Loss.

So here we are again on the anniversary of the day Tom was killed. This is the day I dread, the day the mask slips and I give in. So can I thank those that put up with my short temper, my distraction, my forgetfulness, my lack of understanding.....it’s not always easy to deal with day-to-day stuff when your head is full of the clamour of grief.

The image that goes with this post is a sculpture depicting a parent who has lost their child and the hole which is left. For me when I saw that image, it made perfect sense. That hole is always there.

But that hole is full. It is full of anger. Red, spiteful, clawing anger. Screaming and spitting to be released. Why Tom? Why us? Why does no-one see my pain? Not just anger - that hole is full of tears. Oceans and oceans of tears. More tears than I ever imagined. More than I thought it was possible to shed. And still I wade through them. That hole is full of grief. It can never be sated. It wants to be healed but the loss of a child (and I know this applies from unborn to whatever age) never, ever goes away. You can be a parent to one, two, three, four children or more, and love them all beyond reasoning, but still your dead child demands to be heard and you can’t and don’t want to deny their existence. You can pretend that all is well, that all is okay, that life goes on...but that hole in the middle of you gives lie to that pretence. Life hasn’t gone on, it is just endured.

All peace of mind flew out of my life forever on 5th November 2009, never to be found again. I can’t for a second be sure that my family and friends are safe from harm. Out there is chaos, it may come my way again...dread and despair are the shadows that walk with me every day.

So how do I get through another year and another and another with such a loss? One step, one step, one step. The effort is enormous. Most have no idea, some friends and some family do see and I cheer them for it. Others, sadly, do not see, do nor even support when asked, but I’m so grateful that those that do, are there for me for the long haul, not just the good times.

So if you made it this far, thank you for reading this and for your support and kindness. I’ll slip my mask back on, get on with living and remember Tom's very last words to me: “Chill, Mother, it’ll all be fine.”

By Maggie Millin