Seven Years

It is incomprehensible to me that it is now seven years since we said goodbye to Leah. During these seven years, my sense of grief and loss has evolved, but has never gone away and I certainly don’t expect it to.

The first few years after Leah died the pain of grieving was immense and very intense. It was frequently overwhelming. At times, when the painful feelings of grief and loss were acute, I wondered how it was possible to keep on living – or even just to continue breathing.

With time, my sense of grief and loss has mellowed somewhat. Most days I can live with the sadness without feeling overwhelmed by it. However, there are occasions when something (usually unexpected) rips open the wound of grief and once again I feel totally overwhelmed. A few weeks ago I was attempting to do some paperwork during my working day, when without thinking I clicked on a link to a song in a group chat on my phone. Immediately one of Leah’s favourite songs began to play. I was completely undone. No matter how hard I tried I could not regain my composure. I did not want to cause distress to anyone who might enter the room that I was in so I went outside for a walk. Fortunately, it was raining heavily so my tears were disguised and I just kept on walking until I felt calm enough to return to my duties. Thankfully, episodes like that are now infrequent. Most of the time I can live with the sadness of Leah’s absence without feeling overwhelmed with emotion.

Recently I opened an old Bible that I no longer use. In it, I discovered two little bookmarks from Leah that I had forgotten about. One of these she had made for me when she was younger:

The other one she had brought me back from camp when she was about 10 years old.

These bookmarks made me smile as I reflected on how Leah had invested in my life and also into the lives of others.

It made me wonder how I’m investing in other people’s lives? What will they remember from my encounters with them? Will they feel encouraged and blessed – or not?

2020 was a very challenging year for most people in so many ways. We continue to face significant restrictions in our daily lives due to the impact of the coronavirus pandemic. It’s so easy for us to become negative and disheartened. However, negativity and “glass half empty” thinking doesn’t help anyone – neither the speaker nor the hearer.

I recently read a quote from Tracie Miles book Unsinkable Faith: 

“It is usually our thoughts, not our circumstances, that cause us to sink. This is such an important truth to tuck into our minds. Mark it down: What we think becomes who we are.”

This is so true. How we think and what we focus on are so important. At the start of the first lockdown, I signed up for a free online prayer course created by 24-7 Prayer. It was run over 8 sessions and I found it very helpful. Handouts to expand on the material within the course were made available. One of the handouts that I found especially helpful was the one on “Breath Prayer”. I now find this a really helpful way to refocus my thoughts during the day. I subsequently discovered this website which gives some really good suggestions for breath prayers:

One of the breath prayers that I find especially helful at present is based on Exodus 33:14 :

“My Presence shall go with you and I will give you rest.”

I find it so helpful to remind myself that no matter what happens in life, that God has promised to be with me and that He gives me rest in my soul.

Are you Leah’s Mum?

At work yesterday I encountered somebody who looked vaguely familiar. I looked at her for a minute, then I asked “Do we know each other – have we met before?”

She thought for a minute, then she replied by asking “Are you Leah’s mum?” I smiled and said “Yes I am.” There was no trace of embarrassment on her part and no tears or display of emotion on mine. We didn’t even go on to discuss Leah, we identified a situation (non illness related) in which our paths had crossed before, then we talked about other work related matters.

However, for me it was a very special moment and my heart was warmed. This woman gave me that opportunity – so rare nowadays – to say out loud “Yes, I’m Leah’s mum”, and it meant so much.

When I phone the High School for some reason, or go to Parent Teacher meetings, I regularly introduce myself as “Miriam’s mum“; at the Grammar School I introduce myself as “Simon’s mum” and when I happen across former school friends of my eldest, I become “Rachel’s mum“. Sadly I rarely have opportunities to identify myself as “Leah’s mum” anymore.

Nine months after Leah died, shortly after I had returned to work in the Health Service, I was being introduced to a work colleague whom I hadn’t met before. The colleague who was introducing me momentarily forgot my name and inadvertently introduced me with the words “This is Leah’s mummy.” The person I was being introduced to immediately showed recognition and greeted me warmly. Of course, I then gave her my name as well. There was no evidence of awkwardness on anyone’s part and for me it was another very special moment.

Even though Leah is no longer on this earth, I will always be her mummy.

The Snow Angel

Some people say to me regarding grief “Oh the firsts are the worst.” The first of everything without Leah; birthdays, Christmas, Mother’s Day, etc.

However, when I speak to other bereaved parents, they tell me that it’s not as simple as that. As the firsts become seconds and the seconds become thirds, the time since you last saw and held your child becomes greater and greater. As a parent that really hurts. I don’t want to feel more separated from my child than I already do.

As the month of December rapidly approaches, I’m very aware that last December was Leah’s last month at home. This December is the last month in which in which I can think/say “This time last year Leah was doing such and such.” This feels like further loss.

Friday 27th December 2013 Leah was admitted to hospital. Saturday 28th December was the last time that she was well enough to converse verbally. From then on Leah communicated mainly by typing on her iPad. Saturday 28th December was also the day on which the doctor told me that our daughter was possibly going to die.

These photos of Leah in the snow, taken a couple of years ago, sum it up for me really.

One minute Leah was such a vibrant part of our lives – on Thursday night 26th December ’13 Leah cooked a cheese omelette for her and her younger sister. Then the two of them went down to Leah’s bedroom and played together on Leah’s new WiiU. Their laughter echoed through the house as they enjoyed this time together.

Then in next to no time Leah was gone.

What we are left with is the deep imprint of her life upon our hearts.