This is the conversation that goes on in my head quite regularly.
“I feel OK, today quite content really. I feel quite happy, life is good.”
“But how can you possibly be happy? Your son is dead. You can’t possibly be happy? What kind of mother are you? Didn’t you love him enough? You should be devastated, grief stricken, unable to go on”
I look at his photo, but I don’t connect his image with grief and despair, on the contrary, I usually smile and say “Hello Toby” and kiss my finger and place it on his forehead on the picture. Continue reading
So I have had a bit of ‘writer’s block’ this summer, and haven’t written much at all. I was prompted to write something when Robin Williams died and this week I have been touched by the story of a grieving Mum, who could not live with her grief any longer and tragically took her own life, just over a year after she lost her perfect 23 year old daughter to suicide.
Most of the time I feel I am going through life on ‘auto-pilot’. It is as if something took over the day Toby died, like an artificial lung, breathing for me when I did not know how to breathe myself. I wonder about a zillion times a day how I can go on living and breathing and appearing outwardly ‘happy’ and ‘normal’, when my son who was my world, my universe and my raison d’etre is no longer here.
I miss Toby every day, I think of him every day a thousand times but alongside this I function. I care about my appearance, I eat healthy food, I do not abuse substances or alcohol and I do not take medication. I have had some counselling in the early days, but found it did not help very much.
I am ‘getting on with my life’ (I stress the inverted commas here). Then this week I have been stopped in my tracks and got immersed in the story of a perfect 23 year old young woman who tragically took her own life in April 2013, and her Mum who struggled so hard to come to terms with it but ultimately lost the battle.
This week has been a sad week for many fans who loved Robin Williams from afar, who loved his humour, his films and his spirit. It has been an especially difficult week for those of us who have lost loved ones to suicide. Every week is difficult, but this week we have been bombarded with articles in the media about depression and suicide, the aftermath of the shock of discovering that someone who made a living making people laugh was so sad inside that he would take drastic action to escape his pain.
His wife, children, family and friends are now left with a life sentence of pain and a million questions that all start with the word ‘Why?’ If he had died after a long battle with cancer there would be tributes and outpouring of grief as well, but we would not be asking ‘Why?’ We wouldn’t feel so shocked and the sense of tragedy would not be so intense. Continue reading
It’s three years today since Toby died. I hate to even write those words. I am on holiday on The Isles of Scilly. I am staying on a tiny island called Brhyer where over every hill is a deserted, white sandy beach, glinting with diamond dust. The views are breathtaking and I have never felt closer to heaven on earth. So I couldn’t be in a better place to remember Toby and reflect on my life since he went away, my life now and a future that beckons.
Coming here this week was a conscious choice. I decided after the first heart wrenching, gut churning, tortuous first anniversary that I would do something special for this week every year from now on to honour my son, to remember him and to honour my grief as a mother. Continue reading
Listen, I don’t like football, don’t watch football and can live with the fact that England didn’t play terribly well and crashed out of the world cup after two games.
However I really don’t like the current trend in the media and social media that seems to accept it is OK to publish to a wide audience cruel, insulting and hurtful personal comments about a young man just because he is a celebrity sportsman. I was driven to write this post after reading a snippet in Amanda Platell’s column in the Daily Mail today.
Cornwall like a lot of the country was battered by devastating storms this winter. Whole swathes of coastline that had remained largely intact for hundreds of years were battered by relentless waves with a force that could not have been predicted. Miles of coastline dissolved into the sea and beaches left completely devoid of sand never to be the same again. One day they were there, the next they were gone.
I live seven miles from Lands’ End. I have a little dog and a large part of my life is spent walking those coast paths and beaches. Immediately my daily routine was changed because I could no longer walk along my little bit of coast path along Newlyn Green with my view of Newlyn Harbour on one side and St Michaels Mount on the other. I had to go round a little park instead across the road where I couldn’t see the sea. It sufficed for our morning constitutional but it just wasn’t as good. We didn’t know when and if our little coast path would ever be the same again. So I adapted to my new routine, not happy about it but I had no choice. Continue reading
After the loss of a child it can be difficult to get through all the special days; birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas.
But Mother’s Day is especially difficult. We are surrounded by fluffy images of Mums and children and all our friends with children are looking forward to a happy day where they get cards, flowers and get taken out for a treat, or are brought breakfast in bed by the hubby and kids.
Toby was my only child, but I still call myself a ‘Mother’, I still feel like a mother, I am a mother and will always be ‘Toby’s Mom’. Continue reading