Our beautiful baby daughter Anabelle was born sleeping June 2010.
Blessed with the screaming arrivals of our gorgeous rainbow sons,
Alexander October 2011, Zachary November 2013 and Lucas July 2016.

After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows
Heartbreak. Joy. Death. Life. But most of all Love.

Monday, 13 December 2010

Hurt

“It’s never going to stop hurting it is.” Jon said to me through tears a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. We’ve both been feeling so low all of last week that it came to a head this weekend. Last night I sobbed. There was lots of sobbing in the beginning, but over the months it has slowly turned into quiet cries at home, or the odd tear that escapes when something triggers out in public. Regular tears but I hadn’t had an uncontrollable sob for a while.
Last night it all got too much. The physical hurt was back, literally my heart was aching in my chest. The little hope I had learnt to see for the future was gone last night and it all seemed black. So I cried, and cried some more.  Hope is still hazy this morning but a good cry was obviously what I needed. I can at least look forward to today’s plans this morning.
Once upon a time, when I heard somebody say that their heart was broken, I thought it was a metaphor for things being really bad. I didn’t realise that grief could be so physically painful before. My heart and chest sometimes really does feel like it is broken, it physically hurts.  It’s not always that intense – it couldn’t be, we wouldn’t survive it – and so the pain comes in waves of intense to numb. More often than not somewhere right in the middle.
I asked Jon if we actually wanted it to stop hurting though. I don’t think I do, for the pain to be gone would imply that it was ok now. It will never be ok will it – the huge Anabelle part of our lives will always hurt, because she is not here. We love our little girl so much, living without her hurts. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
Somebody posted on my virtual world last night that she feels now, years and years down the line from her child’s death that “It is never going to be as good as it should be but it is now as good as it can be.”  I think that is a good mantra – I suppose that is where we need to aspire to be. A place of acceptance that this is the way things are, and that no, life will never be the way it should, but that what is left can be a good place around it.
I can make sense of that; eventually.

1 comments:

Anonymous said...

That makes so much sense, I can feel your pain through your post. I too never thought that 'emotional' pain can be expressed as a physical pain, but it certainly can and it is awful. Wishing you every strength and lots of hope for the future, love, Laura (beady) xxx

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After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows. I'm Caz, Mummy to beautiful angel Belle and my wonderful rainbow boys, Xander, Zachy and Luc. Wife to Jon. Twitter @cazem Instagram @cazzyem
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