The process of processing grief

To the world you were one person but to
one person you were the world.

Could have, would have, should have are the start of every single sentence that goes through my head or more to the point every single time I question myself. It is something that I cannot help but do.  As a parent it is natural to want to assume responsibility, although in this instance I did everything that I could, it is easier to question yourself than others. There are so many questions that need to be asked, so many what if’s, but realistically none of the answers will satisfy my mind’s hunger for answers.

Everyday my mind is processing thoughts, processing grief, life at the moment seems impossible, undesirable, and without meaning. I have never in my life been so analytical, my brain whirring at 100 miles an hour trying to make sense of everything. Trying desperately to balance my feet on the path of survival. The other day when looking at the birds from the window, I found myself oblivious to my surroundings, the next thing I knew I was getting changed to get into bed. Where had I been? What had I done? I didn’t know. I sat quietly trying hard to reflect back to what I was thinking about before, but I didn’t know. There was nothing specific that triggered this ‘zoning out’ and I could not remember what, if anything, I was thinking about during those few hours.

Up until recent days and you will have had an insight from my previous post that I have been totally consumed by despair, like a fog that completely envelops me, where thoughts of taking my life have been prevalent. Grief manifests in many ways and I like to believe that when I ‘zoned out’, rather than be consumed by despair, my mind was switching off and processing the darkest of thoughts and keeping itself safe. The mind is one of life’s most wonderful gifts so complex, but so fragile, so delicate and in some cases, dangerous. It is something that in my case, with grief, there is inevitably an absence of a medical diagnosis, medication can aid sleep, aid the symptoms of anxiety and depression but it cannot take the pain away. It cannot take away the desperation of needing William, the disbelief that he is really gone. It cannot stop my mind fighting for answers, contradicting, questioning and ultimately destroying me with my own thoughts.

Someone asked me recently if they thought the inquest into William’s death would give me closure, some sort of ending to the ‘process’, the legal aspect. William is not a process and neither was his death, and you see the inquest will not bring closure or answer any of my questions, because long after the inquest has closed its doors, I will always be sat there in the quiet of William’s nursery, looking at his cot, imagining his perfect, doll-like face in the cot that Sunday morning, wondering why? Why William? Why my beautiful innocent little boy who had so much to give, who asked for nothing but gave everyone so much joy, so much happiness and so much love? No-one will ever be able to answer this question, no matter how much they try. Maybe, one day, when my time comes, and I get to walk the stairway to heaven, I will find out. Maybe.

 

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5 thoughts on “The process of processing grief

  1. I don’t know you but I came across your story on facebook and as a fellow mama to a little one I can only imagine what you are going through. I am so sorry and I just want you to know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. I hope that you know that by sharing your story you are helping others out there who have had similar experiences thereby bringing purpose to your pain. What a blessing you are to others. And to those of us who cannot relate, you remind us to hold our little ones just a little bit closer. Thank you for sharing and I pray that you will hold on closely to our Creator to get you through this difficult time as He loves you so much and wants so badly to help you through this.
    In Christ,
    Jamie

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you Jamie, for your lovely kind words. It is comforting to hear from those that read the blog. My objective is an outlet to organise my thoughts, but if I indirectly help others then that’s an advantage. Hold them close xx

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  2. Don’t know how I landed up here. Reading your blog totally ripped me apart. I cried my eyes out. Grieving was never easy on anyone. I hope you find strength in knowing that little William is not in pain anymore.

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  3. Hi there, I came across your blog when you wrote on another blog I follow called the Dying Man’s Journal. I’m from Winnipeg in Canada, and just wanted you to know I’ve been praying for you and my heart is so sad for you and your husband. Please try to take courage each day in knowing there are many silent souls out there, like me, who are praying for you daily. I will pray for sweet William as well. God sees even the tiniest sparrow fall and won’t forget about you in your suffering, and is grieving along with you, holding each of your tears close in His heart. Much love to you as suffering carves out a well in your heart.

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