Death is actually all around.
It is true and it is uncomfortable. It feels so contrary to what is actually going on in our house. LP is watching The Loud House and I’ve got dance music pouring out of the kitchen speaker. The kitchen is a tip and it is all my doing. I’m at it again- making changes to my nest-fortress. I have to keep moving when there is nowhere else to go. I state my intention for the day by putting my PE kit on- there will be some exercise today- my hips don’t lie- they are sore and tired and the only way to get them back is with more movement- I’ll get there. You can’t stop progress.
There is a certain amount of wittering that takes place here each day. I usually have something to say. I talk back to the radio and the singing has ramped up. All of a sudden LP has asked me to sing to her at bedtime- I feel a bit like the mum in Frozen and an old wise witch rolled into one. Somewhere in the bible it says that folk should make a joyful noise- mine is more of a lament. It makes me feel better and I take requests; LP opts for something calming and then casually invites me to “take it away…” I wonder if she is aware of just how much that entertains me.
Do you know just how disarming a smile is? I remember when I struggled to muster one up. Last week in school, the opportunity to see faces, to talk to the kids and my colleagues felt really good. Many have wondered how I have managed to stay positive- I wonder what choice I really have. I don’t feel good, I am just trying really hard to capture what good might feel like now and study it. Learning the ways of the previous master. I was really very accomplished at happiness and contentment. I won’t ever be the same.
I remember what happened every day. Different elements of the horror present themselves to me- popping up by surprise. Sometimes someone will say something and the joy I have accumulated will swirl away with a glug. Then I start again. Filling up on any happiness that I can get. Sad things are going to keep happening. It’s not like I’ve had my share and that’s it. There is more sorrow to come. This is real but it doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth carrying on. I know what that feels like too- I don’t feel like that. I haven’t for a very long time.
In a week where the numbers have been stark, we may wonder what is next. Surely we are done with the loss and the grief now. We are pouring into an overflowing dish and everything is a mess that needs a collective effort to clean up- Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho.
How do we keep going? I think we have to start by taking some responsibility. We have to do something to help. We have to be human and by that I mean fallible; but I also mean accountable. If we can speak honestly about how things are; our vulnerability can give strength. The simple relief that comes when someone else confesses that they don’t know. We don’t feast on their ineptitude- we share it, we confide and we comfort. We are better when we all say how rubbish we are and we move forwards by giving the encouragement that we really should be able to give to ourselves. The trick is when you receive it, you’ve got to give it back. It is flexible. Reciprocal. A see-saw of glad.
I don’t mean that you should all go around playing down how brilliant you are. If you’re good at something then own it. Your brilliance encourages others, even if you don’t know it, even if people feel that they can’t say. Sometimes praise is stifled by fear, by saying how we feel we leave ourselves open and panic can creep in. This is how I keep going. I am trying to see the good and cover it in felt tip pen. I know where the bleak is. It won’t just go away. The outline is ever present. Before this grief I was fully coloured in and I tried to share my markers. Now this way of being feels like an act of survival.
Everyone is experiencing trauma. We have a number for those we have lost; the impact of these deaths is as devastating as a firing squad. We are all lined up in this. Nobody is really pardoned. Let friendship double up our powers.