I know of jobs that are available and their deadlines but have done nothing about them. It’s as if I’m paralysed by it all.
And on top of that, I’ve slowly realised – well I knew this but I hadn’t articulated it quite so clearly to myself - that my anger is not because my son is dead. My anger exists because I feel my grief is ignored.
I know he is gone. I hurt beyond belief because he is gone. But I am consumed with a fury at the indifference displayed by those who should care.My anger is not a direct result of his death. It’s a direct result of others lack of concern, lack of compassion, lack of basic humanity.
I miss him more this week. I don’t know why that is. You’d think I’d have enough on my mind worrying about whether the house will be repossessed by Christmas and we’ll have nowhere to live. But instead thoughts of Al permeate through everything this weekHe was the perfect baby. He slept well, breastfed well, ate anything and everything I gave him – except baked beans – if they were dished up, his bottom lip would tremble and huge tears would well up and spill down his cheeks as if I’d given him a large bottle marked POISON and told him to drink.
This week I find myself remembering his physical form. It’s as if my body can feel him in my arms – how he lay in my arms sleeping, how soft his skin was, how long his lashes were when he blinked and tickled my cheek with them. And again years later - when I bought him his first electric razor and he rubbed his chin against my cheek to demonstrate how smooth his skin was. My arms ache for him.
The irony is that if he were still here, I’d tell him of my awful news and he’d gaze into the air, sniff, and then ask, “What’s for tea?” It isn’t as if he was ever a shoulder to cry on. I just miss the normality of him being around. I want to tell him I’ve lost my job and then feel annoyed at him for his lack of empathy. I want my normality back. I want my son back. I miss my boy.
Oh Beverley - your arms ache for him - I feel I know exactly what you mean. It is strange that whilst I have always worried I would forget, I remember her presence so clearly.
ReplyDeleteI think it is hard as our children's deaths slink into the dim and distant past for everyone else. I suppose that is why we need each other.
I'm sorry the job situation is so worrying. Everything else is just so much harder to deal with now. Very much hope the threats come to nothing - at least it is promising that there are other jobs available. I know you will summon up the energy to start applying if you need to.
Susan xx
Thanks Susan.
ReplyDeleteThe other jobs that are available make no use of my skills, education or years of training. I'm afriad there are no vacanices in that area. Instead I am forced to look at shop work/cleaning/factory work/any unskilled work really.
I'll do it if I have to but I just feel cheated for all the years of energy I put into education and training.
Hmm, to be honest, I don't regret those years or the effort. I loved it all so I guess it wasn't a total waste after all.
Echoing Susan and alongside you both with achey arms. What I think I miss more than anything is Kieron's capacity to love and be loved.If he taught me nothing else it's that he taught me what love for a child means. Sleepness nights, tantrums, food fads (he liked baked beans),soft dewey cheeks and cheeky grins. If only we could all turn back time.
ReplyDeleteSending you both huge hugs xx