Newsletter for Childless Parents, Summer 2020

Newsletter for Childless Parents | www.tcf.org.uk 11 Let’s talk about triggers. Undoubtedly this situation is throwing us back to before our child died and also to that terrible, raw experience of early grief so I just wanted to write my thoughts on this experience. My views are not all encompassing and not everyone will agree with me when I say this, but personally, I think that the comparison has helped me to deal with the current situation and helped me to sustain my hard fought for equilibrium. When James died, I retreated into my own world and didn’t want to speak with anyone. On the rare occasions when I was persuaded to venture out, I was extremely uncomfortable and couldn’t wait to return to my “cave” as I called it. I didn’t like the world without James in it and I couldn’t understand why the world was happy to continue in its own merry way without the vibrancy that is my son. I just wanted to scream out loud, “Stop! Just Stop. Do you all not understand the enormity of what has happened!?” I imagined the world perfectly still with empty streets and unused roads and I wanted it to be that way. Now I see the pictures of the quiet, still world and honestly....? My first thought was, “At last. The world has caught up with me. At last you can all grieve him with me.” I wondered whether I was turning into a narcissist but that’s what grief does to you sometimes isn’t it? It’s so overwhelming that you can’t see beyond what you are struggling with. At one point, while reflecting on all of this, I even wondered, fleetingly, whether I had willed this strange situation and made it happen so that everyone can finally understand what we go through every day! So why was I so desperate for the world to stop? Well, I wanted my grief to be acknowledged I guess. I wanted everyone to catch their breath at the enormity of his absence. And since the world was not going to stop, I did. I retreated into my cave and stopped. Now when I take a walk in the quiet neighbourhood I say to myself, “this is how it should be. I’m comfortable here”. We are all making adjustments in order to adapt to our current situation. But how often have you heard me say this? Acclimatisation is key. We bereaved families know this. We have made the biggest and hugest adjustment any human should be expected to make. Please don’t tell me that this situation is a “nightmare” or “the end of the world” or “unbearable” or that you are “bored” or missing your grandchildren etc, etc, etc. No actually that’s unfair of me. Ok, you can tell me that because I’m a compassionate person and empathetic and I have learned how to see things from your perspective. So ok, I take that back. Ok, my dear non-bereaved friend, I’m prepared to listen to your view of this situation and how it is affecting you and I love you very much so please believe me when I say this, that I say it with kindness. You have no idea mate. You can Skype your child. You can look forward to a time when you will hug her again or kiss him again or hear their stories but we don’t have that to look forward to. So, forgive me if I just smile and nod my head in acquiescence for your version of this grief but I’m entitled to say, mine trumps yours. You’ll be able to tell your grandchildren about this period in history and about the clapping and the loo rolls and the pasta shortage. I won’t. I desperately wish that I could share this experience with my boy and while I play over in my head how much fun it would have been with him in the house to drive me crazy, let’s take a breath and apply some realism to your