On grief and gratitude

grief_gratitude

Image from Grief to Gratitude blog

To Little One

It was your 7th birthday last month. Facebook popped up a picture of you, 2 years old in your yellow corduroy party dress (you might not even know what Facebook was if you read this in the future). You had a little sprout of hair tied up in a hair bobble. Even then your fringe liked to fall in your face! Your blue eyes were as beautiful and expressive then as they are today.

I hope you are able to read Mummy’s blog in the future. I know you get cross sometimes when words are so hard they make your brain hurt. I promise we will keep playing musical bumps with your word cards, and laser tag – remember how you love dancing to Minions music and the Trolls soundtrack? We are so proud of how hard you try and how much you love it when we read poems and stories to you.

You had a pizza making birthday party last month – do you remember? You and your friends loved squeezing the pizza dough and rolling it into big ropes to bash on the table! There’s a pang of sadness sometimes that we don’t have pictures of your first birthday party – because we didn’t have one. I’m sorry. Mummy was still so very poorly. I’d love to have made you a cake with chocolate buttons and one pink candle to blow out. But now I get to make you Rapunzel cakes, and rainbow meringue cakes (your big sister is very good at those unicorn poop meringues isn’t she?)

Almost every night-time, Daddy and I pop into your bedroom before we go to bed. You sleep so beautifully! Did you know, sometimes you pucker up your lips in your sleep – just like you are feeding from mummy, or from your bottle. I really missed feeding you when I had to go to hospital. I love it when you lay in my arms even now you’re 7, just to pretend that you’re a baby again.

You love to carry your baby doll in the sling we bought you for your birthday – do you remember it? Grandma and Grandad bought you a talking baby doll who giggles and sounds like she’s saying your name sometimes. She looks so snug when you hold her on your chest. You’ve always loved pretending to be a mummy. You kiss and cuddle your baby dolls and you talk to them in a soft sing-song voice. I love to watch you play ‘babies’ – because I think maybe you learned how to be a really good mummy from me, even though I was poorly for a very long time. That makes me feel very grateful.

You love your new baby cousin Maisie so much. I wonder if you’ll have a chance to feed her some mashed up pear in the holidays? I know you’re very excited about that. Sometimes I have an aching heart, hoping for a lovely person for you to be a parent with in the future. It might be harder to meet a special person when you have learning difficulties… but we’ll find a way. Daddy and I think we might like to be called Pops and Nanna if we are grandparents when we are older. Won’t that be funny!?

Little One, our hopes and dreams for you remain the same. That you know you are deeply loved, that you find fun and purpose in your life, that you have people to support you through sorrow and joy. Love you forever.

xxx

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History into future

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I made two skeins of t-shirt yarn today.  A task to do from home in my personal assistant role while my friend is away.  I save the fronts of the t-shirts for a blanket project my friend has in mind, and the backs are destined for crochet yarn.

There will be remembrance of history – a different time and space in life – in her blanket project.  There will be the creation of a new story in beautiful things made of t-shirt yarn.  I am grieving for this friend as she continues to endure a long and exhausting season of pain.  I am humbled by her ability to see a future of beauty.  I am encouraged by the vision she has to create new from old.

Images from ‘Big Hook Rag Crochet’ by Dedri Uys

It’s slow, mindful work producing t-shirt yarn.  The fabric is sliced almost to the top in equal sections.  Turn the fabric through 180 degrees, slice every section in half – stopping just before the top.  The corners of each section are rounded off, until a long single string of yarn emerges.  Wind the yarn gently around your hand into a skein.  I want to buy some beautiful brown paper luggage tags to label the yarn in length and width.

It’s slow work unravelling my history to make something beautiful for my future.  I’ll be pondering the lessons I could learn from t-shirt yarn.

 

 

Looking in to my baby’s eyes

Sometimes, when I look deep in your eyes, I swear I can see your soul

James, 1993

Sun faded photograph

Can’t hide the depth, the knowing of your inky blue eyes

Your focus is unwavering

You know our hearts are eternally intertwined

You know I am your shelter

But did you sense my sorrow?

Did you feel my heart ache to be the mother you needed?

I look deeper into your eyes

Tell you I’m sorry, tell you you’re beautiful

Tell you I’m here, tell you thank you for being the Reason

Your gaze fixes on me from the photograph

Whispers to me “everything’s going to be OK”