Twenty-Two Months

The significance of time for me is like an ever-present constant; a bit like grief and love, a steady reminder of all that was, all that is and all that is to come, but ever changed.

When our three children were born and we worked out the age difference, it was exactly twenty-two months between them. No, it wasn’t something that was planned, it just happened that way. I do wonder, though, if fate, life, something otherworldly steps in and creates things like this to be this way. Maybe it’s only picked up if you think so deeply on matters of the heart and life as I do?

There is always something to be found in this life that is serendipitous; a sign, a moment, a sparkle of light. Maybe it’s a similar notion to the butterfly effect where everything you do has an impact on someone somewhere in the world and it could be as devastating as it could be brilliant.

I think about the twenty-two months between my gorgeous bears and I think about the now larger gap between my two girls; the gap that is the void of the loss of their brother.

It’s twenty-two months now since Ben died and it feels like another huge milestone. How do we continue to exist in this new shape that is a physical family of four? Yet, we are doing it. We are doing it for each other, all of us and because it’s so important to live our lives fully, as best we can, as hard as it is some days, in the hope of the days coming of laughter and full immersion in fun again. For us left behind; and for Beeps as well. It’s not possible to stay immersed in grief permanently and it’s ok to crave an emotional break from it all.

Yesterday, twenty-two months on, I laid out five plates (not unusual) for lunch and cooked enough portions for five to eat. As I hovered over the fifth plate with the extra piece of haddock I’d cooked, the reality of my actions hit home. I crumpled up and cried silent tears, before deciding to eat Ben’s dinner for him, foregoing the sausages I’d cooked for myself. It somehow felt better, as I could put the sausages in a wrap for tea, later.

It’s funny how time exists to play with your mind and heart. It sways and laps at your feet like the swell of the ocean; it stretches and morphs into memories that feel like both yesterday and a lifetime away. It pulls you into a false sense of security when you feel that all too familiar sense of deja-vu; and then it breaks you apart when you look at the empty chair in the room or the empty plate. The crates of Lego, unplayed with for almost two years; the books, read so much and then unread, for nearly two years. The window in the bedroom, open just enough to imagine him there, laughing, waving at you and likely throwing a water balloon at your head as you stroll innocently by below.

In twenty-two months, my heart and soul; my body, has aged. My hair, once full of a blend of chestnut brown and auburn / blonde streaks, is now highlighted with grey and white. I am now growing into the ‘silver fox’ as my husband noted, gently the other day, with a smile and a shrug that said, ‘that’s the price of love, darling. 

My skin is etched with laughter and anxiety lines. My brow; furrowed in concern most days. Not because that is the way I choose to be, but because that is how the emotional heartbreak has chosen to imprint its echo on the face I show to the world. It’s not something I am bothered by or resigned to, really. It just is.

There is a reality in grief that takes its toll in ways that you can never imagine, until you are walking the very path you have been fearing all your life. None of us want to be in this position, but many of us are. The hopeful and the hopeless, the fearful and the fearless. We all wander through life’s maze just trying to do our best, make a difference, love our loved ones.

I am beyond proud of my three children and I am so beyond proud of my two daughters, who continue to inspire me with all the light they bring into my life. I love them so much.

I notice their expressions changing, how their opinions are forming as they continue to make their imprint in the world in their own way. My youngest worries about forgetting her brother and I’m sure as time goes by, all our memories will become softer, even if we wish they wouldn’t. The love will continue, but as many families in this position will know, you become reliant on photos and videos and other people accounts of how your child or sibling was, because you know that the last photo or video you took was the last video of photo you have and there are no more.

As time ripples into our lives and new memories are made; as the children grow up without their brother and we reach more and more milestones, my hope is that time won’t blur the memories of Benny too much and that we will enjoy the videos and the photos; remember the bickering, the giggling and laughing out loud until your sides hurt moments and carry him with us into our future.

A rare trip out for tea … Ben pulling a face to make us laugh!