Newsletter for Childless Parents, Summer 2020

Newsletter for Childless Parents | www.tcf.org.uk 5 towards for many years. I’m not alone, my husband is a good companion, and he keeps me sane. I know I’m luckier than many other bereaved parents. And also recently I was prescribed happy pills, which have helped me find some balance. And now this surreal situation has taken over and changed the rules. What hasn’t changed at all is that Dylan is with me all the time, in my heart, in my thoughts, in so much of what I do. Dylan is forever my life and my heart. I can’t lose Dylan again. I had to cancel a trip in early March, I had to close my pottery studio to classes, our trip ‘of a lifetime’ to Canada and Alaska has bottomed out, and yet, somehow, these things that floored me at first, mean very little to me today. The loss of these things hasn’t changed my life in any significant way. Yes, I’ve been in isolation since early March, and my letter from the GP instructs me to stay home for 12 weeks, maybe more. I’ll be one of those people who’ll be social-distancing until the end of the year. As long as I don’t catch the virus, this is a walk in the park. In fact, the lockdown has given me the chance to just Be, and 5 weeks on I’m looking at this as an opportunity. I feel closer to Dylan, I have a clearer connection to my beautiful boy. My grief brain is clearing. I’m beginning to enjoy crafting, and I’m able to listen to music. We’re living through a disquieting time with so many uncertainties, but it is also affording me time without the old life intrusions. I don’t mean in any way to belittle the hardship and heartache CV is causing for so many people. This is my personal account only. The possibility of losing a business, or much needed earnings, or not having a job to go back to are devastating many lives. And there’s the massive sudden number of deaths. So many people in pain and grief. All those mothers and fathers. The virus has had a huge impact on our lives and lifestyles; the world has changed and will continue to change in unpredictable ways. There was no warning, we had no idea how we would be affected, and it’s hard to see where this is all going. But. I, like you, have been here before. Three plus lonely years ago. It’s still not as hard, nor can it ever be as hard and life- shattering for me as the death of my son. I know you know this about yourselves. My self-isolation is giving me time and space. It took several weeks for my mask to silently slip off, only to find I’m still breathing underneath it, and I’m starting to see, and feel my life. It can never be as it was, or how I had envisioned it with Dylan in my world. That I know. Accepting the changes that Covid brings I can do. I cannot accept Dylan’s death, I doubt I ever will. My heart won’t heal, the cracks remain, but I’m learning to find Me. Having to socialise, and smile politely, when I don’t feel like it, is exhausting and wearying. I’m tired of those sharp shards of hurt, anger, and frustration turning back on me to stop them hurting other people, who are trying to be kind and helpful but are failing miserably to make me feel ‘better’. I don’t have to