Talking about what dead is…to kids

I wrote this three years ago after I’d put two-year-old Isla to bed….it’s brought me back to how I talk to my children about death and how honest I have become: 
“I knew the day would always come, the day that Isla would clock that her little experience of normal was slightly skewed from the normal around her. The big where’s my daddy question was always going to come. So putting her to bed last week she shut the blinds with me and turned to ask with a smile, “where’s Daddy?”. Tweely, I replied “oh honey he’s somewhere out there, I hope,”. She then pointed at a series of rooftops out the window, asking, as her finger moved along the window pane, “Is that his house? Is that his house? Is that his house?”. I told her I didn’t think daddy lived in a house and certainly he was not in any of those in the street below ours. As every two year old does she moved seamlessly on to something completely unrelated while my heart broke for her that she’s no hope of ever having even a remote memory of daddy doing bedtime and my heart broke once again for Col that he’s not had the chance to properly meet this gorgeous girl of his that has inherited his charmisma and ability to charm every person she meets. Continue reading “Talking about what dead is…to kids”

February 25:D-day No 5

Five years. Half a decade. 1,828 days. 157,939,200 seconds. 2,632,320 minutes 43,872 hours. 261 weeks. Whatever unit of time I use it feels too bloody long since I distractedly said goodbye to my husband as he left the house in a flurry to go and play tennis. How can I have survived the half decade that I have since Colin’s heart stopped working at 3.01 on a south London road on Saturday 25th February 2012. When I saw that policeman’s uniform through the windows of my front door I didn’t think I could live a minute without him let alone five whole years. The 25th of February 2012 is the day that my whole life changed completely and forever and somehow this year feels worse than year one, two, three or four. The world has spun me so very far away from him now and the pain may has multiplied with every eon. And now sometimes he feels like a figment of my imagination.

Continue reading “February 25:D-day No 5”

Once Upon A While Ago – Revisited

This time of year is always so rubbish in terms of trying not to feel the countdown between the day Isla was born (Christmas Eve 2011) and the day Col died (25th February 2012).  Just nine short weeks and every year I feel them ticking. So this year I am sorting so many positive and proactive things to try to avoid the spiral. First up, Evie’s grand plan for walking up Daddy’s hill to raise money for a bench in Edinburgh. And we are nearly done! The girls are ecstatic and so chuffed that so many of the friends and family are helping them get there with the fundraising. Thank you everyone. Just less than £200 to go so any last donations are welcome – we are already thinking how we will word our plaque to thank you all.

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In my dreams…

In the months after Colin’s death I could easily recount in minute detail by minute detail the few dreams I had of Col. The one where I was in our house, it was full of people, but I couldn’t find him. I desperately needed to speak to him. I hunted and hunted for my phone to see if I could track him on the phone. But no one had seen my phone. Eventually I found it. And it was blank. There was no key pad. I couldn’t dial his number to call him. I was devastated. I woke just missing his voice.

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Taking My Own Time

Grief. Such a small word for such a bloody big never-ending process. It might rhyme with brief – it is anything but. I wish it were.

Time heals…One of many stock phrases that get trotted out after a death. A simple combination of just two words that can make people like me, people who were just like everyone else in life until they suddenly aren’t because of death, feel like they are being given a mean old poke in the eye with a spiky spoke and a full-on extra nasty twist at the end of it. I can verify time does not heal you to the point of the fully restored ‘just how you were’ you. I am living proof of it. Time provides a distance between the trauma of a death to wherever you are in present time. In the immediate moment after death you are pretty much in the eye of the storm. Everything after is the process of grief. Time for me provides me time to numb, time to learn to cope a little better between triggers and as this process goes along I sense that the time between those godawful triggers, that have me sinking back into the darkness of grief once again, can lengthen. Time also gives me time to work my way through the emotional chaos created in the aftermath of each trigger and this time seems to get shorter each time. The bummer, a word I am borrowing from my six-year-old’s banned vocabulary list, actually let’s go further, the ‘total bummer’ is that it is my personal experience that time is yet to give me a heads up on where the triggers might lurk and sometimes time hoodwinks me into thinking I am properly healed (doh) and as strong as everyone told me I was along the way (another well-used stock phrase that people trot out to the bereaved when they seem to be less screaming banshee than they once were).
Continue reading “Taking My Own Time”

Things I find

  • My little girl loves to write. I find scraps of paper everywhere. I usually bin an awful lot. This one struck my heart as it explains her mindset this week and why I am getting so many questions about Col and what he was like. And even how he died. I will always answer honestly even if it breaks my heart.

What I found..

imageThis little note explains to me where my little girl’s head is at. She’s been having a dip and I have had so many questions in the last week about daddy…was I there when he died, what did he look like dead, am I really like hin