Holiday

We are back from our 'holiday', where we spent three nights away in a small cabin, up in a gum tree valley on the coast.  That was the getaway that was to be our Christmas time, where we opened our presents, drank and ate too much and focused on ourselves; as a couple and individuals.  We are back at home now and if it wasn't for the Christmas adverts on the tv when that goes on; I'd be none the wiser to the fact that it is Christmas - it certainly doesn't look, or feel like it.

There was no celebrating anything there, more like a striving to retain the connection between husband and wife from the hot ashes of our broken family.  That is me looking back at that time there - but while away I did enjoy.  We did drink too much (failing to get drunk which was a great disappointment!), we did eat too much rich and refined crap (my system is still trying to recover), we read books, I knitted until the cows came home and we did a lot of thinking and talking there.  We exchanged a few presents and we toasted our babies with smiles and tears in our eyes.

It was lovely to be in a different environment.  A different bed to sleep in, different light in the mornings, a different shower to stand under and a different view to lose myself in.  Different sounds too; the Cockatoos and parrots squawking, the sound of the waves crashing down on the beach below and the awesome sound of the rain storms on the thin tin roof - even the smell of the burning gum tree fires, were different from the smells back at home, only a two and a half hour drive away.

All those sensory changes served to lighten my heart - only the car, A and I were the same.  We could have been on another holiday, some years ago somewhere; anywhere, were we didn't know the heartache of losing our first born.  We were taking leave from our everyday lives and I almost felt 'normal'...  Well almost.
I wasn't running away from Elizabeth, her memory or ties to her; we brought her blanket along with us (that rests between our pillows) and a handful of candles we lit each night that lights my favourite picture of her.  It was just nice to breathe the different air, to be away from the oppressive nature that has become my routine here at home.  Only stepping away from that, did it show me how much I wasn't doing the best by me.

I feel as if I'm choosing my words too carefully now - its to no disrespect or detriment to anyone else; this is all me and I am just realising that I need to limit my intake of sadness - for every book of babies dying, I need to read a griping adventure or 'who dunnit'.  For every every hour I sit reading others blogs, I need to sit another to write my own.  For every hour I sit in front of the 'box', I need to have another to get creative and make beautiful, meaningful things.  For every appointment at the hospital I have, I need to take myself somewhere special out on a date.  For every hour I am sat here in this chair thinking, I need to get myself out into the real world;  conversations with others, out exploring (even if that means just walking and thinking too) somewhere new, meeting new people, visiting friends.
For every tear that I shed, I want to be able to smile for those times too.

This is how I'm feeling right now, just getting back from the break in my grief - I wouldn't even call it that though.  My grief was not on holiday, there wasn't a moment where I wasn't questioning my feelings - I would think; is this the closest I get to the old 'normal'?  But there wasn't a minute, or hour that didn't go past where I didn't think of Elizabeth.

I think the best part of that realisation was there was no external triggers to those thoughts.  There was no, pregnant lady to silently wish good luck, there was no newborn crying for a feed in a cafe, there was no pram or pushchair to remind me of the most precious thing I am without.

I thought of my baby girl because I had the time and space to be able to do so on my terms.  Mine were dreams of how our lives would have changed if she was still here with us - would we have gone away with a four month old, to a tiny cabin up on a valley side, with the koalas, parrots and gum trees to keep us company, in the middle of nowhere?  Yes, I'd like to think that we'd manage those three nights away from the comfort of home - trekking up and down the steep path to the beach; sling tided to my front and her brightly knitted hat firmly on her head from the chill of the sea breeze.  Not only would I be taking photos of the wild life, the moody weather on the beach and A; I would be taking so many of my growing daughter....

I think of these with a smile on my face (and maybe a tear or lots) and I hope there is a future ahead of me were I will be able to do this in real life too - I believe I will get my time with Elizabeth, but like this?  Who knows.
So for the time being I will ride this, I will see how long I can go with trying to do more with my time and not going off into distraction mode.  Grief just is.  There are no hard and fast rules to follow, there is no timeline for 'proper grieving' and there is no magic wand to wave to make everything better again - it is just acceptance. With that acceptance comes all that hard work; of loving a daughter who isn't here to feel the warmth of my kisses.

My work is cut out....


The Christmas card my Ma sent Taggpole and Elizabeth touched me:

Oh, my dearest grandchildren, I've had so many plans to spoil you at Christmas.  I've missed you so much it hurt, but then I looked in my heart and there you there! Children of my child - I love you xx

Seeing and reading that makes my heart swell - makes my work a little easier too.