6 Months

Six months of the most unbelievable pain I've ever felt.

I miss him so much.

I always wonder whether I should post comments like these. For one, it seems to worry some of the people closest to me, and I sometimes wonder if it makes me look like a whinger.

But as I've said many times, I set out to document every step along the way, and I mean to do just that.

Sometimes I think I'm getting worse, not better. In the early months after Sam died, I was doing a passable job of 'keeping it all together'. Or so I thought. Perhaps I confused not crying and being strong with what it really was - supressing everything I "should" have been feeling.
I certainly cry more now. I feel more sad more often. And as I've mentioned before, there is an aspect of depression (whether you call it that or not) that has crept in: I don't feel like working, cooking, cleaning, exercising, even interacting with people all that much. And I am doing just enough to stop things from going too far.
(Don't worry readers, I am going to see my GP today).

When I write posts like this one, people talk to me or send me messages asking if I want to talk. It think it's fantastic that they do that; it shows that they care, but most of the time I don't want to talk.
There are lots of reasons why: I don't want to burden people with it; I've documented it here anyway; I'd rather talk about other things with people that are close to me. And I just don't know how much it would help. Me, that is. Thank you for the offers, but it's not what I need.

As I've said before, I get a lot out of putting everything down here. It's kind of like a clearinghouse of thoughts sometimes, and there have been times that writing it down has helped a lot. I think in the future it will also be good to come back and read through it all. I sometimes struggle with the public/private nature of it, but I actually enjoy the fact that 'strangers' read it and get something out of it, as well as people that I know.

I could have done all this with a diary, but I don't know whether I would have. I've kept many diaries in the past. Briefly. There were the numerous 'teen angst' journals, where I agonised about boys, dreamed about pouffy-haired popstars, and collected angsty poems and song lyrics. There are the million diet diaries that I've started and stopped (seriously, who writes down EVERYTHING they eat and drink, every day, for years on end??). There are the creative writing journals that I've started: "observe everything, write everything down". There are the journals I've kept (or is that 'meant to keep') about my kid's antics. And there have been countless other diaries over the years. None of them have lasted long. This is the only one that I've sustained longer than a couple of months. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the subject matter. Maybe it's the medium. Maybe it's me and where I am...

Anyway, I can't believe I've written another one of these posts. I've got another one that's almost ready to go, will post later. Today I'm having some 'me' time: going to the doctor and having some quiet time (last time I took a day off, Oliver was home sick too). Later on, Anthony, Oliver and I are meeting some of Sam's friends and one of his teachers for Goodberrys. It will be nice to see them.

Thank you for listening

I tell you this, and I tell you plain:
What you have done, you will do again;
You will bite your tongue, careful or not,
Upon the already-bitten spot.
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

OK, so my first post yesterday was a little heavy. I know this, because people asked me if I was OK not long afterward. I am OK I guess (as much as I can be); but I am grieving, and occasionally I need to vent.

But I guess you knew that. From the first time you read my blog you knew I was grieving for my Sam. And if you kept reading, you must have known that once in a while I'd say something sad. I've said it before, but I do appreciate the way that some of you have stayed on that roller coaster, from the tame, flat parts, right through to the terrifying loop-de-loops.

That is what it's like for me too. For a while, things are going along OK: I start to see some normality creep back in, start to laugh, smile, and have fun again; and then bang! It hits me. I'm never going to see him again. It can be as simple as a smell, a sight, a memory; something someone says, but it can be anything that gives me that strong feeling of loss.

For the sake of my sanity (and that of my family and friends), I've got to get it out. This blog is my venting spot. It's where I can get it out.
It's not that I don't have people that I can talk to. I do. There are people in my life that are there for me: when I need to talk they are there to listen; just listen. Not offer advice, or try and make it about them, but just listen. I'm lucky that way I guess, because there are a lot of people who don't have that.

But sometimes there's no one. Or they're not there at the time I need to get it out. Or they don't want to hear it. And that's OK too, I guess.

