Anxiety

With the pandemic, it might seem quite understandable that there is a notable change in my ability to cope with some aspects of day to day life and I definitely notice my apprehension about going into shops or crowded places these days. Where once I was a person who loved all the social get-togethers, I find myself preferring my life as a hermit some days. My anxiety has affected the rate my heart beats at over the last year or so and even when I don’t feel particularly stressed. Yes, of course, for those of you who know my real age and not my press age, there is my predictable hormonal imbalance to take into account and the fact that my family seems to be a line of worriers, not warriors!

That said, becoming a bereaved parent has instilled an uncomfortable new set of challenges for me in these past two years. It was relatively easy to continue with safety measures at home once the pandemic hit. We’d been very used to living in a very clinical environment with Ben, having had the place redecorated, windows cleared of all the moss and mould, the basement tanked and the wooden floor installed when we knew he was going to be home in time for Christmas in 2019. I have to say here that we were so grateful for the ‘all hands on deck’ approach by friends and family to getting the house ready, while I was still in Bristol with Benny. Kindness never to be forgotten and I still have footage of Ben heading into his new bedroom and his audible delight at the effort made for him.

We had always had to wipe things down and had ditched the drying up tea towels for kitchen roll, realising the amount of bacteria that is perpetually covering your crockery, while staying in hospital. You realise in a matter of moments, just how the freedom of watching the children come in from a day in the garden, covered in mud, could actually lead to an infection, when one of your children has had a stem cell transplant.

We changed our real Christmas tree in 2019 for a plastic one; not environmentally friendly, although we’ve made use of it ever since. We had no open fire, a relief for the environment and for our son’s health. Even the mites on the trees you have adorning your households for the merriment of the festive season, could lead to infection and worse for a child with an impaired immune system.

Going back to wiping everything down, even though we were now without Ben, seemed upsettingly easy to do. We have remained very isolated, not just as part of being careful due to covid, but because of bereavement; me, especially, not so much everyone else.

Sometimes when you feel brave enough to get out into life again, it’s very easy to become overwhelmed and feel like the best place to be is the retreat of home.

Home; our dream home. The place we hoped to grow old in, James and I. The place where our children played together, the place we installed a set of swings and placed a trampoline in a garden we hoped we’d see them make great use of. Home. The place where our son became poorly and the place he returned to from hospital after relapse, for one night only, before he died in my arms. Home.

We find ourselves feeling blessed to live where we do some days, before feeling that wherever we live, we are going to forever be carrying our heavy hearts because we will always be a man down.

Yesterday, I went for a stroll in the cool, bright sunshine and there was a helicopter flying overhead. Not perhaps something out of the ordinary in the South Downs, but it flew low and loud and startled my heart into an acceleration of uncomfortable proportions. My adrenaline flew up for a few minutes and I found myself standing in the middle of the lane, cupping my hands around my ears, wishing for it to go away.

I know this is largely because of Ben’s last day on the planet and my oblivion that there was an air ambulance in the field opposite, among the ambulances and police blocking our lane, while the crews took over from me and James and worked on our son. I was suddenly aware when the quiet descended in the house and the crews left, that this helicopter was only metres from our home and when it took off, I was in shock and awe at the same time, but the sound scares me now.

Being bereaved is hard. Sounds and sudden noises, music even, that’s too loud, crushes my heart and leads me into a panic. It can be the simplest thing and I need to almost throw myself into a meditation on the spot to release myself of the pain and the fear.

I never used to live in fear and choose not to now, though I accept that I am fragile after everything that’s happened.

My worries, I always promised, as a parent, I would NEVER put onto my children and yet, occasionally I hear myself blatantly doing just that and I know that it is something that is completely unacceptable and unfair for my bears. Thankfully, I am always called out on it and once I’ve given myself a good talking to, I vow again, to keep my worries to myself.

So, what can I do, what can we do, as bereaved parents and families to get through this unpredictable, yet quite understandable physical, mental and emotional response in our body?

Grief responds to movement. It responds to creativity. It responds to release.

So, actually, walking the dogs in nature, which we are blessed with around here, is the perfect tonic. Walking, any exercise allows the negative energy to shift, allowing the heart to feel gently soothed, as the heartbreak dulls even for a short time and thus, feels able to continue with the day.

Creativity is another way to live expressively. The more you focus on creativity, or just the action of doing something other than living in your mind and falling into sadness all the time, it will allow you to manage your day a little more effectively.

I find myself doing a form of Qi Gong in the mornings now, which leaves me feeling a little more ready for the day. I tell myself every day to meditate, but living in a house with other creative and occasionally noisy souls, means it’s difficult to find a peaceful time in the day to do this regularly. If I push that excuse aside, I try to meditate in the evenings and when I do, I feel totally liberated from everything. For even one moment, to feel that sense of internal calm and balance, knowing that all is well, even if in the reality of this life, it might not feel that way sometimes, I treasure that one moment.

Meditation allows the body to drop and the conscious state to elevate and sometimes, if I’m really blessed, I can see colour and images so clearly; clearer than I do through my eyes on a daily basis. Occasionally and usually for a nano second, I might catch a glimpse of my son, usually leaning into the frame, waving or smiling, before running off. He could be any age, but I know he is right with me and that is sacred to me.

For my girls, anxiety is something they are working through and hopefully leaving behind as much as they can in this world we are living in. I am so proud of them both for the way they are approaching everything they do; and see them growing into such beautiful, creative, funny, intelligent and wise young women. I hope in years to come, the over-protective mother status will diminish into the actually quite cool mum I always hoped I’d be. Someone they can always come to with anything, knowing there’s no judgement, just love and support for them and their every whim.

It’s not easy and worrying about things solves absolutely nothing, as any parent who has watched their child go through cancer and seen the impact it has had on their siblings, will tell you. Life can change in a split second through any number of unlikely and unexpected events and worry has absolutely no purpose.

If I have learned anything, it is to live. Live life as much as you can, to the full, with compassion, a heart full of love and kindness for others and the planet.

There is so much about this world that is so wrong at the moment, but I will leave that for another blog post!

There is also so much that is beautiful, with so many that are kind, compassionate and there is always support, if you are brave enough to ask for it in the first place.

Love to all xxx

Our beloved local woods …