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


3 thoughts on “The Small Things

  1. sheilamcameron says:

    Hanging in here for you and the two little ones and hoping for better times for you all. I know it’s no consolation, but your writing is hauntingly beautiful.

  2. bushbabe says:

    So very beautiful Amanda… having been reading back through the blogs I have missed during my crazy last few weeks. Wish I was closer to give you a proper cuddle. I reckon any God worth having around can weather any grief thrown His/Her way… so glad your kids are there to remind you of why you need to stick with us all.


  3. Lisa C says:

    Your beautiful children, the reason to keep breathing. One day at a time. I hope you have lots of family and friends supporting you. My heart goes out to you x

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