Kintsugi: meaning 'golden joinery'

Six weeks after we lost Charlie, my nervous system hit rock bottom. The best way I could describe how I was feeling is by metaphor.

'I'm holding a vase and it shatters. The pieces begin swirling around in the air. I begin grasping at them and each slither slices my hand. I feel as if I must grab them all to piece it back together and so I begin grasping faster and faster. But as I grab at them in haste, the pieces shatter even more.'

I realised that I needed to stop grabbing. That I needed to just stop and witness the chaos around me. Acknowledge it. Observe it. It made me think of the Japanese art form, 'Kintsugi,' which is founded on the idea that there is beauty in the broken form. Kintsugi potters repair pottery by filling the cracks with gold.

I began to feel hope that even though my life (the vase) had shattered, I still had broken pieces left and even if I couldn't put them all back together at once, there was a possibility that I could slowly rebuild it and then one day even pour gold into the cracks to make it even more beautiful.

There aren't really any silver linings to losing a child at whatever stage. Sometimes I call them 'silver linings' but I know they don't exist. I suppose though what I've begun to realise is that losing someone can bring out the richness in a tapestry that otherwise may have been pretty yes, but beautiful?

There really is a beauty in life, and losing it, is one of the biggest reminders of how precious life is. This is not to say, that there aren't still moments where I feel like I will never be able to grab all the pieces, that the tempest is too strong around me. That maybe life is bigger than me.

All we can do, I suppose, is to focus on the progress. Each day, one more tiny little piece slots in. Sometimes, someone or something, knocks our vase and pieces fall out again but slowly, I feel, it may be full enough to pour some gold in.

This realisation of hope, though, hasn't come easily and I don't want to convey that it has. It's been months and months of deep, dark grieving that seems some days as if it will never end. It's been sobs, screams, anger. It's been losing relationships and gaining them. It's been learning to live with this silent, heavy ache in my heart and my arms.

I just know that if we don't focus on the hope, the progress, we aren't left with much and so we go forth, to build our vases, smashed into pieces but with the potential to be even more beautiful.