I think of Thomas just as much as I think of my other three children. Having lost a child (or indeed a loved one), we are surrounded by constant reminders and thoughts that we shared our lives with Thomas but now he is dead. It makes no difference whether the reminders are unexpected or just as equally anticipated. It is not always the big dates, the birthdays, anniversaries or holidays, that hurt the most, but it can be the ordinary days that really hurt, when you just can't find comfort within the supposed safety of your own home. Whether it hits hard at a celebration or in every day life. I have unexpectedly broken down in all sorts of regular places; whilst driving the car to school, whilst at the supermarket, whilst in the playground, whilst walking in the countryside, whilst cooking dinner in the kitchen or hoovering the bedroom floor. In the same way, holidays never become easier without Thomas. We always miss him and they will never feel complete.
The empty chair at the table, or the empty space in every family photo, never becomes less empty, but remains empty and forever gone. There is and always will be, a missing space in our lives, our family, a hole in our hearts. Nothing will make that space less empty, whichever way you look at it, empty is empty. Missing is still missing. Gone is still gone. Nothing can fill it, the empty space remains.
It can be impossibly hard to watch other people mark and celebrate things that we or Thomas will never experience. Resenting other people's celebrations and milestones is perfectly normal in grief, but I have tried to turn those feelings on their head, by considering how lucky those people are to be in that position, and to feel so happy for them that they are able to experience what we can only dream about. It is those dreams that form part of our grief.
"The rest of my life...every dinner table...every birthday party...every event; big or small...and especially my heart will be missing you..."The Compassionate Friends UK
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