It has been 76 days since I posted my last blog. 76 days! I thought I would be publishing a blog on a fortnightly basis, it has, however, taken me 76 days to clack on the keyboard of my Macbook. Hanzalah left us 164 days ago, he was only with us on Earth for 63 days. It feels quite the opposite as if he was with us for 164 days and has been gone for 63 days. This is the first time I have counted the days in a very long time. Counting the days made the whole process harder to bear.An awful lot can happen in 164 days, an awful lot can happen in 76 days and well I feel like the 63 days has no beginning and no end. And that is because as a bereaved Mother I will relive every moment of those 63 days, every single day, every single thing will just replay in my mind over and over again, and all the other possible ‘outcomes’ and ‘scenarios’ will haunt me forever, it is 4:51 am, the birds are tweeting and I have not slept a wink, just another one of those tough nights. I know, it’s terrifying, isn’t it? The idea of approximately 5 months and 2 weeks passing, you would assume that everything would go back to ‘normal’.
As a newly bereaved mother I read of the struggles other bereaved mothers were still experiencing with the loss of their child, months and many years after they had passed, it terrified me and gave me anxiety. “These feelings are never going to pass,” I thought to myself, “how will I live?”. And then at the same time conflicted I didn’t want the pain to stop, the pain, the hurt, was the love I felt. The pain is what connected me to Hanzalah, (or so I felt at that time). I felt like Hanzalah had left me with his VSD, my heart had a huge hole and though outwardly I looked strong, I was drowning and gasping for oxygen. My arms empty, I clung on to my son’s blanket, fearful, knowing that soon his smell would fade and terrified that my memories of him will too fade (or so I thought).
I had to ‘unlearn’ everything I thought I knew about loss or what others told me about loss and grief. It was now my time to experience the loss of a child and only someone who experienced child loss would understand what I was going through. I turned to a Facebook group for bereaved mothers of cardiac children, for only someone who had lost a child would truly understand the journey I was on. I could use other Mothers’ stories as my survival guide, but I would have to forge my own path and way through this. There is no right or wrong way of finding glimmers of light through the darkness.
Every bereaved mother is an individual, although we share something in common, it is ok to find our own way through grief, in a way that is right for each individual. And, throughout this, the support of the community (that we wish would not increase the way it does) will always be there to lift us when we need it. For it takes a community to raise a child, it takes a community to support a mother through her loss.
I just heard someone cycling down on a pretty squeaky bike, I can absolutely imagine a neighbour sticking their head out a window and yelling, “What kinda lockdown is this?”. Some nutcase on our residents’ Facebook page will probably have an absolute moan, “the squeaking bike really disturbed me in the early hours, it woke me from my sleep!” in my head I’ll probably respond, “sod off! There are more pressing matters in life than a squeaky bike!”. – I shared this because I know my fellow Mommas will relate. We (bereaved mothers) understand, see and experience this ‘new’ world in a way no one else does, without the frills and trims, no time for the trivial. Vivid.
I have so much more that I would like to share. But, I will end here and will hopefully be posting again, soon.
Prayers and hugs for you all.
Thank You, Haleema
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