Every morning I start afresh.
Yes. It has happened.
Yes. It is final.
Yes. It is irreversible.
Yes. He was beautiful! A real blessing!
Yes. It is horribly unfair.
Yes. There is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
Yes. My heart has been amputated.
Yes. There is no possibility of experiencing pure joy.
Yes. There will always be something missing.
Yes. I will grieve forever.
And it will always be incurable.
Yet. With all this going on in the background, I take the same old small steps. Everyday. And somehow get to bed again.
And every morning I start afresh. Again.
Iris Bolton, another bereaved mother writes :
“I don’t know why.
I’ll never know why.
I don’t have to know why.
I don’t like it.
I don’t have to like it.
What I have to do is make a choice about my living.
What I do want to do is accept it and go on living.
The choice is mine.
I can go on living, valuing every moment
In a way I never did before.
Or I can be destroyed by it and
in turn destroy others.
I thought I was immortal.
That my family and my children were also.
That tragedy happened only to others.
But I know now that life is tenuous and valuable.
So I am choosing to go on living,
making the most of the time I have,
valuing my family and friends
in a way never possible before.”
“Acceptance” is still too big a word for me.
Maybe the time will come. Maybe it won’t.
Maybe it will come and go like everything else.