I’ve not written about grief for a while, I’ve been too consumed with surviving, and recovering.
I’ve gotten through another January – January is the month when I lost both my parents, my Mother at the beginning of January and my Dad at the end. It’s a tough month – one full of reflections of what might have been, could have been, should have been.
The realisation today, as I walked to collect my son from his school, is that they did not get to meet him.
Will never know him.
That my Father met my partner on our first week of dating when I had to rush to be by my Dad’s bedside after he was hospitalised with his stomach cancer. My partner to be at the time had rushed down to visit us, along with my best friend, they’d shared a six hour car journey to come be by our sides….and upon entering my Dad’s hospital room had been asked, by an extremely frail old dying man, whether he was going to marry me. Ah my Dad, was still the joker, even then as he was being consumed by the cancer. But it’s that memory, that Dad did get to meet the man who would become my life partner, which cushions the bitter sweetness of the memory. Because my Mother never will.
So the life I live now, is far from the one, my parents would and did envisage for me, I came late to motherhood, marriage and a mortgage. They would have laughed, to realise I would have trod this path, after all my fervent denials.
Their losses, impacted on who I was, they were my tipping point. From each death, I became a different person, embracing life a little bit more, and realising that life is not about the possessions you collect, but about the people you love.
That is the gift I can try to give my own child, to realise that it’s the people we love, and bring into our lives, that are important, not how much you earn, but how much you can give back.
Hard lessons, learned through pain and grief. But lessons that I am grateful for learning.