The Journey

There's a description of grief as a journey through a mountain range a friend sent me. You can find it here. There's one part that I want to write about today:

Sometimes when we are in the deepest part of the valley, we just sit, exhausted. And we might notice some things around us that we never saw before: flowers and animals and a gentle breeze in the cool of the valley. There is a world down in the valley that we never even knew existed, and there is beauty in it.

When I first started on this journey, I'd spend hours at night reading blogs like this one. I'd start at the start and follow through the months looking for the point where the pain wasn't so overwhelming so all consuming. But then I started to get scared because I read story after story and the pain never seemed to change.

Now I'm here, just over three months from losing Matilda and I have good periods. In the early days I never would have believed that good periods were possible at this stage. Please don't misunderstand, I still cry every day (usually more than once), I'm still scared for the future, and 'Matilda I wish you were here' runs through my head often. I don't go out socially except with a small group of people I feel safe with and I still can't imagine wanting to be around a happy group of people drinking and laughing. I was going to resign from work because I couldn't face the idea of going back until my manager said I can work from home.

I wonder if this is just me because it doesn't seem to come through in other stories. Or I wonder if it's because our blogs are where we go to let our pain out so that's what comes through.

Reading the journey I think it's that these good periods are in the valley. I've been enjoying things that I haven't done for years - watching DVDs, doing a cross sitch, reading an entire book in one day, and I'm starting to cook again. I have the time for these things while I don't want my old life back.

All that I've just written though, that's how I felt yesterday. I started working from home today (I'm only doing 1 day a week) and the first thing I did was clear out my email. This meant finding the emails people had send me in hospital before Matilda was born. I can't believe that less than three and a half months ago I was that person. That person who didn't know that pain could become part of your everyday life. That person who didn't cry everyday. That person who didn't know what it was like to have your baby die. Now it seems like I've been that person forever and it's exhausting.

Maybe tomorrow I can pause again in the valley and regain my strength.