skip to main |
skip to sidebar
It's hard to believe that another year has passed. Another year without you making me laugh, showing me the way, holding my hand and smiling back at me. I don't understand how it's been two years since we spoke. Since I saw you. Since our lives smashed into a million pieces. Since a new chapter began.
This year, I've come to release that the thing about grief - essentially, the biggest thing - is the absolute lack of control. I never know which way it will throw me. As time moves on, and another year without my Dad here comes to a close, the healing continues. The grief, for me, never fades - it burns as bright today as it did that first day - but I'm learning how to live with it. How to be warmed by that flame, draw strength from it and use it's passion and fire to drive my life along; achieve what I want to achieve, be who I want to be. The lessons grief has, and will, teach me are invaluable. They've come at the greatest cost, but they're here whether I like it or not, and it would be foolish not to listen to them and try to follow them. As the waves of heartbreak smash on me, I give in and let go and it helps me to heal and as the calmer waters of understanding take me to new places, I grow and relax and can breath again. Sometimes I feel like I am only just holding on by the tips of my fingers, so nearly out of control, and sometimes, from somewhere, I can use it and feel powerful and unstoppable; that I can take on the world, because I'm surviving the worst it has to throw at me.
With everyday comes a new challenge. A new question, a photograph, a forgotten memory, the first few bars of a song. And with every challenge I'm learning to let my heart guide me. I don't think I will ever know what will upset me or what will make me smile when it comes to my Dad, but I'm learning that I can't control it and realising that this year has simultaneously given me some control back. I no longer feel like I'm spiralling, even in those darkest moments. I'm riding those waves now, not fighting against them; I'm willing to let them take me wherever I need them to.
Everyday I feel you're with me, my Papa. In some way or another. And as the new year begins I'm more sure of it than ever. But I miss you, more every day and with every minute. I love you, forever and always.
Here we are, another year older already - I hardly know where the time has gone. You've grown and changed so much since my last letter, and have so many new experiences under your belt.
You started dance classes at the beginning of the year and pre-school after Easter, and you've blossomed incredibly. A little shy, and easily overwhelmed by large groups of people, you need a little time to climatise, but you always do quickly and happily and are playing and laughing and chatting in no time. And everyone at nursery thinks you're the bee's knees. You make us so proud. It's taken me a while to work out it's best to just leave you to it and stand back, or be there for plenty of cuddles, gently encouraging you to join in only after a few minutes. Thank you for being so patient and letting me figure it all out; how best to parent you, how best to be your Mama.
You have a hard job being the eldest my little love; I should know - and Daddy too - as the eldest ourselves. We talk often about remembering to not put pressure on you and expect more from you than we should. You are so clever and bright and switched on that I think sometimes we forget how little you are. And you help Coralie out so much, teaching her and guiding her without anyone having to say a word. You are a wonderful big sister Josephine.
The last year has seen your relationship with Coralie change so much, and it is lovely to watch. You now play so happily together (most of the time...I understand how frustrating it must be to get that puzzle ruined AGAIN after you spent so long carefully fitting together the pieces) and to watch you giggle and laugh and conspire melts my heart. A beautiful friendship is being forged and you're both so lucky to have that.
Right now you love all things fairies and elves and unicorns, Barbies and babies, and also cars, jumping, bike riding, running and the time you get just you and Daddy up at the allotment; what a special place that is for you both, and what fun you'll have next year there too. So proud of your matching wellies and hoodies, when you set off with your hair tied up and your backpack on, ready to work.
I love that you're the only dancer to clap the other ballerinas as they cutesy after each class every Friday, and how you were beside yourself with excitement when we visited Moorland Rd and I told you there were seven charity shops there. Your Mama's daughter, for sure.
