Getting hit where it hurts – In the name of Thiago – Day 173
The unexpected moments when you are suddenly overcome with grief are simply like nothing else I've ever experienced. I’ve always been a fairly emotional chap anyway, so these moments are particularly tough. No sooner had I finished work for the day and rolled out the yoga mat with the very determined intention of trying to see out the whole hour – which I’ve ever only ever done once since lockdown started – than it struck me a nasty blow.
I was lying down trying to rest my mind before the physical side of the practice kicked in. It was going ok and then out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of one of those special photographs I have of Thiago. He looks so full of life and so incredibly fucking happy that I still don’t understand why he’s not with me.
My son wasn’t meant to die so young. It really wasn’t meant to be like this at all and nothing makes any sense. I don’t feel any differently at this very moment than I did when I started this whole blogging process. I can write whatever the fuck I want but it’s never going to make me feel better. But just for those few moments each day, I can at least do something positive.
I am asking myself two questions at this precise moment. One, does writing this blog still have the same cathartic release now as it did back in January when I was only just starting to come to terms with being a bereaved parent? Two, are those piercingly painful feelings of the kind of sadness that there are simply no words for, any more likely to go away?
The release is still there, though perhaps it’s less frequent than when I started writing. The pain that leads me to feeling physically ill, and by that I mean to the point where I think I’m going to throw up, doesn’t happen as often but its intensity is as raw now as it was at 4pm on Thursday 28 November when my darling boy died in my arms.
There’s me about to start the yoga practice. To my credit, I stuck at it for 40 minutes and I am truly proud of myself for that because I was struggling all the way through it with the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. And to be fair I only stopped when Dad rang to say he wasn’t coming over this evening. I didn’t bother to point out that I hadn’t been expecting him. It would only have lengthened the conversation unnecessarily.
I have another changing dynamic in my home life at the moment and that’s the presence of builders every day at the house. They really are good as gold, absolutely no trouble at all to have around. I try to keep them refreshed through the day though Angelica is unsure of my consistency in doing so as a mid-afternoon call from her indicated.
As you can see, it’s going up fast, though not rushed it’s important to add. This is an expensive time. It looks like I’m going to have to shell out about £1,000 to sort out the sycamore tree, which has its base literally a matter of inches inside the back fence, which separates my property from the street behind. There’s no way I want to take that tree down completely – it’s got Lord knows how many years of living history – and though it does cause a bit of aggro, it deserves to be treated with respect.
Ok folks I’ve sorted myself out a bit now unexpectedly finding solace in Electronic, so will just point you, as I do each day, towards the place to donate. Look after yourselves people and enjoy this beautiful sunlit evening.