the now

Day675

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It was on the 21st of August two years ago that Saagar was officially diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder by an Honorary Consultant Psychiatrist. He was the only one in the family who was informed of it. I wonder how it made him feel. I wonder if he felt weird, confused, traumatised or all of the above. I wonder if it made him question who he was and what this means in terms of his future. I wonder what it did to his self-esteem and confidence. I bet it was scary. I am sure he looked it up on the net. He handled it very well. He made no big deal of it. He took his medicines, did not drink or go out too much, he waited patiently for the medicines to work and they did. He got better for a bit but then…

In 8 weeks time he will be dead. I didn’t know it then. I know it now and it kills me.

I bring myself back to this moment over and over again. Right now, I am chopping tomatoes. Right now, I am walking up the stairs. At this moment I am writing this blog. Right now I am folding towels. Right this moment I am watching the flickering flame of the candle in front of his picture. At present I am sitting here loving him with all my heart. At this present moment I am feeling sad for all the suffering he endured and I am admiring his dignity, strength and courage.

Right now I can see that this present moment is inevitable. It is here in front of me and all I can do is honour it.

Day 674

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Coming up to Saagar’s second anniversary in a couple of months, this piece of writing by another mother really touched my heart…

The Forest

When I first embarked on my grief path after my child took her life, I thought that it would be linear and each step would become easier until maybe one day I would walk out into the sunshine again. And in the first few months, I looked at others I met who were two or three years down the line and wondered why some of them seemed to be still stuck in what I thought were the early stages of their grief. How naïve of me!

I have come to realise that this grief journey is incredibly complicated and is more like being lost and stranded in a forest. To begin with everything was dark and foreboding; it felt like the forest would completely engulf me and at every twist and turn there would be branches catching at me and roots making me stumble and fall, and muddy, murky swamps wanting to drown me. I felt I was living in a horror movie at worst or a frightening children’s story book at best. After a while I was so determined not to let the forest take me over that I created a glade where I thought I would be safe from the shadows. I tried really hard to be positive and see some sense in my loss.

Now, coming up to three years on, at times the path can be straight and I think I know where it is going and there are more and more times when it passes through one of those sunlit glades and I can bask in the warmth and feel nothing can touch me. But I never know when the trees will close in and what monsters might be hiding behind them; and sometimes the path feels like it’s doubling back on itself and I have no idea where I’m going. But I have come to trust that I will always find a way through the tangled undergrowth eventually and walk with my eyes looking forward and upwards towards the light rather than into the darkness and despondency.

Along this path I have been so privileged to have met others who are walking the walk in their own way. Some sadly are completely engulfed by and lost in their forest and can barely put one foot in front of the other; and others seem like they know where they are going and walk strongly and steadfastly, sometimes wearing the cloak of invincibility to the outside world as a means of protection, but they too can stumble and fall and need a helping hand or a kind word.

But it is a difficult, painful and exhausting path however we travel it. And there is no right or wrong way to walk it and each person must find their own way through their forest. If you are one of the people I have met on this trail, I want you to know how much I respect your fortitude, courage and strength.

If you were there before I entered the forest and are still walking alongside me through the darkness and the light, I give you my love, my thanks and my heartfelt gratitude, particularly as I know many of you are finding your own way through your own heartache and grief.

And if you are reading this and know anyone who is stumbling through their own dark, tangled place then please reach out a hand to them and maybe catch them before they fall.

And to my beautiful child I want to say thank you for often showing me the way.

Love and light

Day 672

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image

Scarlett Lewis is Jesse’s mother.  Jesse, her youngest son, six years of age was one of the twenty children murdered in the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre in Newtown, Connecticut. Brave Jesse helped save the lives of many of his classmates by encouraging them to run while he stayed behind to protect his teacher—both he and his beloved teacher were killed.

Before going to school, in what may have been a premonition of the day’s tragedy, six-year-old Jesse wrote on his home chalkboard, “Nurturing Healing Love.” Working through her grief in the midst of the emotional devastation felt by all of the parents who lost children, Scarlett embraced Jesse’s words and consciously chose a different way to manage her distress. While many parents vented their pain through anger, blame, and overwhelming grief, Scarlett went on an alternate path by deciding to consciously choose Love to come to terms with this heinous crime.

To send her message into the world, Scarlett founded the Jesse Lewis Choose Love Foundation (http://www.jesselewischooselove.org) whose stated mission is, “To create awareness in our children and our communities that we can choose love over anger, gratitude over entitlement, and forgiveness and compassion over bitterness.” The foundation’s goal is to help manifest a more peaceful and loving world. Scarlett’s efforts in advancing Love to resolve the world’s problems has become her path to healing.

Day 671

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It leaves me tattered and torn.
It puts me back together again.
It makes me completely worn.
Yet keeps me somewhat sane.

It’s a constant force within.
It flows and ebbs away.
It wears me paper thin.
And gives me strength to stay.

It’s everywhere and all around.
It makes up everything I see.
It can’t be lost and can’t be found.
How could that possibly be?

It’s what makes the world go round.
It makes time stand completely still.
It heeds no voice and needs no sound
One can happily die and readily kill.

It’s you and it’s me.
It’s us and it’s we.
It’s everything that used to be.
And infinite till eternity.

Day 670

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One blue ankle sock, two rolls of string- one open and the other sealed, one fine-tipped black sharpie pen, one portable cycle pump, one drum stick, three beer bottle caps – one Carlsberg and two Desperados, one black bow-tie, one black wallet with an ID and a few receipts from a college bar, a paperback in French by Jacques Godbout called ‘Salut Galarneau!’, an English translation of an Egyptian book called ‘Maze of Justice : Diary of a Country Prosecutor’ by Tawfik Al-Hakim and a hardback black journal partly covered in his hand-writing and a purple hair colour spray.

And the smell of old things.

These things were unearthed from the bottom of his cymbal bags today just before I was about to give them away to his friend and drum teacher who he had great admiration for. Each one of these things was a thread from different stories from various parts of his life. I couldn’t remember them all but these were familiar things – real but distant. Seeing all these random things on the table, I felt he was here, reaching out to me. They encapsulated him so utterly completely and beautifully. He felt heart-breakingly close.

I want to ask him to remind me the things I am forgetting. Please. Remind me. Please.