Gentle Joy
Today, after a day of feeling rather rudderless, I am found to be feeling rather creative and ideas are beginning to creep into my broken heart again.
It’s been eighty long and lonely weeks without Benny. I say ‘lonely’ because it’s just how I’ve felt all along, despite being surrounded by loving family. I hear the voices and feel the love so, so much, but there is always this tender, open wound in my heart, this invisible tattoo there that says ‘I have three children; two girls and one boy who resides here now and in the stars. xxx’
This afternoon, James was running a mini train in the front garden under the blue sky of a slightly milder February day and the girls were busy in their own pursuits, largely involving technology and communication.
We haven’t been out for a walk together as a family for a number of months. In fact I can probably count the times on one hand in the last year. We have all become hermits in one way or another, partly due to covid and partly due to bereavement. We don’t always go everywhere as a family, but there was a time, where we would inevitably and joyfully, move as one.
This afternoon, we were pleased to be heading out to the park. I have only been a couple of times to our local park, as I find it really difficult and usually send James out, so I don’t end up crying.
Still, today, our youngest was keen we all went together, so we agreed and headed out there with a ball, albeit a pink, rather soft, un-football-like ball, to have a kick-a-bout. Ben was always the boy in the goal paying little attention to the game itself; instead sitting down, hair in his eyes, aged eight or nine, staring out at the sky, while the more boisterous crowd were running and leaping about the pitch. I remember at his first school, reminding him from the side to pay attention. Thankfully, the ball never got to his goal end, as he was never a football fan or player. He much preferred cycling and technology!
We arrived and as we did so, realised we recognised some of the people the children used to go to school with, where we live now. They were engrossed in conversation and as I got out of the car, I know they had recognised us and smiled, but I felt suddenly immensely sad. I haven’t seen these people since Ben was poorly or maybe just before he relapsed, when we may have seen each other at the first and last trip out as a family to the fete we went to in June 2019, when Ben was desperate to catch up with the friends he’d not seen for so long. I heard James asking if I was alright, intuitively realising we were all together, but without Ben, in public, with people who knew us as a family of five. For some reason, it felt very sad and I told him just how sad I was feeling, as the tears welled up in my eyes.
We held hands and walked over to the netball court to solace, where we could be our own bereaved selves; and began kicking the ball terribly towards each other up and down, eldest and I, already exhausted for different reasons and all of us, non-footballers!
Still, as we warmed up, so we began to giggle and laugh. We cheered each other on, while being acutely aware of the jigsaw piece missing in our game. We continued, beginning to sense Ben’s energy and as we moved out of the court onto the field again and between two goals, we realised how much we were enjoying the freedom of being able to laugh. It’s been such a long time since we have all laughed together.
I remember saying to James how much Ben would be laughing at our inability to score any goals, although our eldest became quite adept within minutes and kept us all running up and down between the goals until we were all exhausted.
I remember thinking this afternoon how important it was for Ben to feel we are able to live and love our lives fully. In this moment, in this thirty minutes of time spent throwing my heart and soul into the present moment, I realised I was enveloped in the presence of all three of my children. It was overwhelming; and as we headed back to the car, I got in and looked in the rear view mirror. In the gentle joy I felt, I could see the three of them in the back seat, not just two. Ben was quite happily sitting in the middle seat, I’m certain, after a very haphazard, funny, very non-football game of football, that he would have loved; and I felt secure in my beautiful family of five.
Our non-football game - February 2021