Leave the Clock Alone

I don’t want the clocks to go back, the hour to change. For life to show me time moves on rampantly, blindly.

I wish Halloween would do one, the ephemera of death hanging around as if to taunt me. 

But then it’s the start of the festive season. I’ll struggle to find my pocketful of Ho Ho Hos.

I have a freshly turned 4 year old brimful of excitement and wonder at all the promise of the season. Who will see us through each day, but barely give us space to breathe in the void RD leaves behind.

The days trip into each other in numb exhaustion. Bar the hours between 2.30am and 4am. They are painfully long and quiet. 

There is happiness and freshness in each day, and it’s been a really glorious autumn, but I’m like a sponge finger dipped in sadness. That bit of the trifle that holds it together, until pressed.

Then there’s days like today. Days where I selfishly need solitude. To do an ugly cry. The ones where you feel like your eyelids might turn inside out. When you don’t recognise the primordial cries coming from your throat. And yet, it just brushes at the pain. Barely dents it.

When it’s hard not to let anger in. When you feel that decisions are made on assumptions rather than questions. I can tell you this, how are you? is never defunct. I can’t promise to tell the truth, or a torrent of emotion, or perhaps worse, a nothing because at that precise time, words can’t really convey how it is. Well, maybe a choice swear word or something.

Grief seems to involve fine tuning forgiveness. Probably because after the event you realise you’re not angry at that event at all. You’re just fucking angry that your child died. Seven stages of grief or whatever right there.

So I hope people forgive me. Stick with me when I withdraw, or throw stones. Or just am myself but a bit hollow and vacant. I want to hear all about you.

I’ve also realised I’m barely touching the events of the last year in actuality. I’m just circumnavigating this huge gap in our lives. I watched the finale of The Fall (slight spoiler alert if you’re saving it). He strangles a man, and then suffocates himself. And suddenly this portal into the time RD eventually stopped breathing opens up and it’s so glass shatteringly painful I feel like all my insides have just fallen into my feet. Which has just happened remembering that memory of a memory.

Some things are moving through time and changing for the better though. Eric, our new puppy, is growing up and calming down, and DD and he are less of a petrol and match combination. We can now take him on (short) walks which means our four walls feel a little less close.

DD seems to becoming a little more emotionally aware. Rather than telling me to stop crying, or to not cry, she offers a cuddle and closeness. There are still the epic boundary pushes, and she’s working through the Why? stage, but her little giant mind is obviously making sense of things.

Current obsession: baby in her tummy.

“Mummy, how does the baby get out my tummy”

I am navigating the m1 in half term traffic. I can only figure that honesty is the best policy.

“Well, when RD was a baby in my tummy, he needed an operation to come out. When you were a baby in my tummy, you came out my noo noo.” (Midwives all over now contemplate whether it should be NNBAC)

Disgusted noises from DD.

“Well, I’m going to hospital to get my baby out tomorrow, okay? It will have sore bits like RD”

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3 thoughts on “Leave the Clock Alone

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