One of them is Anthony. He's my partner. He's been in my life more than 16 years, and my partner for 15 and a half. But he's never been much of a talker. Oh, he talks about stuff - like politics, and renovations, and our kids, but he's not much of a talker about 'feelings'.
It's never really been a problem. I talk for both of us. It's OK by him and it's OK by me. Always has been. We've had our problems, but he's proved to me over and over again how much he loves me; in much more tangible, non-verbal ways.

It has been hard with the whole Sam thing though. Because I have wanted to talk to him. And sometimes he just doesn't want to. I guess I kind of understand. He feels this whole thing so differently to me. He cries more than me (like I've said before), and is much more likely to actually express his grief (which I know is the complete opposite of what I've just said about him), and there have been times when I've been hesitant to mention something about Sam because I don't want to upset him.
But I do sometimes wish we could have long, meaningful, heartfelt conversations. Sometimes we do, but probably not as much as I'd like.

So that's why I have you, dear reader. It's really the main reason I started this blog, and why I keep it going. I can say everything I want to say, and not worry about how people are going to react (apart from the odd 'are you OK?'); or that they're going to start talking about how they feel; or that their eyes are going to glaze over halfway through; or that they're thinking of all the things they could be doing, instead of listening to me say stuff I've said already.

My lovely readers, who are still with me after all this time, can choose when they read it. They can choose to not read it if they want to. I'll never know. But I'll have got it out, and that's what's really important.

Thanks to those of you who do stick it out with me. In a way you are the ones who do listen. I don't think there's too much difference between someone sitting there listening to me talk, and someone sitting there reading what I write. It's not like I need advice. In fact, there's not much advice anyone can give. There's not even much that anyone can say. But there's lots that I can say. That's the point.

So thanks again readers. I love having you around.

And a final thought:

No one is listening until you fart. ~Author Unknown

:)

Dear Diary,

I went back to work yesterday. It was OK, but by god was I busy!
I already had a lot of respect for librarians, but now I am in AWE. How they manage to teach a full and rich program to a bunch of classes, as well as doing library stuff is (at the moment) beyond me! I'm sure once I get the hang of it, it will be better, but my goodness!

I suppose it doesn't help that I'm still feeling a bit under the weather. I really should try and get to the doctor I guess. Like I said in a previous post, last time I had a sinus infection like this, I ended up with pneumonia. It doesn't seem to be getting any better. This morning I woke at 4am (god knows why!) but couldn't get back to sleep. After a while I got up, thinking I'd go to the gym and then write in my blog. But when I got up my head was so heavy, and I was coughing a bit, so I just lay on the couch for a while. Feeling a bit better now, but I shouldn't really take any chances. Off to the doctor today methinks!

That reminds me, the other day when I saw my lovely (wonderful, awesome, fantastic) brother and sister in law, Laura asked me how I was feeling, as she'd seen my post about being sick.
This happens a lot - someone will mention something related to a blog post, and for a moment I'll think 'how the heck did they know that?'
That's also how I ended up with all the dragonflies. People read or hear about something, and then they act on it. It's almost exponential sometimes too! After my post about the dragonfly, a lovely work colleague presented my with a cute stick-on dragonfly which now sits inside my phone case. Thanks A!)
Despite the initial surprise when someone makes a comment like that, I find that I don't actually mind it. It's funny, I do tend to be quite a loud-mouth at times, and occasionally over-share, but there are some things I don't discuss with many people at all. But these thoughts (and sometimes secrets) do go on here, even though I know (mostly) who is probably going to read about it.

I wonder what it is that makes us more comfortable sharing our innermost thoughts and feelings on (digital) paper; things that we probably wouldn't readily discuss? Perhaps we're afraid of the reaction? Perhaps it gives people time to think about what we've said?

I remember years ago (when I was a teenager), my dad found my diary by accident. He didn't read much (these days, I don't really care if he did, I probably would do the same if I came across something that my kids wrote), but commented on something I'd written about my Poppa (he had died not too long before that). I was a moody teen at the time, and these thoughts were probably not something I was going to talk about with my parents, but in a way I was glad that my dad knew how I felt.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't advocate reading other people's diaries, and I certainly wouldn't go looking for one, but what is a blog but a more sophisticated, online version of a diary?

