Permission to grieve

I figured out some patterns to my grieve. They are like pockets, clouds of sadness in my soul. I can go through life as usual, even happy and exhilarated about new things, grateful for the sunshine. Then something can trigger it off, like hearing about a friend having a baby. That’s a dagger for my bruised heart. So I try to remember to give myself some space, some slack, some leeway, permission to grieve.

Here are some ways I have been given myself permission to grieve.

New name on the memorial

I was so sad that day. Christmas coming, we were about to depart to see my family in Czech. My brothers with their children, a new baby in the family and me again, childless.

I felt so sad that my children couldn’t be with us on Christmas day, so I made a wreath for their memorial. My husband and I went and cried and cherished the memory.

Merry Christmas my dear children, wherever you are…

Grieving necklace

I’ve asked my husband for a Christmas present. I wanted a necklace with two pendants – rose & robin. They are my children’s names. I wanted this necklace for the bad days, the days that I need to feel their presence a bit closer. My own protest to the world. My therapist always says – ‘there is no love without pain.’  It must mean I loved my children very much.

So when you see me wearing this necklace, you will know it’s a day that I’m grieving.


Shopping for my baby

Imagine the strangest feelings of walking through a department store and choosing things that your baby would like. Walking through the store and feeling like I have a secret. What would people think if they knew I’m buying things for a dead baby. I went over to the baby toys department – would Robyn like this? What would she be like? Would she like this colour…?

So now I’m knitting the softest of blankets for Robyn’s memory basket.

Grieving days

Some days I take myself for a trip. This time I went for a drive and ended up in Lavenham. I was afraid to leave the safety of my home, because of all the things in the world, I am most scared of BEING ALONE. Yet I already am alone. As I wrote in my journal in the Lavenham car park, I realised that I try to run away from my loneliness, yet my ‘alone being’ is with me all the time, whether I’m at home or somewhere else. Alone is still alone.

I walked with my ‘alone being’ through the town, through the park with blooming daffodils, went to the church, prayed for my babies, lit a candle for each one of them and cried for my own pain. My eyes locked onto the beautiful stained glass windows, I finally felt at peace. I have given the worry about my children to mother Mary.

Writing poems and stories

(see the next post)

It surprises me that I still feel the sadness, that thoughts of grief still come. Yes, I believe one can grieve too much, be enveloped in endless grief, but I can’ t pretend that denial only delayed my healing after my first loss. This time I’m going to be true to my grief. When I’m sad I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ll just live it and use up that pocket of sadness and then I can enjoy the glorious sunshine and luscious green grass  on my walk the following day. Living fully, not just with half of my soul. So yes I feel empty and hollow some days but on the other days I am filled to the brim.

How do you grieve in a sociably accepted way? I still haven’t found the answer but it just dawned on me that if I’m not patient with myself, who will?