Summer thoughts

It's August now. Another summer is quickly passing us by. For me, every day is another step toward being okay again. But I won't lie: There are many days when I feel as though my legs are pinned to the floor, my stomach is upside down, and I can’t move forward at all.

In the midst of it all, it’s family and friends who keep me going. James, whose wit, brilliance, and grit in the face of constant physical pain never ceases to impress me. Plus, I know that he needs me. Carl, who could not be more kind, loving, and supportive. My siblings, whom I can’t imagine living without. My mum, with whom I spent an amazing month in England this year, a time that I will always treasure, and my dad, who supports and buoys me whenever I need it. Plus so many others who continue to check in on me, even two and a half years on because time doesn’t heal wounds like ours.

Earlier this year, my father wrote that he was proud of me for recovering from Charlie’s death. I love to think that he is proud of me, and if I look as though I have recovered, I’m glad. Truthfully, though, I will never recover. They say nothing lasts forever but we will carry the weight of missing Charlie for the rest of our days.

At no time of year is that more apparent than now. The end of July and beginning of August is one of the hardest times of the year, since it's both my and Charlie’s birthdays. I spent most of my birthday (July 31st) in tears and the days since have had more downs than ups.

Today was a particularly rough day. I have been struggling with the weights of grief, anger, feeling let down, and frustrated by others who claim to give a damn about Charlie’s death but never cared when she was alive and struggling. James is missing Charlie intensely today, too. In so many ways, we are both painfully aware of the gargantuan hole she has left in our world.

They say that grief is like a rock we carry. The rock won’t get lighter but over time we grow stronger so that it becomes easier to carry its weight. The trouble is that if carrying my grief is like carrying a rock, I keep dropping that damn rock on my foot. And it hurts like hell.

I am trying so hard to stay positive. I know that nobody wants to know a misery. When every day is a struggle though, constantly masking takes its toll.

Still, every day I look for the little joys in life to buoy me. Whether our hydrangeas in bloom, or the great big owl I saw fly over us today, it’s more often than not nature where I find those joys. One little speck of joy this summer has been Cottontail, the bunny rabbit that lives on our property. Since the day in May when, as a tiny wee thing, Cottontail was caught by our cheeky dogs and saved by James, it has popped up nearly every day somewhere in the garden and seems remarkably comfortable around us. I know that I have to keep focusing on the birds, bunnies, trees and flowers to remind me that there is still beauty in this world, even when the pain creeps up. Cottontail is one sweet reminder of the beauty in life.