Oh The Places You'll Go

I had a great session with my grief counsellor last week, and it has inspired me to write some more about grief.  My head is quite muddled, so if this blog occurs as muddled, then please just ride with it - and forgive my swearing, sometimes there are just no better words.

Before Leroy was born, I didn't really know much about grief of this magnitude, or about how to be around others who were grieving (particularly the loss of someone close to them) let alone how to be a supportive friend. It got me thinking that there might be something I can contribute to others, not as a criticism of the support I have been getting (it continues to be amazing, thank you so much), or to gain pity or sympathy, but to let people into my world. I find it much easier to communicate through written word on this blog than talk about it, so here goes.

 
There are some times when I feel quite peaceful about Leroy's life, and his death. I think about the enormity of this planet, how tomorrow the sun will rise again, and the birds, insects, plants and animals will keep going about their business. Everything continues, people are living and dying all over the place, all the time.  This is just part of the cycle of life, and we were lucky to have Leroy for as long as we did. 

But other times, it's shit. Don't get me wrong, we are so so grateful, for so many things.  We are so very lucky. To be living in our beautiful strawbale house made with love, to be living next to Long Forest with the kangaroos, birds and bush, to have such amazing friends and family, to have our beautiful son Dylan (gosh I love him so much), and for the strength and love in our our marriage.  But all this does not make up for, or even begin to touch the surface when feelings of deep loss and sadness arise.

There are so many reminders of Leroy and the things we never got to experience with him. I was standing in line at the Post Office a while back, and there was a newborn baby crying behind me. I knew without looking that the baby was a newborn, there is a specific kind of cry that a newborn baby makes.  I could feel deep sadness welling up inside me - I never got to hear Leroy cry. I ran from the shop to the car and cried all the way home. 

I love that book by Dr Seuss. Oh, the places you'll go.  So many gems in it, and today I have been thinking of the bit about being in a 'slump', and about how unslumping yourself isn't easily done. How true. The last few days I have been in a slump.

Beautiful connection between Leroy and his Dad Peter

This morning I rode my bike 10km from home to the train station to go to work.  It's a beautiful time of the day, the sun is starting to come up and kangaroos jump around to avoid me. It's a time when I always think of Leroy. I imagine Leroy everywhere around me, in the crisp morning air and in the beautiful sky.

After I got to the city, I rode to see my chiropractor (Angus) near work to have an adjustment. As I do every time I visit, I look through the client cards and find the 'Mills' to get mine out. Every time I get my card out and see Peter and Dylan's, I think of Leroy, whose card is no longer there. This morning I couldn't hold back the tears. As I spoke with Angus, he looked into my eyes and took in my sadness. It's not an easy thing to do, just to be with someone else's grief and sadness.  But it made the world of difference to me. 

I was talking with my friend (and boss) Peter the other day about how less productive I am at work and how easily distracted I get. Peter is very understanding and tells me it's ok, and that in time my brain will get back up to speed. As we were talking I was looking for a word to describe how I felt and Peter found it for me.... 'wounded'.  Grief is an invisible wound. It's not like a broken leg or a scar that you can see.  The whole thing is quite awkward.

Leroy with his Nana Brenda

For instance, do we say something or do we not (in case we 'upset' the grieving person at mention of the deceased person's name).  I always prefer for people to acknowledge Leroy and our loss.  It's safe to talk about Leroy with us, and we take any opportunity we can to weave Leroy into our conversations - especially at home with Dylan. It's part of honouring and remembering Leroy.

As a culture we're just not that well set up for supporting those who are grieving.  It's completely understandable.  In fact, half the time I don't even know what will help or heal me, so how could others possibly know? I will say that in my experience, words often don't help much when it comes to grief. I don't need advice. I need to be heard, to be listened to and accepted.  A hug, a walk, or just sitting in silence, appreciating nature.  A willingness for others to 'be with' my grief and feelings of sadness and loss - that's what makes a difference to me.

I also know that I have a lot to learn about how to express my sadness and loss and I have been hiding myself away from the world, finding ways to heal. I know I have said it before, but thank you to my friends and family for being patient and giving me the space I have needed. I really am doing my best.

Below are a few things that are commonly said to people who are grieving - I don't think they are helpful - I have to laugh, as I may have said some of these things to other people myself!

- I know how you feel
- It's meant to be
- Over time it will get better
- They are in a better place/heaven
- Never mind

In reading this blog I am reminded of a great article about grief "Who gets in your Bucket" - click here if you would like to read more.

I am not sure if I have accomplished what I set out to do in this blog, I just can't quite find the words - perhaps they will come another time.