You dance so beautifully Josephine, I well up at least once every dance class. Coralie and I sit entranced week after week. And I love our ritual of visiting the library straight after to return and pick out two books. You always know exactly what you want or don't want, and there's no persuading you. Reading with you is the best; always so many questions about little details on the page, hidden in the pictures. You notice the smallest things - don't ever stop. Your Grandpa once told me to 'always look up, because you could be missing so much' - and I think of that often. I don't think I'll have to remind you, but I'll be sure to pass on that wisdom as you grow.
You make your Grandpa so proud, of that I'm sure. Boy, he would have loved to have been around to hang out with you; to have seen you as Mary in your nativity a few weeks ago and take to the stage so naturally, singing and doing the actions. To see you fly round the track on your bike and to see the amazing outfits you concoct from the dressing up box and emerge from your bedroom wearing. To hear the downright insane stories you make up, before throwing your head back with a pretty evil sounding laugh. He would have thought you're completely mad, and completely brilliant. And your living life so completely and enthusiastically is a reminder for me of how we all should, like your Grandpa did too - and I thank you for that darling.
Next year will be another huge one for you - in September you start school! I can hardly believe it, nor do I want to! We've completed your application and I will now happily forget all about you being away from me for the majority of the day, five days a week, until April when we find out which school you got into. We plan to fill the summer with adventures and send you off with brilliant stories of crazy escapades and daring exploits of your time by the sea and up in the Scottish Highlands. Your first time on a plane too...you're so excited!
I suppose I could offer this advice or that prediction, but all I want to say Josephine is - continue being you. Because you're awesome. Goofy and beautiful. Kind and funny. Stubborn and serious. The most wonderful creature. And even when you don't listen and test my patience to it's extremes, I still think you're wonderful. I am in awe of you, always.
I am so proud of you, so proud to be your Mama.
I love you xxx
As the year comes to a close, it's natural for us to reflect on what the last 12 months have brought, revealed and challenged us with. And I feel like it's been a big year for me.
I wrote last year, that 2014 was a year of quiet and healing. It was by far the most emotional of my life; a year of heart-breaking lows and heart-mending highs. It was a year of firsts without my Dad and firsts with Coralie; the strange reality of my Dad never meeting Coralie, and yet their lives overlapping in that way is something I think about often.
It turns out that 2015 has been a year of understanding and growth for me. I guess in many ways I didn't realise it at the time, as the months and seasons slipped by, but here we are and it's dawning on me how much I've changed this year. My opinion, feelings and thoughts on so many things feel more grounded, more true. I feel like I've discovered more of myself this year than I ever have before.
Over these last weeks, in the midst of exhaustion and illness, I've found myself awake in the middle of the night, joining the dots. And while it's been a journey, and one that on many levels I was thrown unwittingly, kicking and screaming into, the last two years have taught me so much about myself and the person I want to be.
* I think motherhood is a journey that none of us know the path of. It winds and flows in every direction, sometimes all at once, and the best we can do is learn and understand and stay true to ourselves and our instincts and beliefs. Birthing Coralie and those first six months of sleepless nights and attempting to forge some kind of routine and normality in the throws of grief, was hard. Indescribable, really. But as Coralie has grown, and as all four of us have, we've hit a stride in these last few months that I feel in sync with. There have been challenges, as there always are in parenthood, but Ben and I have come out stronger and more united than ever. And our girls continue to blossom and thrive. They are truly my greatest achievement and, oh! My life, my existence, it's all for them, for Ben, for our little family. I want to be present, to listen and understand, even when I find it hard to. I want to smile and laugh and continue to forgive and forget the little things that can sometimes seem like the biggest things. Because they're not. I want to take more moments to myself to breathe and stay calm and centred; to think. And I want to see those moments as a blessing and necessity not a failure.
