There is a pain that I have to be present for, to witness. It isn’t mine but I feel it like a slow pulse; quietly marking time. I can’t claim to really know the feelings, deep and raw; they are found in the blood. The loss of a father, the brother and the son. My sorrow is with them now.
LP has an energy that Seb adored. A constant noise that takes over everything, a five year old force that drives each day; constantly holding up a go sign. She is bursting with thoughts and schemes. Questions about how everything works which she ponders aloud to herself before I’ve had a chance to compute. If the grief is a slow pulse, she is a marching band- a leader with a baton and an eye on the big bass drum. She has a developing empathy that reveals how complex her own feelings are. She knows what family means. We are all hers and she loves us without question. She belongs.
It has taken me a while to get here- to attempt to wear other shoes. Having been reassured that I have been helping all along, I seek kind acts to top me up; something tangible to give. I’ve been distracting myself with endless playlists and a longing to be out and hear music that I haven’t picked myself- the joyful surprise you find in the opening bars of a long forgotten song. I wonder if this is what Seb will become- a sweetness, a memory that doesn’t spark terror. It’s getting better. I know I have to breathe.
This morning, I noticed the light change in the kitchen- a moment of brightness spurred me on, so I tended to the garden, cutting out the dead wood- a act of meditation with snips and secateurs. I planted a peony with his name and I spoke softly to the new growth; its energy hiding under the soil. The garden knows- it will keep me.
As I planted I thought about LP, of how I can give her all of me but I can’t be him. This reality; she is of him- she is us. She wraps herself in the love of her grandparents. More ties. Comfort and joy. Topping up the affections and giving precious respite. She is safe there. She brings happiness and challenge; she gives life. Now I am heartbroken for the loss of the son. The brother. The man who completed a unit. Who brought me into a family I would be lost without. Seb was made there- his morals formed, the boy who became the man with the ability to give so much; to be a friend, a good son, a proud parent.
We live by the sea. I couldn’t place anywhere else as home- the coast offering potential and confinement in one. We walk there. The skies offering a place for our minds to dwell. Lois spots daddy in the clouds and pulls at my hand to explore freely. Now the initial horror begins to ease, in the bleakest time of year, we cling to the sunsets as markers that the day has not been completely devoid of light. Here is the gift for the living.