Opening a blank page this morning in word to write onto it opens an Identity Verification form. There is irony in this as it is probably the very nature of my identity that is on my mind. What have I become? My external world has changed and my internal me has shifted. Who am I now?
I am and have always been a busy social media user. In these strange times when I spend so much time home alone it has become my doorway to the external world. My busy intellectual brain needs feeding so I avidly read articles and news from there. Up loading a grief picture the other day I read my Twitter blurb about me. I had written this some years ago. I did not recognise this woman I used to be. Joining a whats app group of bereaved Mums recently the Mum adding me did not recognise my picture.
I often make reference to “old Jude” and “new Jude”. I am considering whether friends are waiting for old Jude to return when in reality she has departed. If I was writing this six months ago, I would consider “Jude” to be broken not to be fixed. I do not think I can be fixed but I am getting more comfortable with being broken, or should I say heartbroken.
Old Jude was professionally accomplished. Smart and articulate, confident at work and in her personal life. I close my eyes to remember her. Strong sense of self, supportive and loving, ploughing on through life’s challenges she was strong. Female, feminine but warrior woman reflected in her dance, sharing her dance in teaching. At work although this had waned still a leader of good practice and clear headed. Able to make decisions, going the extra mile. Generous and supporting to others, caring and sharing. I remember being the instigator of social circles, seeking out strong friendships, making life happen.
Old Jude was always a Mum, caring for her two boys. Working hard to keep them safe. Supported by my own loving Mum bringing up boys with love. Giving confidence and support to big boy and constant on the look out catch not so small boy as he got into his daily scrapes and life challenges. I even wrote a blog about it!
Life happens around me now. I drift in and mostly out of it. I have a different perspective now. I no longer battle on regardless. There is no motivation to be strong now. My strength now comes from a different place, of spiritual nature, often grown and supported with quiet reflection. Would I say my faith has got stronger? Certainly, I am more connected as a Christian these days. It seems to be the right place to be. If anything, my boy, my not so small boy has given me this as a gift.
I would like to write of secret signs and magical moments. Amongst my trees or quiet moments at home they do sometimes come. Or in books that bring synchronicity to actions and words. I think I have opened my mind, soul and heart up to love, therefore when I fall, I am always held. There are no words for this. I think I have always been seeking in my busy before life. Now by being still light and love finds me. Thinking about it I do have words; my poems and creative activity illustrates this.
I write this calmly today. Today is a I can get on sort of day. I am heart broken but I have days now where I have some sort of acceptance of where I am. Is it acceptance or still disbelief? The realisation is that somehow deep inside I am surviving. I cannot remain in such hard-core sobbing and distress daily. The thing is I have spent all my life as not so small boy’s mother skipping and jumping to keep him safe. The inevitability that going beyond my ego that I had no control over his destiny is now real. He took himself calmly off to God. Stepping away from this cruel world. The surety I hold dear is that he is now safe and loved. He is okay as he reminds me in random ways.
Skipping and jumping has stopped. My big boy needs the constant strength of his Mum and never-ending unconditional love. How ever desperate or low I find myself, no matter what dark corner I retreat to I have to seek light for him. He must not have a life that is over shadowed by his brother. I must continue to love both my boys differently with equal strength and veracity.
I picked up writing again to answer the daily “how are you?” question. I figured that If I could find a way to write the truth about being here as a Mum losing her child to suicide it could be witnessed as opposed to the glib “I am fine, I am okay” answer. I am neither I am just here some days barely surviving, mostly alone. I write of being alone, but feeling held. I walk in spirals of grief which gives sadness and sorrow, but also great beauty and love, always love.
I move now in the new me to quality of relationships rather than the vast quantity I had before. High days friends who celebrated, or those who leant on old Jude hard no longer about, a few good friends remain. They do not try to fix, or past judgement. I will be honest I am mostly alone as so few can possibly walk beside me on this strange spiralling journey, I have found myself okay with being alone.
Goodness knows these days whether that huge circle of friends who attended wedding celebrations and memorial and funeral check into read. I guess many do not want to face the stark reality of grief. I look at pictures of our wedding and think how few people have bothered an attempt at staying in touch. Life carries on around about me, I am upset and hurt. It does not make me feel better that folk do not know what to say, or Covid world has held folk back.
I quietly buried my son’s ashes. Few ask me how or when. I weep alone at his grave collecting leaves to make a place of beauty, collecting pebbles we would have done together. The other week I visited and there was single rose. It touched my heart so deep. I do not mind being alone as I sneak a short time to quietly stop and be near my boy. It just feels sometimes like only I remember him. In the sunshine last week, I potted bulbs in pots to bring in spring. I am perhaps the one with the time as well as love.
Others offering excuses for not supporting or just being makes me weary. I do not have the energy to make people feel better. I go days and days now without old friends checking in. Returning to their busy lives they would say they think of me often but not enough to call or make any effort to keep in touch except for a like or heart on my Facebook wall. I do not have the energy to reach out. I am thinking was it always me that put the energy into so many friendships? I guess so as most folk have just drifted away. New Jude just cannot get back on top of keeping in touch or making an effort.
I am working hard at letting go of this hurt on top of my grief. Time to move on, feel sad but let these friends go with grace. There is little comfort in feeling bitter or hurt. In this new space I occupy in spite of Covid land I am slowly making new relationships, and keeping a few true consistent friends. I have so little energy to invest in others on daily trivia. Better to focus on building strong relationships that fit with who I have become.
I must note that I have gratitude and love from my lovely man who seems to accept this new person evolving. I suppose my values and core self remains. This is who he truly loves not the external stuff. We shift our goals and aspirations together. Lock down and not working for six months gave us time and energy for each other and our home life. We were able to catch breath after the distressing and exhausting year we have had. Playing guitar, painting and sitting in the garden with wine are sweet memories I shall hold for this year that have given healing. Time to listen to each other.
As we move forward our goals have shifted. I realise that with his support I still have purpose. He has got me up in the mornings, fed me coffee and toast and pushed me towards the light when I would comfortably sit in the darkness. We have a future and are finding a new path with shifted hopes and aspirations, but this is okay, even good.
My days in grieving solitude have a pattern now. Of prayers, writing and drawing and painting. I try through creativity to express how I feel. I paint pictures of women with too much mother love. Tears and sorrow are illustrated, but also beauty in stillness of grief. Illustrated by summer flowers and autumnal light and colour, grieving Mum gently moves from tears to quiet sorrow. I have a huge pile of sketchbooks and paintings all illustrating this past year. I am unsure if their purpose is ultimately in the produced outcome but in the quiet gentleness of doing. Drawing makes me stop, look and breath in nature’s beauty giving a moments respite. Painting pictures gives me an activity of purpose, as does daily poem writing. All of this empties my bucket of too full of emotion.
I have always thought too much. My mind does not stop, even in grief. Now I have nowhere to hide as I am alone now as a mother with too much mother love. So, this finds me here writing. Compelled to seek witness to my sense of being, this new me I have become.
I revised my new twitter blurb. I am now bereaved mother first and foremost who does creative things.
anah1964 