Being a teacher, especially an English one, I use metaphors. Alot. I often think of grief being waves, you know, sometimes you surf over them and you feel euphoric. Somehow, the pain of the lost loved one is replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and love, and knowing that wherever they are, they are at peace, and so, in a way, are you.
Other times, like tonight, it's so hard not to get swept under the current of grief and pain and literally be washed away by it.
You see I had an aunt growing up (she was also my godmother) I adored her, she was the much younger sister to my mum, in fact, she was only eleven years older than me. She was funny, bright and one of those people that others flocked to at parties because she was where the laughter was. We were so close, even when I moved overseas, we emailed nearly every day and spoke at least once a week.
Anyway, five years ago, three weeks before my son was born and the week before her son's sixteenth birthday, she killed herself. I was in the UK with my husband and mum waiting for my baby's arrival. My mum was stuck with the horrendous decision to either stay for the birth of her first grandchild or go home for the funeral of her baby sister.
There was no warning of this happening and the shock was, and is, still dreadful. I am still sure that the resulting complications in the labour and delivery of my son, where he nearly died were caused by the grief and stress of those resulting days.
So why, five years later and especially today do I mourn and miss her so very, very much? Because Christmas is coming and she loved celebrating it so much. And because her daughter, of whom she would be so proud, turns eighteen in a week and a half, and she isn't here for it. I am her Godmother and she will be living with me during her birthday and Christmas time. It will be crowded but I want her to be with family.
Her father (the one person in the mess I cannot yet make peace with, has abnegated responsibility for her) so she lives at uni during the year and stays with family during holidays. She actually wanted to stay with us saying she wanted a "real" family Christmas. My heart aches, because she has missed so many of them.
For her birthday I have bought her a pandora charm bracelet and want to choose a meaningful one for her birthday. I know she will treasure it.
Somehow letting this howl of grief out blog style has been very helpful. I feel more cheerful now, because I guess that's the thing. We hit the sand after being dragged under, and the sand is beautiful, filled with shells and where we finally breathe in the air we need. And watching my cousin, who has had to endure far, far more than me, be so excited about the festive season is a timely reminder to "just keep swimming' as my favourite little fish would say!