* I want to relax in this new found freedom that is body-confidence. It's not so much getting my old body back, because that really hasn't happened, but it's understanding this new body of mine. This amazing body that created and grew and birthed and nourished my babies. I have a new found respect for it, and am in a very happy place where I no longer feel like I'm fighting it. I'm happy, and despite being heavier and softer, I love it more. I aim to listen to it, to strengthen it (but gently with pilates I think) and I will embrace this feeling and share it with my girls. To love oneself. To stand in front of the mirror and feel proud. And I will enjoy every mouthful of steak or creamy chicken Ben cooks and every bite of that chocolate bar he brings me home as a treat.
* I aim to continue simplifying. A term thrown at everything now, I know, but one I've really identified with this year. In all aspects of life, I hope to be less cluttered. To hold onto only the things I truly love. I've started well in 2015 and feel so much clearer because of it.
* The mix of motherhood and grieving has pushed my love of style and fashion away, as far as it ever has been, but over the last six months, I've felt it return and it's different now. It's about those few choice pieces - not necessarily expensive (the charity shop is still my number one) but thoughtful - about finding the balance between practicality and desirability; for my wardrobe and our home. Clothing-wise, I've got rid of those fall-back items I just chuck on because they're easy, yet which I never feel good in. I deserve more than that; whether I'm at the park, at home or out for lunch. I aim to buy less, but make it count.
* I want to use my time better, to use it purposefully and use it well. To achieve the little things and the big things. The things I need to and the things I want to. I have a few projects I hope to develop and work on next year, and I will need to utilise the afternoon naptimes, the nursery times and the early evenings as best I can, but I know it will be worth it. I'm excited to see what that time will bring.
For me, 2016 is about thoughtfulness. All these things come back to that. It's about taking a moment to decide what I want; what I want to buy, say, do, achieve. I want to take control and make the most of this year. Breath in every second of my babies, of this moment in our lives, seize every opportunity and make my place in this world count.
It's been a tough few months. We've had one sleep issue after another and I have felt the most exhausted of my life, even more so than those newborn days. It's a funny old thing, exhaustion. With it comes illness and impatience and a lack of drive and ability to get anything done. Thankfully, I feel like we're coming out of this period of bad sleep (touch wood/fingers crossed etc etc!) so my visit to London to see my dear friend Polly came just at the right time.
I think as parents, and especially mamas, it's so easy to put ourselves last; to put the children, our partners, the house and everyday life before us, and yet sometimes it's the most important thing to ensure we can keep on giving the best of what we have. The last few weeks I've really felt like I've being doing a pretty crappy job as a Mama. Getting cross and raising my voice - my patience is the first thing to go when I'm tired, let alone exhausted to my bones.
But today, after hours yesterday of uninterrupted conversations about mamahood, marriage, photography, blogging, IG - everything - with Polly, I feel back to myself. Inspired and energised. I just needed some me time, and I'm going to try and remember that; try and put myself first sometimes and get away for a day. Take the time to reflect, breathe, talk and listen. I've already noticed a difference today in my motivation, my interaction with the girls, my general outlook.
Polly and I walked along the river to the beautiful Petersham Nurseries (my new favourite place) where we ooohhed and ahhhhed over the Christmas decorations and where we ate a delicious lunch (without having to share, and whilst it was still hot!) before a stroll into Richmond and home again.
I've written here before about how grateful I am for the blogging and Instagram world for bringing some wonderful women into my life, and today I feel that same gratitude. I've found such a beautiful friend in Polly and I think, especially as we get older and that gets harder to find, that I'm incredibly lucky. She's genuine and warm, inspiring and creative, down to Earth and funny. I came home last night buzzing with ideas we'd shared and fun projects for the future.
I can't wait for our next meet up, and am so grateful for yesterday giving me these fresh eyes on our life, the adventures just waiting to start and 2016.
Yesterday our baby girl started nursery, and it was a big day for all of us. Since she was born I've spent one night away from her (when Coralie was born) and only one full day, plus a few afternoons here and there. Now she'll be at nursery three afternoons a week; eating there, playing there, growing there. It's so strange to think she'll have a life away from me, and I won't know every detail of how she's spent her time and what she's been up to. I'm not ashamed to say that I was apprehensive and that, after I dropped her off, I shed a few tears.
