Moving forward

A friend who recently began to read this blog told me that I sound so angry here. The Beverley she sees on here is not the Beverley she knows. The Beverley she knows does not feel utterly wretched every second of every day.

It’s true I guess. This is my place to rant when I want. This is the place where I don’t feel I have to paint on a smile and pretend that all is OK. This is the place where I can tell it as it is. Where I can be angry, miserable, or even vengeful if I want. This is the place where I go to escape the world that refuses to acknowledge that my son ever lived.

However, this place isn’t representative of my entire life. It isn’t as if I feel I have to pretend all, or even most, of the time. For the bulk of my day, I’m usually fine. I can laugh with others. I can do my job and am even about to take the final step of getting right back into the swing of work as I slowly start seeing bereaved clients again.

I’ve recently taken on work with a Charity I’ve been passionate about for years. It will involve hard work. But work that I’ll enjoy and get so much satisfaction from.

I have a weekend of fun and frivolity booked when I’ll be spending my time with a group of people whose company I really enjoy. It’ll be an opportunity to listen to interesting speakers, meet old and new faces, dress to flatter my new figure – it’s the best it’s ever been - and dance the evening away. I could do with some fun. I deserve it.

This won’t be like Christmas when I just had constant reminders of how much I missed my lad. The difference is that this will be totally unrelated to Al so I’ll feel able to let go a little and enjoy myself.

Hmm. Just typing those words brought on the tears. I love him. I always will. I can’t forget him. And I don’t want to. He will always be the boy I love more than any other boy. But I don’t feel the need to opt out of the rest of life. I need to be able to mourn him - and have fun. I need to be able to remember him, laugh sometimes, and cry sometimes when I think of him. And I need to do things that don’t necessarily trigger memories of him.

Nineteen months ago, I became The Grieving Mother. I have slowly incorporated more than that role into my life. I will always mourn him. I will always grieve for him. It just won’t be every second of every day. And that’s as it should be.

And as with everything since Al died, I imagine this need to move forward a little will consist of a couple of steps forward followed by at least one back, but as long as I keep moving, it will be OK.