Thoughts on a random, drizzly Sunday morning.

It's when I slow down that I realise, again, that he really is gone. And that he's never coming back. And in reflection, I think I've begun to create a life that rarely slows down as thinking about it is a sort of unbearable pain.

Creating a life that rarely slows down is easily done when you throw a three year old, building a house, training for a marathon and planning holidays into the mix. But when I think about it, I've constructed a life this year that is full. There's goals, there's dates booked in, I carefully plan out each week and yet, there is a hollowness. The best I can describe it is as if I'm in a vacuum and the days are sucked away one after the other.

This morning, when I didn't really have anywhere to go, I let myself go to that pain. Whilst I construct my life so that the pain is bearable, I also am very much aware that for me to function, I need to grapple with that which seems terrifying. After a wallow, I felt again, the urge to share with the wider world, his love. It needs somewhere to go.

I went back to the original Instagram reel I made to announce his birth and death. I definitely never envisaged I would be doing both at once. It was after I had had a lot of people message me things like, 'How is it going? Has bub arrived yet?' or 'I'm sure you must be about due.'

I read the comments on that post. "I'm so sorry for your loss." "I can't imagine what you are going through." As I read and the words begin to blur, a bitterness creeps in. I don't want it to but I imagine all these people now going about their normal life. Perhaps having pancakes with the whole family on a Sunday morning.

(I did that this morning; had pancakes with the family. Only as we ate, we discussed what Charlie would be doing should he be here with us. Would he still be in his cot? Would he be by now sitting next to us eating some too? Gracie said she would have gone in there to wake him up. And whilst the mum in me nearly cringed, I thought how much I would love that; be concerned about Gracie waking her sibling.)

As I sat there and revisited that time, as represented in the virtual world on my Instagram reel, I felt ripped off. Here I am, five months later, still sitting on my bed, tears streaming down my face and sobbing. The pain, when I go there, feels almost the same as it did back then. I just am more adept at 'dealing' with it. (I even really dislike using words like 'dealing' or 'coping' because they are arbitrary terms).

I guess what I'd like the world to know, and I'm sure people that have experienced any kind of significant loss feel the same, is that I've never 'moved on.' His absence feels just as acute as it did before, I've just grown around it. I've started to put some layers back on and in that respect it does get easier.

I remember in the weeks after Charlie's death, reading books or quotes or people's comments on social media forums and they'd say things like, 'it never gets any better.'

I felt irritated. I felt as if I could die and when I didn't just 'die,' I felt helpless. So if it doesn't get any better, I thought, how am I going to 'cope?' But if you are new in your loss, please know, it does get better. The pain doesn't. The pain stays but you will learn to feel it and move on and you will feel it less often than you used to and some days you might even notice that when you think about your loved one you don't feel terrified anymore. You might actually allow yourself to fully love them, rather than intensely grieve them.

So, today is a slow, drizzly, grey day and it reflects the mood I'm in. And that is ok. I remind myself, that this feels hard because it is so unbelievably hard. Is it fair? No. But also, there is no fairness in life and death. No one chooses who lives and who dies. We are just unlucky but perhaps also lucky because someone existed who brought a profound amount of love into our lives.

What I recognise, when I think of my bitterness about those who have moved on from this, is that we can go to dark places even when we don't lose a loved one. I've been there. I've been in dark places even when my life is seemingly perfect, before Charlie. So perhaps, whilst those people have moved on from the loss of my baby, which is understandable, they're stuck in a struggle of their own. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they are just having pancakes with their family on a miserable, drizzly morning and if they are, I am happy for them...and bitter.

Of all the things I've learnt from losing Charlie, that's one of the most helpful ideas. That we, as humans, are complex; two opposing ideas can exist at the same time and be true to us equally, and that's ok.

Some days you might even notice that when you think about your loved one you don't feel terrified anymore. You might actually allow yourself to fully love them, rather than intensely grieve them.