Grief changes shape with every passing year.
I felt it the worst in my teens, when grief was a rabid beast and a daily reminder that not only was I a hormonal confused teenager but that I didn’t have a mum.
When I became a mother grief reminded me EVERY SINGLE DAY that I was a motherless mother and I didn’t have a mum to tell me that everything my newborn was doing was perfectly normal.
On my daughter’s ninth birthday grief turned into fear and panic which I wrote about here
I managed to get to my daughter’s tenth birthday without dying but I spent too much time panicking that history might repeat itself. Would I die and leave my daughter motherless?
I didn’t have a Mum from ten onwards (from nine years and 49 days if I’m being pedantic) so I’m well and truly making it up now.
I have no reference point of mothering. In some respects that means less pressure but at the same time it means that I could be making an almighty arse of the whole thing.
Parenting can be hard and I definitely feel it more with my daughter than my son because I will forever see myself in my daughter. I might be a little bit jealous and, at the same time, overwhelmingly relieved, that my daughter still has a mother. That statement is absolutely crazy, I know. See, grief is a complete and utter horror.
A relative gave me a disc this year, with hundreds of family photos on it. Some I’d never seen before – that person will never know what a delicious gift those unseen photos are. Since her death I have always found that I pore over photos featuring my mum. I soak up every minuscule detail that other people wouldn’t necessarily look at – her fingers, the way she holds herself, an ornament in the background, the inkling of an interaction between her and I. I imagine her movements and facial expressions, her head thrown back laughing, a twinkle in her eye.
So last year grief was fear and panic. This year grief is relief. It’s a little smile, a memory of love, of a touch, and a nod to some kind of wonderful that I feel around me every single day.
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9 Comments
Felt the need to revisit this today….i’m not sure why.A wobble? I think so. But that’s ok I think. Needed reminding that i’m not the only one winging it! I have a teenager in the house and it feels more like an alien. But does it feel that way because teenage lives are so different in 2015? Or because I didn’t really have a real teenage life? Both I think x
Felt the need to revisit this page today……not sure why….a bit wobbly?! Yes I think so,but that’s ok. Just need to be reminded that we’re all winging it! xx
What Andy said. You’re a lovely Mum, and a perfect friend. And WHO IS PEELING ONIONS IN HERE? Love you x
I felt and feel all of those things. You are amazing. We are amazing. I am always here for one of the most wonderful people I know and love. And yes the photos sent earlier this year was a truly amazing gift. Xxx
Awww Laura … from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re doing a mighty fine job, and as hard as it is not to have that reference point, like Nickie said, you have your own blank sheet and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’re learning as you’re going, like I am, and we only need to look at how annoying/lovely our kids are to know we are, in fact, doing alright. I reckon the waves of grief will continue to ebb and flow for both of us … forever, but if anyone’s arse needs smacking, I’m hoping it’ll only be mine. K?!! x
I hear you, my lovely, every single word.
I’ll hit the point of no return with Elodie on 27/02/15.
Love you.
xxx
You’re doing more than you’ll ever know for our children. And for me. The struggle you face very rarely rears its head to the population and certainly not to the kids. You have an innate ability to make people love you, which must come from Nana, so in that alone she oversees your/our life and has a overwhelmingly positive effect. Our kids adore you and are both a true representation of you – gorgeousness, happiness, accident prone(ness), touchy-feely(ness) and kindness all rolled into two tall, beautiful, witty, loveable rogues who will never have to face the fears you have.
The fact you’ve made a (previously) stone-hearted, paternally-devoid, unbeliever like me love you more today than when we met 15 years ago, says more than enough about you as a person, parent and wife.
There’ll be no almighty arse making in this house thank you please.
xxxx
We’re all muddling through because there is not ultimate right or wrong way to do anything, even with guidance. Look at your journey through motherhood as a blank sheet – your way to make your mark on the world through your daughter (which I know you already are). I find it harder now that I don’t have my mum to turn to than I did in the early days of my children’s lives. Or maybe I’m just missing the fact that I also don’t have her to turn to any more. It’s bloody hard, isn’t it?
It is bloody hard and I struggle with the fact that grief or no grief there’s no rule book 🙂