if you're going through hell, keep going
|My pear and hazelnut cake |
- it was delicious
Instead, this week I have been working my way through a few recipes from the new Nigel Slater cookbook. Yesterday I had some other mothers to lunch. Next week, I'm having my first coffee and cake open house for bereaved mothers and their children. I am still limping; a trifle broken, but after a fashion, I'm sort of starting to function a little bit like I used to. Now we're through Halloween, I'm even starting to think about Christmas, and my caution about how to cope with it is tempered and sometimes over-shadowed by joyous anticipation.
This might seem small beer to someone who hasn't lost a child, but regular readers will know these all represent huge leaps forward. I am minded of this time 2 years ago, where I blogged my huge sense of achievement in buying the new Nigella cookbook. Six and a half months after Catherine died, it was the first time I'd managed enough enthusiasm to actually buy anything that wasn't some adornment for my daughter's grave. I was hugely proud. I never cooked anything out of it. Not ever. Yet here I am, two years later, making cake for other mummies. The painstaking process of becoming a mother-again; negotiating the social minefield of dead-motherhood. Coping with other people's children. Re-integration.
So no more sob spot?
It is a cliche, but losing a child is a journey. My horizon is the decade mark. I think that is probably the point to seriously take stock and ask if you made it through. Yet there will be staging posts, and I think this is one. After two and a half years, it is time to move off of my sobbing spot, even if there will still inevitably be tears..
This is not the end, but it is the end of the beginning.
More to follow.