Clinging on

The morning after Lennon’s funeral we flew to Majorca for a week. Over the years we had always said that we would take the girls abroad soon after Lennon died. Mainly to give them a holiday they had never been able to experience before, but also to inject a little happiness back into their lives.

In that respect it worked. Both Isla and Florence had a fantastic time. (Despite isla being poorly for a couple of days.) We only left the hotel once, and they spent most of the week in the swimming pool.

Even Ian seemed to enjoy himself, swimming in the sea and getting involved with the hotel entertainment.

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Isla enjoying the view across the ocean.

I really thought it would be a good idea to go away for me too. I honestly thought that I would feel a little better.

Who doesn’t feel happier in a sunnier, warmer environment, lying by a pool all day?!

Me.

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Florence, my little water baby.

I can honestly say I didn’t feel any different being away from home, other then feeling further away from Lennon.

I still began and ended everyday in floods of tears, and spent the days hiding behind my sunglasses or a book trying the blink the tears out of my glassy eyes.

The pain and the emptiness still there, and the gapping hole in me still wide open and raw.

Forcing smiles and happiness for my daughters, so that they can’t see the pain I am in and the constant discomfort I feel.

Trying to enjoy myself (as I am told “you’ll feel so much better”). But those true feelings of enjoyment and happiness have abandoned me. Deep sorrow, emptiness and loneliness have taken their place.

It was a relief to walk back through our front door, and into our home. Lennon’s home.

Everything in Lennon’s bedroom is still as it was when he left that Tuesday night. His feed pump still has his clear fluids attached. His syringes and medications are all still on his unit and his fluid charts and emergency plans all still hang on the wall. His clothes in his drawers and his toys and books still in his bed.

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Lennon getting up in the morning.

I feel close to Lennon here at home and at this moment in time, it’s the only tiny bit of comfort that I can find and cling on to.

Previous blog post – Farewell my little soldier

5 thoughts on “Clinging on

  1. I always think we, as a nation are so bad at understanding grief, as though it & mourning has a time limit & that we should buck up for other people’s sake. Sadly a touch too much of the stiff upper lip mentality. To lose someone you love is hard enough & adjusting to life with that whole inside you, but you factor in that he is not only your child, but a child who was so dependant on you, it’s virtually impossible for anyone else to imagine. When I was in those first torid months of grief, I was so worried the affect my tears would have on my children & a friend said it would teach them compassion & it really has. Please be gentle on yourself, it’s so soon at the start of this difficult journey for you, don’t apologise or explain, just be, make sure you have someone to talk too & in time you will find a new way to be, with your little man in your heart instead of at your side xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You did an amazing thing- the girls will always remember that holiday. And you will too… every time we’ve been away since RD died it’s the coming home that fells me. The holiday is hard going but my subconscious says that if he’s not with us he must be at home. Then I get home and feel his absence ten fold. I’m so sorry that your beautiful boy died xxx

    Liked by 1 person

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