Hi everyone - Iāve read all your latest posts and Iām so sorry that youāre all grieving and feeling so much sorrow for your lost children. We belong to a highly exclusive club no one wants to belong to but to which fate has given us a life-time membership.
I wanted to share something with you that gave me a glimmer of hope, even though my sweet son Joey only died two weeks ago today and my grief is like an open festering sore at the moment. Since the funeral last week i havenāt left my bed except for a quick trip to my GP yesterday. And that was horrific - everything, even the corner store I passed on the way, reminded me of Joey and made me want to howl in pain.
Anyway, as I think I mentioned before, my son started a videoblog chronicle of his cancer journey right after he was diagnosed 16 months ago - on YouTube and all other social media platforms: Having a Ball. It is informative yet also wickedly funny, taking a lot of stigma away from his lesser-known cancer. His sidekick is a Norwegian friend from their London film school days. I consider Andreas as my third son (from another mother). His intentions are to set up a foundation, and heās working hard at making it global. It will be my sonās legacy, which will hopefully provide me with some solace and a sense of purpose further down the road. But much further down the road as all I can do these days is cry, scream and miss my beautiful son so much.
Sorry, Iām being long-winded. Hereās the reason for my post: Andreas sent me the following message from his stepfather - translated from Norwegian (thanks Google translate):
Ā« He also lost his daughter to cancer when she was 23 (that was 20 years ago this year). He said that getting overwhelmed with sorrow and grief after having to āhold it together for so longā (editorial note: heās referring to Joeyās cancer journey, on which I accompanied him daily - especially the last his-awful months of hideous suffering, by trying to remain positive) is perfectly normal. It is completely natural to have a reaction of just wanting to scream, cry and wallow in sorrow under the covers. No one would expect anything less. Knut (the stepfather, a retired small town Norwegian GP) said itās Ā«healthy to grieveĀ». That just means there was deep, abiding love.
He recommended, in due time of course, when the pain is not so raw, to try to develop a sort of mental āgrieving roomā. A sort of place where you enter in your mind every now and again when you feel the need to be angry, sad or heartbroken, but not a āroomā you can spend all your time in. He said itās not fair towards yourself, your nearest or the one youāve lost to spend all your time grieving. That room will ruin you if you spend all your time in it. Instead, go out into āthe rest of the houseā where you can āseeā your son through all the beautiful memories you have of him, times when you were happy together, where he will bring gladness to your heart and not sorrow. After all, he will always be in your heart and part of you. By all means, this is further down the line, but at some point āforcingā yourself to step outside the grieving room and allowing those near to you to be there for you (which they obviously want to do), or simply distract yourself by doing something you love, or potentially something Joseph used to love, is once again, āhealthyā.
But for now, listen to the grief and do whatever feels natural Ā»
A very thoughtful message that gave me a little solace, as I hope it will you. Sending you all heartfelt positive vibes
Am trying to upload three pictures. The first one is of Andreas (on the left, Joey on the right, 5 months ago; the second is of my son and I, 2.5 days before he died, and the last one is of my healthy, handsome, witty son a few years ago). Hope my downloads worked.
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