But here's the thing; she LOVED it. She was so excited about going last week (all she talks about is going to school like her big cousins) and yesterday morning she was close to bursting with happiness that the big day had finally arrived. Once we got there, we had some cuddles, kisses and 'I love yous' but then off she went, without looking back once.
Ben picked her up on his way home from work and when she walked through our front door she was beyond thrilled at just how brilliant it had been; about all the fun things they have to do there and play with (it really is the most awesome place!) about her new friends, the lovely ladies that work there and how completely awesome it was that she got to go back today. My apprehension melted away and I am just so happy for her.
She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow last night, tired out from all the fun and games.
Today was as equally as successful. She was so tired, but came home with the biggest smile on her face and more tales of brilliant times. And so excited that she gets to go back again tomorrow.
The beginning of such a wonderful adventure. We're so proud of you, our darling little Josephine.
Since my Dad died I've been inundated with beautiful emails from so many of you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for each of them. The fact that you've taken the time to write and share some of your own heartbreaking stories and how you've dealt with it all has meant so much. When people ask me how I'm doing, how I'm coping, I'm always unsure of how to react. My go to statement is that it's all such a roller coaster. Which is absolutely true, of course. But to say how I'm really feeling is perhaps more complicated.
Grief is an emotion I've never experienced before. It's one that's so hard to explain, one that is so changeable.
Grief can leave you feeling high on adrenaline before sending you crashing back to Earth with sadness. It can offer you motivation to change your life and reach for your dreams whilst simultaneously freezing you to the spot, depriving you of the desire to do anything.
Grief can make you realise how much wonder fills your life, fills the world; and yet makes you question its fairness and challenges your understanding of why things happen the way they do.
It can make you believe and it can leave you doubting. It can make you miss someone more than you think you can bear and it can leave you sure that they're always with you.
Grief can bring clarity and focus whilst clouding your mind with the thickest fog. It can slow down time and make months seems like years, and it can speed time up with weeks flying by in a blur.
Grief can leave you clinging on to things like you've never done before, cherishing every item; and it can open your eyes to how the material doesn't matter.
It can be on your mind 24/7, echoing in your dreams, and yet it can surprise you when you least expect it and will leave you gasping for breath.
There are good days and bad days, and there are days that leave you crumpled in a heap on the floor absolutely heartbroken. There are smiles and there are tears, and there is uncontrollable crying for hours.
Every day you wake up and remember, and every night you fall asleep wishing it wasn't true. You can spend your time trying to forget the moment you found out and yet you can't help but play it over again and again; every word, every reaction.
And yet through all this, love remains the constant. The love of those who get you through the tough times and share the laughs, who take your mind of it all when you need to forget and who listen for hours about how you're feeling when it's all you want to talk about. The love of friends who bring new perspective and the love of those who have been through the same. The love of your family; your siblings and your children especially, who are each part of the person you've lost and who, in so many ways, keep them there with you.
And then there is the love for the person you've lost. The love that continues to grow despite the fact they're no longer here; the love that you know will be with you forever, no matter how the day leaves you feeling. The love that keeps you going when all you want to do is stop, because you know it's what they would have wanted. The love that keeps you knowing that despite the hurt, despite the pain, despite how much it's all so completely unfair, you wouldn't change the time you had for anything. You wouldn't swap your Dad for someone else and the promise of longer. You'd keep it all the same. Because only 29 years with your Dad is better than 100 with another.
The weeks are slipping into months and I miss you more with each day that passes, my beautiful Papa. In so many ways, it's all still so hard to believe. I think about you every day, every hour and you will always be in my heart. I love you.
The beauty of spring can not come soon enough. The warmer sun on our backs, the idea of new beginnings, the promise of new life. With every flower I see burst open with colour, the more I am reminded of all this. And I'm so thankful for that reminder.
