Friday 19 July 2013

When you first lose someone like we did; sudden and unexpected; your body and mind go into shock and self-preservation mode. You're in a fog and go about your daily business almost mechanically...like going through the motions but feeling very disconnected from it all. You talk about your loss like it is a sad story you heard. You hear yourself say the words but you heart is too numb to feel any emotion as you talk about "it".

People say, that is your brain shielding you from something so terrible that you could not possible process all in one go. Instead, the fog lifts bit by bit as your brain comes to learn to live with your new reality, your new normal. As this new normal is pretty much going to stick around for the rest of your life, your brain consequently takes its time getting you used to living with it.

I suppose that is part of why they class the newly bereaved as such for 5 years.

Almost two and a half years in, there are still moments when a new part of this, our, reality reveals itself to me. You sit there and it dawns on you that this too is now part of you, part of your life.

It can be difficult to get used that. Of course you are aware of the obvious things...the stuff that you'll never get to do with him and that he'll never get to experience. Graduation from Montessori, 1st day at school, etc. As time goes on you become aware of other things that'll never happen for you now.

Taking him to his first Munster match.
Trying to get him out of bed as a teenager.
Worry about him when he is out partying with his friends.
Watch him sweat it when he brings the girlfriend (or boyfriend) home.
Seeing him on his wedding day or try to cope with a newborn.

There is so much. So much to make you stop and go: "Oh!...another thing that we (us and him) have been denied."

This is when your brain allows you to bit by bit realise the true enormity of what happened...with all the repercussions and consequences that come with it..

Like watching a subsequent child grow up and reach all the milestones...and more to the point watching them do all those things that your other child should have been doing also. Small things, ordinary, every-day things. Things that most of us take for granted. Like hearing them say I love you.

That is what the Miss hits regularly and you realise this is it. This is the new you. And you get on with it, determined to make every moment you have with your family count. Because you cannot change what happened but you can make the most of the here and now...













Sunday 14 July 2013

1 year 9 months 21 days

Is, as per the post mortem report, the exact age Patrick was when he passed away.

On August 16th this year, Eoghan will be that age exactly. A day I am moving towards to with mixed feelings.

I anticipate a sense of relief that Eoghan will have made it past that age.
Perhaps I won't go to bed wondering if he'll still be alive when I wake up in the morning quite as much anymore?
Maybe, I won't call the creche in a little semi panic every time I have a missed call from a private number? (Their calls show up like that...).
I don't know but can only play it by ear.

But, I also anticipate a bit of a sense of loss because all of a sudden Eoghan is out there on his own..

Though  he  now  gets  to  be  the  individual  he  of  course  deserves  to  be, we'll never again be able to say: "When Patrick was Eoghan's age he also...."

There is something dreadfully final about that.

It makes me more determined to ensure Eoghan grows up knowing about his brother and hopefully feeling some kind of a connection. I'd hate for Patrick not to mean anything to him.

It is cruel enough that he will never get a chance to enjoy that bond between brothers and have Patrick be his best man at his wedding...At least I hope Patrick will appear in a speech or two. I could not imagine going through an occasion like this without Patrick being mentioned...and missed.

That does not mean we continue living in the past. It does not mean we do not enjoy the here and now and look forward to the future.

BUT...our son Patrick is part of our past and will still be part of our here and now and our future. All this is part of us now and some might find it weird that I say I hope he will be talked about and missed at family occasions.

I say: Why not? He belongs to this family. Why should it be only ok for him to be remembered in silence? Why should it be wrong for me to want to hear his name mentioned now and every day for the rest of my life?

If we included his name on a birthday card, most would think this is not right and actually quite weird...he's dead after all, isn't he?

To those I say: Have you any idea how weird it is not to be able to sign his name anymore? How much of a traitor I feel for excluding or even denying him by just signing off the card with Steph, Pat and Eoghan? Yet, I'd feel odd for putting his name down at the same time.


Patrick is not our sad little family secret; he is our son.

The only positive thing I take from his passing is that it makes me savour every moment we have with his brother. Spending time with him, enjoying the cute little things he does and says. It may have made me a more attentive parent.

Thank you, Sproggy...
xxx