Dear Neve

  A wise person once said that the past cannot be changed, forgotten, edited or erased, it can only be accepted, and that is so true. Acceptance of your past, your failures, your losses, it’s all so very important for a mentally healthy and emotionally strong mind. Acceptance is the key to moving on and creating a happy life for yourself. However, if you suffer a traumatic loss then those lines of acceptance become so torn up and twisted that it’s hard to move. Like a rabbit in headlights, you become stuck, fixated on a certain date, a tragic moment in time that changed your life inexplicably.  I’ve been trying to sort your things Neve. I haven’t attempted your bedroom yet but you’re literally everywhere, bits of you in every room still, serving as painful little reminders of your absence. Your mug with pyjama day written on it is still in the kitchen cupboard. Some of your shampoo and fake tan still in the bathroom cabinet. I’ve put the book you were reading, the page folded ...

What of the 21 year old you? Would your hair still be long, would your love and passion for horses still be there? Would you still love a cuddle and say love you when we were saying goodnight. Would your eyes still light up at the thought of a McD’s? The house is so quiet without you and I’m forever troubled by the realisation of how painfully and excruciatingly loud that silence can be. Some days it’s a constant hum but on those days that your absence becomes a raw, gaping wound again well that silence reaches such a volume it makes the headache and the tears last all day and that constant lump in my throat that never really leaves seems to grow, making my breath shallow and arduous. On those days I have to succumb to the pain and tolerate that deafening silence in the knowledge that tomorrow might not be as bad.   Your birthday is here once again, our third without you but this one seems so much more significant. 21 is a milestone, just like your 18th was. I’ve made you 21 h...

Another Mother’s Day without you. It’s hard avoiding all the happy posts, a bit like Christmas really. Another reminder you’re no longer here. Lots of beautiful memories of Mother’s Day past, the burnt toast and strong tea, the cuddles, the laughter. Calum gave me the biggest cuddle this morning, as though he felt he had to cuddle me just that bit longer for you too.  Every day since you left I’ve felt like I don’t deserve the title of mother. How could I be a mother when you died. I know its the grief and the despair at losing you that makes me feel like this, but still, every day I have the same thought that if I’d been better at the job of ‘mother’ you’d still be here. That’s the reality of suicide. Every person that truly loved you will have at some point wondered if they’d done something to upset you in those days leading to your death. Every conversation, every text will have been gone over in their heads thousands of times. I know I do. I wonder if I’d gotten ready quicker a...

When you stopped breathing a part of me stopped breathing too. Our lives as we knew them came to a dramatic, too sudden halt but to my shock the world didn’t stop turning. The sun still rose in all its magnificent glory and would set each evening with its magical palette of vivid colours. Life goes on. On those occasions that I’ve been lucky enough to be on a walk and catch a beautiful sunrise or sunset I’ve stood and watched its beauty unfurl or set in front of me, letting the light leak into my weary bones and broken heart. In those moments time stands still and the beauty of the sunrise or the sunset soothes me. In those moments I can breathe again, its neither the past or the future, its just the now and its a beautiful place to be.  Since you left I feel I’m at the mercy of time, every second that passes pulls me in opposite directions. Every day takes you further away from me and yet every passing day also brings me closer to being reunited with you. It’s the grievers paradox...

Some days are just hard. Some months are even harder. I used to love August, the promise of a summer holiday spent with the people I loved more than anything in the world, lazy days spent walking Zac and spending time in the garden. Day trips to the coast and holidays to Anglesey. Chauffeuring you to the stables and back. Our shopping trips, you begging to go to McDonald’s. Every. Single. Time! At the end of the school holidays there’d be a moment of anxiety or panic even, butterflies, telling us six weeks had passed and we’d done nothing, or so we thought back then. We didn’t know we were making such beautiful sweet memories, even on the days we hardly left the house.  I look at our lives now and August has become such a sad, bleak month. The anxious build up to the day you left and then the long, arduous stretch to the day your body was turned to ash. You can see why its bleak. You can understand why I dislike it so much. The triggers are everywhere. The warm days reminding me of...