Chris is getting the kids into Pokémon Go, and we were reminiscing about how much you enjoyed it. How you had a little notebook where you kept a record of the Pokémon you had for trades. And it made me think about how you kept records. That, and your genealogy passion, and the lists of books we needed to complete series, and so on. How if you could travel back in time you’d ask registrars to use block capitals when they register births and marriages and deaths. And how deeply, sadly ironic it is that poor record keeping appears to be a massive factor in your unnecessary death.
~
I will never see your hands again. We have the same shaped nails, I think. Yours were so smooth. A beautiful shape. I remember how we laughed when I realised how big your thumb is! Next to mine it was enormous. When we came to see your body, you were covered up to your neck. I wanted to see your hands, but all we were allowed was your poor face with the endotracheal tube coming out of your mouth. You didn’t look like you. And I couldn’t see your hands. Those beautiful hands.
~
So, Dolly Parton died. That’s made me really sad. Can you say hi from me? Can someone explain why all the best people are leaving and the evil ones are still here?
~
I don’t want to get out of bed today.
~
Aptly, it was pouring down with rain when I read the Coroner’s ruling on your cause of death. You didn’t have to die. “Gross failure to provide appropriate care.” At every opportunity to help you they failed. Ignored amber and red alerts. Ignored Mum’s concerns. If they had cared enough to do their jobs, you would be alive. “On balance the probability is that he would have survived.” I don’t think I will ever recover from this heartbreak.
~
The physical side effects of grief are insane. My body just isn’t working right. Nothing specific. Just so many niggles. I don’t feel good.
~
Holiday without you. Why aren’t you here? How is this our normal now? I miss you so much.
~
I’ve got a cold. That’s what my body was threatening the past week or so. The stress and the sadness of it all.
~
At the seaside. I pretend you are down by the sea with the others. That feels normal. Or exploring the rocks and caves at the end of the beach. For a few minutes you are on holiday with us.
~
We survived the holiday without you. It was always going to be hard, but your absence was so apparent. None of us can baby-whisper like you. So many times when you would have appreciated what we were doing.
~
Bertie’s struggling again. He said he gets sad because he’s realised one day we won’t be here anymore. Why should an eight year old have to worry about people he loves dying? And I know that’s reality for so many children, but it sucks.
~
Christmas planning has come around. Last year was our first Christmas without you, but we were all so in shock, and everything was already prepped. This year feels like it will be the real first Christmas and I have to start planning but I don’t really want to. It’s my favourite time of year and now it’s the worst. Tradition makes me feel safe, relaxed. But traditionally you have always been there. It turns out that surviving a first doesn’t mean the second is easier. It, in fact, makes it worse. Firsts are tricky, everything afterwards is doing that hard thing over and over again, knowing how hard it will be.
~
I don’t feel well. No idea why, and then I realise the date. Tomorrow is the 21st again. How do our bodies realise before our minds do?
~
Here we are again. Another month since you died. All the inquest business has kept me in a sort of stasis, as though we’re all still stuck at the beginning of the grieving process. Still in the shock of it. Still in disbelief. Grief is the most exhausting state I have ever experienced. I miss you more each day. And I miss everything that has gone from my life because you have taken it with you. And I’m tired of platitudes, and people telling me to look after myself or take a break, and still having to fit my grief in between laundry and educating and cooking and parenting. I know it’s normal to grieve, but it makes the true normal so strange.
