others. I sit here with a coffee browsing in my ‘mummy’ time, and I enjoy reading. I really do. Sometimes I’m laughing and sometimes I’m sitting silently. It’s only been 42 days.
I agree with Tiff… the process of grief is different for everyone, and there is no “right way” to do it. You need to take as much time as you need and understand that it’s ok. You don’t need to be anything more than what you are, right now.
PS – I found that my daughter never had the Terrible Twos. She had the Terrible Threes and Fucking Awful Fours. And then it got better. And now she’s awesome. You’ll get there too.
When you can’t sleep the world can feel hopeless. I promise a day will come when the little one sleeps all night. You will wake up and blink and the clock on go, “What’s wrong? Why didn’t the little one wake up? Is he OK?” You will rush to the crib to see he’s just fine and sweetly sleeping.
Keep breathing for me. OK? Long deep breathes.
Just one of those events could topple anyone – it is hard to imagine dealing with both at the same time. Be good to yourself.
I am in the sleep-dep myself, and it is hard to believe my life as I knew it isn’t over, or that who I was hasn’t died in the process of all the freaking momming going on. One of the only things that keeps me going is that I vaguely remember it eventually got better.
I’ve been there. It’s hard. It’s crazy hard. I have no words except that I understand. So VERY much. (Having had a nearly 3 year old challenging girl and a non-seeping baby boy.) I’ve also lost my Grandmother too soon. There just are no words.
And that’s ok.
XOXOXO
big hugs
thinking of you
i am always here if ya need..
It’s absolutely okay to be out of funny. Sometimes just getting by is enough. You don’t owe US anything. You owe yourself time… to heal and get through the pain of grief.
I am so sorry. It’s perfectly fine to feel all that you are. Holding you and your mum close in my thoughts.
I’m sorry. It sucks. I don’t know what else to say. I wish I had the right words but rubbish with words when it matters. I’m thinking of you.
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