The terrible weight of June

the terrible weight of June - Grief
I have been waiting for it. The heavy weight of June to fall. The pendulum to swing in favour of grief. It held out. Took it’s time with the swing. I thought maybe I’d even escaped it this year. That my son’s fourth birthday would pass with a melancholy kind of joy rather than re-exposing the scar of grief. Weeping and raw. Four years since he was born. Nearly four years since he died. Taken at merely two weeks old. And everything rushing back.

The weight has returned. The tide of grief has surged. It just took a little thing. Maybe a little thing. I don’t know yet how big this thing is. But it was enough. Enough to disturb the equilibrium. Enough to tip the first domino and scatter a carefully crafted kind of inner peace. Grief is like that. It only takes the smallest pull to unravel you.

So I’m back here. Back where I feel like I’m constantly fighting tears. Back where I need to coach myself through every moment. You can do this. You can do this. Back to the place where I look at my living children and my heart swells so unexpectedly large that it hurts. Back to the fear that they will be ripped away and I’ll bury them too. Back to the places of doubt and hurt and anger. Places I have tried so desperately to leave.

My eldest son broke his arm recently. The cast comes off today. It should have healed, a callus will have formed over the fracture. But he will have to be careful still. A sudden jolt, an unexpected bump could set him back. So it is with my callus protected heart.

It’s the unexpected jolts that sending me reeling.

On Friday my family will celebrate my middle son’s birthday.  My mother and sister will make prayer flags with me.  My eldest will stand at assembly on his brother’s behalf when they ask about the birthdays celebrated that week. My boys, my husband and I will go out to dinner together. Somewhere during the day I will visit my son’s neglected gravesite. Some friends will remember and let me know they remember. It will be gentle. Hopefully.

Carefully laid plans. Protective and expected. Honouring and reflective. The way I want my relationship with my son gone-too-soon to be going forward. The grief people call beautiful and brave. Not the ugly, painful, gut-wrenching, messy and terrible grief. The grief I want to leave behind.

I just wish I knew how to stop the jolts from sending me back.

Arrow 2

Have you experienced deep grief?
How do you handle anniversaries, birthdays and the inevitable set back into difficult grief?

 

Linking up with Essentially Jess and IBOT

49 thoughts on “The terrible weight of June

  1. Bec Senyard says:

    Oh darling, my thoughts and prayers are with you today and this month of June. I can not imagine the pain. I only know what it is to love a child. To have that child snatched away… the thoughts are too painful to contemplate. March will be our sad month for our family with the loss of my nephew. Sending love to you. xxx
    Bec Senyard recently posted…In The WaitingMy Profile

    • Robyna says:

      I think it has gotten easier. There is just a larger gap between normal and the grief around hard dates. Not an easy road for anybody. Love to you and your family.

  2. Renee Wilson says:

    Robyna, my heart goes out to you. Sending you love and support during this incredibly difficult time. I can not even imagine. I’m glad you have a great support network around you xx

  3. Sarah : Sarah's Heart Writes says:

    There are no words Robyna that can bring you any comfort, for surely no comfort can come from losing a child, an event that is not meant to happen – no parent should ever have to bury their child. All I can offer is my love, from the bottom of my soul. My own experience has taught me that grief never really does leave us, it is just that we learn to live with it, some days better than others. I’ve learned to sit with the tears, let them flow. I believe my body and soul needs that. Perhaps it is the same with you. Sending you lots of love in this most difficult time to you and your family xx
    Sarah : Sarah’s Heart Writes recently posted…Stream of consciousnessMy Profile

  4. Shari from GoodFoodWeek says:

    Oh man, that was tough to read whilst being pregnant. I feel for you so much. Every night before I close my eyes I pray that God will keep this baby inside my belly safe and healthy – because we really have no say over this. I can’t imagine how the loss of a child could get any easier xox
    Shari from GoodFoodWeek recently posted…Recipe: Salmon mousseMy Profile

    • Robyna says:

      It just sucks, because even when you’re okay, you know that you are so very close to not being okay. I wish neither of us knew it so well.

  5. Bron from Flat Bum Mum says:

    Thank you for writing this Robyna and allowing others to share your story and grief. I don’t know what to say and I wish I did because I want to tell you that you are brave, that you have suffered more than any mum should and I just want to give you a big hug. I will shed a quiet little tear for the boy you have lost, for the life that could have been and for the heartache that is left in your family. Big love xoxoxoxo

  6. Collette says:

    My heart really goes out to you. Grief pulls the rug from under you, just as you have described. To grieve the loss of your son, and his short life is a grief that there is little resolution for, there is no salve to losing a child, especially not for one as young as your Xavier. But part of honouring his beautiful soul and his brief visit in your life is going with your unraveling, going with your broken heart and the pain of his absence. He was here, he made his way in to your soul and left his little footprints on your heart, so he is part of you – all those hard emotions that come with that are part of your relationship with him, and the love that you have. I hope your pain is not prolonged. Sending you and your family much love. xx
    Collette recently posted…How to Learn Resilience If You’re A Grown UpMy Profile

    • Robyna says:

      Thank you Collette – it does get easier each year, but the distance between my normal and the pain around “his dates” gets wider too. Which is hard as well.

  7. Sandra Kelly says:

    It’s okay not to be okay – and I recently learned (from listening to a ‘Let it be’ podcast) that it’s also okay to be JUST okay. Be kind to you Robyna… go gently. Xx

  8. virginia sliedrecht says:

    just read your blog my darling girl, I wish I could take your sorrow onto myself to make it easier on you. thinking about you and Xavier.

  9. Amy says:

    I don’t think the jolts ever quite go away. They just get less frequent as time goes on. Sometimes I’ll be cruising along for ages, and then out of the blue, something reminds me, and it’s just as raw as it ever was.

    Even the distance of time hurts sometimes – how much you’ve changed, all the things that have happened since they died.

    This is a strange time of year for me. All of my happiest and saddest things have happened in winter. The deaths of my parents and grandparents, the birth of my children, my wedding anniversary, my birthday and my husbands. I often feel like I’m on a roller coaster of happy and sad. I’m glad for the jolts now though. So much time has passed since I lost my mum, but I’m glad that I can still feel it, like she still means so much. I’ve carried grief with me for most of my adult life, and I’m not sure who I’d be without it.

    Sending you love and kind thoughts for this difficult month. X

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