Monday, 24 February 2014

Keeping your loved one close

When Lola first passed away I needed to be close to her in every way possible. I would put photos up everywhere ( even the bathroom) , I slept with her special blanket I even made my sisters sit through the then new "Charlie & Lola" cbeebies DVD. I used to sit in her room for hours just going through her wardrobe stopping every now and then to wrap her jumper sleeves around me - closing my eyes and pretending it was her hugging me.... The pain was immense. I had a tiny locket that I used to wear and my sister gave John a large locket with  pictures of Lola in. I hunted high & low for a large locket for me. I did fine one in a charity shop and I used to wear it all the time as did John. Over time the pictures wore, they were never cut properly and as they were only colour copies of actual pictures they were on thin paper.
 I can't tell you how amazed and happy I am to have found a company that lazer photos from an emailed image to the locket itself! It's just genius. They use a process called "Sublimation" to infuse your image onto the metal of the locket. These really are fantastic, the image stays clean, vibrant and durable over time. The glass locket especially can hold up to 6 pictures on discs that can be engraved on the reverse.
As much as I don't go through Lola's wardrobe as much and her blanket has now been taken by her sister "Ava", I have to have something off her with me at all times. I carry a mini photo album sometimes, I have a necklace that has her name & now these beautiful pieces of jewllery. The house is still full of her pictures even my bathroom!
As I always say everyone's grief is different, and this is one of my coping mechanisms. It works for me!

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Tuesday, 11 February 2014

What is normal, this lady has read my mind x

What is normal?            Written by Gail from 

Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realise someone important is missing from all the important events in your family’s life. 

Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, New Years and Easter.

Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable at a funeral than a wedding or birthday party.. yet feeling a stab of pain in your heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.

Normal is feeling like you can’t sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don’t like to sit through anything.

Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand ‘what ifs’ and ‘why didn’t I’s’ go through your head constantly.

Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away.

Normal is having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because silence is deafening.

Normal is staring at every child who looks like he is my child’s age and then thinking of the age he would be now and not being able to imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.

Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind because of the hole in my heart.

Normal is telling the story of your child’s death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds, and yet realising it has become a part of my “normal”.

Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honour your child’s memory and their birthday and survive these days, trying to find the balloon or flag that fits the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.

Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special that reminds me of my child. Thinking how he would have loved it, but how he’s not here to enjoy it.

Normal is having some people afraid to even mention my child.

Normal is making sure that others remember her.

Normal is that after the funeral is over, everyone else goes on with their lives but we will continue to grieve our loss forever.

Normal is weeks, months and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.

Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you – it doesn’t compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.

Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health depends on it.

Normal is realising I do cry everyday.

Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone stricken with grief over the loss of your child.

Normal is feeling a common bond with friends on the computer in England, Australia, Canada, the Netherlands and all over the USA, but never having met any of them face to face.

Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.

Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did laundry or if there is any food in the house.

Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or one, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that my baby is in Heaven. Yet when you say you have one child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your baby.

Normal is knowing I will never get over the loss, in a day or a million years. 

And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for you to feel, so that everyone else around you will think you are “normal”.