The Small Things

 A repost of today’s post on Widow’s Voice.


When Michele asked me to write here, there is only one thing I clearly remember her saying in the brief – write as honestly as I can from where I am NOW.


So that’s what I try to do each week…. write my now.

my truth.

As honestly as I can.

My soul stripped bare.


Some weeks, I am OK.  Good even.  But other weeks, I am not so good.

This is one of those weeks.


I am sick.  My chest rattles as I suck air in and out. My head pounds.  My eyes leak. My energy has evaporated and I am light headed whenever I try to do anything.

I am tired.

I am sick of the petty squabbles over who farted on who’s pillow.

I am tired of cooking and cleaning when I am not working or preparing for work.

I am sick of being in charge of everything.  All the big things and all the small things.

I feel like I’m sinking under the weight of a life that was meant to have two parents involved in bringing up the children.

I am angry at a God I no longer believe in (I said I was being honest – I didn’t say my thoughts had to make sense to you).

If anyone had told me I’d still be feeling this aching pain 26 months later, I think I would have given up right then and there when I first heard the news that he was dead.


I feel like I am going backwards into my grief when I have been trying so long to move forwards through it.

This is not like me at all.

I am a do-er.

A pick-yourself-up-er.

A set-your-goal-and-go-for-it-er.

A great believer in the almighty I CAN do it.

And I always achieve what I set my mind to.

Except when I don’t.


Early this morning, I sat on our my bed and the tears just ran in rivers down my face. I wanted to be held by his arms.  I wanted someone to look at me like I was the most beautiful and precious jewel they’d ever seen.  I wanted someone to tell me they loved me above all else.


….and then my kids came in with their hilarious home-made Mother’s Day gifts.

The small things they had painstaking made out of bits and bobs they had collected.

….and they hugged me, and told me I was the best mother in the world (they are easily pleased).

…and I realised….

I am loved.


Life still sucks beyond the telling of it, but I am loved.

These two little souls are here, in front of me, looking at me like I am the most precious jewel they have ever seen.

Holding me in their arms.

Telling me that they love me so much.



….and I say a silent prayer of thanks to the God I no longer believe in.

The God of small things….


Handmade jewels


Why I don’t want Mothers’ Day

I have been accused of wallowing in my grief.

Of choosing not to see light, but only dark.

Tough Luck.

I tell my story just how it is.

…and I already DO lighten it up because I’m not yet crazy enough to write down the real darkness that I don’t let you see.

There is only so much I can suck up for the sake of my kids.

…and believe me when I say I shield them from So Much.

But they live in my house, so they are exposed to some of it.

It’s unavoidable.

One of the things I just can’t suck up and smile through is Mothers Day.

and my birthday

and Christmas.

These are days when I used to love feeling part of a family.  Not this damaged family that we’ve become (and if you tell me we still are a family I will bite your head off – fair warning).

This is not the family life I wanted for my children nor myself.  It is wrong.  I hate it.  Some days, I can barely conceal my hatred of it. (…and if one single person mentions mindfulness and ‘finding peace’ where I am, I will eat them alive and spit out their bones).

and Mothers Day is one of those days.

All mothers day means to me now is more work.  Another crappy Chinese import the kids have bought from the local cost-cutters.  A card.  and then I have to make my own damn breakfast or face the consequence of a kitchen floor covered in weetbix and milk.

A day when I used to look forward to pancakes and coffee waiting for me.  A day when another adult reminded me that I am the light of their lives and someone they truly want to be with.  That he and I together have made this wonderful family full of love.  This family who are everything to each other.

Not other adults who feel sorry for me, or my kids when I tell them we are not doing mothers day.

“Oh, but you should do it for your kids” they say.


I do everything for my kids every other day.

Its my freaking job.

But I cannot face another celebration day where someone is missing.

It just makes it worse.

So that’s why my kids are going to have to suck it up tomorrow.  I Do Not Want mothers day.  I can not bear it.

So we will just have a normal Sunday of cleaning the house and gardening and ignore the fuck out of the families celebrating all around us.