01 May Grief is like a game of Snakes and Ladders

Sixteen months without Ben (written 7th Feb 2020)

There really is no easy way to live with grief. Some describe it as carrying a heavy boulder on your shoulder; a raw open wound; an amputation; a stone in your shoe – things that really hurt – a lot!

My grief is because one of my children died. It feels like my heart has been ripped out – a part of me died with him. Nothing makes sense any more and there are simply no words in the whole of the English dictionary to adequately describe the shock, despair, pain and sadness. Nothing could have prepared me for this!!

I’m sure anyone who has lost a loved one will agree that the horror of that terrible day will haunt us forever.

Death is brutally permanent. Knowing we will never talk to them or hug them again is terrifying. It doesn’t get easier and simply leaves a big empty space where our beautiful person should be!

When someone young dies it’s like reading a book and finding the ending missing – only much much worse! A tragic unfinished story. A beautiful life cut short!

Sudden death stole my darling boy when he was only twenty five…

But life goes on.

Some days I can hide my sadness; some days I can’t! I’m slowly learning how to let joy and sorrow live together – though it’s an everyday struggle to get the balance right!

Other days I feel like I’m cloaked in a fog of disbelief as I oscillate between periods of functioning and non functioning! Living with grief is tricky. The pain is physical as well as emotional!

A sudden light bulb moment…

It’s like I’m trapped inside an endless game of snakes and ladders.

A game that doesn’t stop when I’ve had enough and one that I’m never going to win.

I have no control over what the next roll of the dice will bring!!

Every time I find the strength to climb up a ladder, another snake is lurking round the corner, waiting to pull me back down – over and over and over again.

I’m just so tired…

– of trying to be strong

– of trying to look normal

– of living!

Happy memories are shrouded in sadness as I remember the innocence of beautiful family gatherings.

They were so normal and uncomplicated; full of fun and laughter and love. We had no idea any one could be the last! We naively assumed everything would stay just as it was.

Complete and perfect.

Then one day, without any warning, my precious boy died – I’ll never get used to saying those brutal words. All I’m left with is a huge void where he should be. I sometimes wish I could just fall in and let it swallow me up!

He’s gone forever – just writing that makes me recoil and feel sick.

Down a very long snake…

The reality of this crushing emptiness takes my breath away. Memories reinforce the loss. I feel like I’m drowning – desperately looking for positives to help me survive.

I’m tired of trying to explain to the world what it’s like to lose a child. Tired of being this weird grieving family. I sense we make people feel uncomfortable – but I hope it causes them to hold on to their children a little bit tighter and love them a little bit harder.

Then unexpectedly I find a little pocket of joy that energises me – a beautiful memory that actually makes me laugh. A kind gesture that gives me hope. An awesome sunset that opens a window into the splendour of heaven!

Up a ladder …

Birthdays, anniversaries, special days cruelly knock me back. I walk such a fine line between functioning and not functioning –

… a photograph

…a mother and son laughing together

…a careless comment from a friend

…judgement or disapproval in someone’s eyes

Down a snake…

I’ve been reading about Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Of course she’s right they’re all there (plus lots more) but they should never have been called stages! They’re actually very messy, unpredictable and powerful emotions that randomly sneak up – often stopping us in our tracks!

Just reading the word acceptance makes me want to scream – how can I even contemplate accepting life without my child?

Down another snake …

In between the anger, the brokenness and the sadness I slip into a period of calm as I’m distracted by life. A dinner party with friends, babysitting our adorable grandchildren, a cycle ride into the countryside, starting a new hobby or even just the regular routine of going to work – all help reinstate purpose in living.

Up a ladder …

However any respite comes weighted with guilt. Does this mean I’m forgetting about my darling boy or moving on??

Down a snake …

I’m told that all this is normal – brought on by post traumatic stress, trauma and shock.

In addition to missing Ben I’m also missing the confident self-assured person I used to be. I hate that I’ve become introverted, fearful, agitated and lonely. I’m even finding it hard to trust people!

Sometimes just giving myself permission to grieve helps!

Up a ladder (a tiny bit) …

‘Grief is like an earthquake. The first one hits you and your world falls apart. Even after you put the world together again there are aftershocks and you will never really know when those will come.‘

Author unknown

I often think I can’t survive another day – another night – another minute without him. But I’m still here, still breathing and still functioning – still holding on to hope. Just about!

Up a ladder …

Last week I couldn’t stop crying. I was completely drained – emotionally and physically. Irrational and spontaneous outbursts of anger, panic and physical frustration left me feeling exhausted. I was falling asleep at all the wrong times then wide awake during the night when I could have been sleeping.

This week I’m back to being numb. I can’t cry and although I look more together I’m actually more wretched on the inside. I’m churned up and agitated. At times like this I feel especially isolated and lonely. I don’t have the strength to reach out to people or to do anything to help myself. Thankfully I’m able to work everyday as (for me) routine and structure helps.

Up a ladder …

Maybe one day I’ll find that I slide down less and have a little more strength to pull myself back up.

In the meantime I’m innately drawn to other grieving mums because we’re all trapped in this same monotonous game!! These beautiful people provide a sanctuary where I feel the most safe and the least judged. We speak the same language and share the same pain. They bring meaning into my life as we reach out and support each other!

Our tragedies unite us. We feel a little less crazy and a little more normal as we each navigate our way through the ups and downs of this relentless ‘real life’ game of snakes and ladders.

“The healing power of even the most microscopic exchange with someone who knows in a flash precisely what you’re talking about, because she experienced that thing too, can’t be overestimated.”

Cheryl Strayed

In honour of my incredible darling son Ben who would want me to keep on trying to live the life he loved 💛