I think for me, maybe I do want to share, but I'm afraid that people don't want to hear about it (or at least want to choose the time and place that they do hear about it). This comes down to some of my longstanding personal issues I guess: I don't want to be boring; I don't want to be a burden; I want to be able to be the good listener...etc...

I'm not going to be solving my personality/self-esteem issues any time soon. In fact I probably never will, but it doesn't matter. I'm happy with this arrangement. I get to say how I feel, and you get to choose whether or not you listen. And please, dear reader, don't feel bad if you don't feel like reading, because I've got it out of my system now anyway!

Perhaps I should dig out some of my old diaries. Should be good for a laugh!

How can we help?

This is a question we have been asked a lot. That, and "I don't know what do to/say", have been the words we have heard over and over again.
At first it was really difficult for me to respond. I didn't know what the hell to do either! And there's really nothing you can say either. It happened, it hurts like hell, we're so numb that we don't even register half of what's going on, there's nothing anyone can say.
Having said that, it was nice to know people were around. We received at least 100 cards, and just knowing that people 'had us in their thoughts' was strangely comforting.

What did help
We were overwhelmed by the support we received from people (as was mentioned in this Canberra Times article). It has always been hard for me to ask for help (even harder for Anthony I think), so I never knew the answer to 'what can I do?'.
Some people took matters into their own hands, and these were the things we found most helpful:

• Meals: a couple of people made, bought or organised meals for us. Cooking was the last thing I wanted to do, and it was important to keep eating nutritious (or comforting) foods. A couple of friends also made us cakes and slices, which were handy to have around, as there were always people dropping in.
  
• Groceries: Anthony's brothers were the best at this. They would come over with a bag of groceries (simple things to cook like pasta or stuff to feed the people that were visiting), or were happy to pop out for milk or toilet paper or anything we had run out of.
  
• Chores: Now many of you know I'm not the world's best housekeeper, so not only did I have to deal with the embarrassment of having people come into my dirty, messy house, but I also had to deal with them cleaning bits of it. But it was helpful to have someone do the dishes or fold the washing. I was even less inclined to do it than normal.
  
• Entertaining Oliver: Some of our friends and family took Oliver for outings. This was great for him because he got some "normal time", but also good for us because we had some time for talking/grieving without having to 'put on a brave face' for him.
• Messages: People kept leaving little messages for me on Facebook, or sending emails. These were great as I didn't have to talk to anyone if I didn't want to, but I didn't feel isolated.
  

Another thing that has really helped is company. In the first two weeks there were so many people coming in and out of the house it was almost overwhelming. Then it really dropped off. But just as we were starting to feel lonely, someone would call or come over and have a coffee or a drink with us. I hope it continues!
But what do we talk about??
I have a feeling (and it may be paranoia) that a few people avoided (or are still avoiding) us because they just don't know what to talk about. That's OK, I understand it would be difficult, and I'm not offended or particularly upset about it). The answer to that is everything. It was great to hear about things other than what was going on at our place, but it was also great to talk about Sam and what was happening too. The thing with that is, I guess, that we were able to guide the conversation around those topics. I don't mind answering questions or talking about Sam. In fact I'd rather that than sit with someone who looks uncomfortable and obviously wants to ask a question. So it was nice to sit with people and have real conversations that covered everything, including memories of Sam and stuff about his death, but also including other topics.

The sticky subject of money
We received financial support (in the form of donations) from lots of people. This was perhaps the hardest part for me, but also the most helpful.
Few of us plan for funeral expenses, but saving for your child's funeral is not something that ever crosses your mind. We're not broke, but we do have a fairly low income comparatively, and this expense was overwhelming.
When the funeral director suggested we ask for donations to cover expenses, I was a little worried. I am a proud person, and as I have already mentioned, I don't like asking for help. An appeal so public seemed horrific!
But he assured us that many people do it, and the people I have spoken to since say that it was actually a good way for them to feel like they were helping us. And it did really help to not have to worry about money when we had much bigger issues facing us.

So thank you again to all those people that helped us in any way. I am still writing thank you cards (I know some people have said 'it's not necessary' but it's important for me to do it), and hope that I don't forget anyone.