Whenever I stop to think about things – which is quite a good idea when writing, but one of the reasons I don’t want to do it as facing up to life’s trajectory can be painful! – I look back. I try to see where I’ve come from, the bigger picture, which will hopefully inform where I am, despite the lack of a map. I do believe in narrative, that our lives have a story to tell (as I discussed here). Obviously what is happening in my little life is all part of what we have all been going through – 2 years of the pandemic with all the disruption, isolation and lockdowns, uncertainty and anxiety. I wrote about that here on a previous blog. We’re all under par and surely a high proportion of the population were struggling from depression even before the war in Ukraine started…
So as I said yesterday, I’ve been pretty low for at least the past 6 months, despite my anti-depressants. In early October we came back from a wonderful stay in our Breton house by the sea to 10 days isolation with a positive Covid test. So much of the benefit of that time was immediately lost. The winter months are always difficult anyway with the anniversary of Sam’s death on November 25th always overshadowing the Christmas season. In 2021 it was 7 years and I’d hoped to sail through it, leave it behind and really start to live again. I wrote this poem about it the year before and re-iterated my hopes 3 months ago right here. Good grief – isn’t the whole point that I STOP marking this date as the pivot of my life? But how can I?
We couldn’t actually go to Sicily (see the poem) so went to stay with old friends in Oxford instead, which was lovely and comforting. The best thing was that they know me so well they let me be rude and uncommunicative and didn’t judge me for putting my nose in my phone and being unsociable – such kindness. They even said we could go again next year! I did try to ignore the dates, but looking back I realise its true what experts say about your body remembering things: I became incredibly tired and it has lasted for months.
Then the week before Christmas a tragedy that badly affected our remaining offspring knocked us all down another level. It’s so true that when new griefs come they open the door for all the old griefs to traipse in uninvited. The saying attributed to Groucho Marx that a parent is ‘only as happy as their unhappiest child’ is also apposite. To be honest, sometimes I feel as if I have been sad forever. There is a place deep inside where the grief for my children lives, sometimes it’s a small knot, sometimes it swells to a huge balloon that presses on my lungs, choking my breath. It’s mostly hidden so you wouldn’t know – I wouldn’t want you to. My Saviour knows and I share it with Him.
A longed-for holiday in February (Lanzarote pictured above) gave a desperately needed break – even my happy husband had started feeling depressed for the first time in his life! But just before and during the time away I had a resistant infection, 3 lots of antibiotics, consequences from those and remained exhausted. I no longer know what is in my body and what is in my mind. Every time I’ve tried to get back into exercise and activity I’ve been knocked back again. This past week we have stumbled into Covid, both lying around in bed, in isolation all weekend. Yes, all I can do is rest! And try not to lose hope. The worst thing has been just not wanting to do anything at all…
These little yellow labels have been left around our area, stuck in the ground where spring growth is expected. Whoever did it has been a God-send. It’s the little things that touch our hearts, isn’t it – the whispers, the nudges, the breath of the breeze, the kiss of the sunshine, the kindness of friends. Spring is here.
I have blogged.
Heart Space 