10 weeks today since I watched my beautiful eldest son take his final breath. I can’t get the image out of my mind. Him, gasping. Me, crying as I told him I was right there with him. His brother, holding his hand as he watched it all unfold.
I tried.
I tried to forget the horrors witnessed in the last few weeks of my precious Brendan Bjorn’s life.
I failed.
I failed as the visuals of that genuinely soul-destroying time are now embedded in my psyche. I wonder now if I’ll ever be rid of those worst of memories.
I failed as I walked through shops in Norway thinking how I’d buy this shirt for Brendan Bjorn…and then I remembered.
I failed as I looked at the time while on “holiday” (by the way, it really wasn’t a holiday, it was an attempt to heal, even just a small bit) and I wondered if it was a good time to ring the Children’s Hospice to see how Brendan Bjorn was doing…and then I remembered.
My soul is torn in half.
If and when it ever does begin to heal, I know it will never be the same.
10 weeks on and I can still barely stand to look at photos of my beloved son because the pain is just too great. Like they are now, the tears come streaming down my face and I scream “I just want you back!”
I tried.
I tried to protect myself from getting COVID while travelling for the first time in years, but I failed. I tried to do the right thing, isolating for 7 days before returning home, which I desperately needed to do for a number of reasons. I tried to do the right thing, wearing an FFP3 mask at all times while travelling. May those who have judged me for this, never experience this hell I am going through.
When I walked back in the door to our home, the first thing I did was go to Brendan Bjorn’s urn. I rested my hands on it. I cried. I talked to him. I literally ached being away from what is all I have left of him, other than the horrific memories of those last few weeks.
I know there aren’t many people in the world who can understand exactly what I feel, this devastating loss of a child you tried to keep alive for nearly 18 years.
My soul is torn in half.
It is screaming in pain.
I don’t expect many to understand.
