There is a stillness at this time of year that I find unsettling and invigorating in equal measure.
Last year, I was so desperate to hold on to 2009. I was so afraid of losing Florence's year, and although the turning of another year takes her further back in time, I'm not dreading 2011 quite as much as I did 2010.
I think it might seem strange to many that I dreaded 2010 so much when i already knew I was pregnant again. And maybe it seems strange that I'm glad to leave 2010 behind when it was the year our beautiful Ernest was born.
2010 has been exhausting. Grieving one life, while growing another is probably the closest I've come to losing my mind. Follow that up with breastfeeding problems and hospital stays, and then just the general terror of mothering a newborn after a traumatic loss, not to mention trying to mother four growing and grieving older children; I think it's no wonder that these days I find myself walking a very fine line between grief and depression.
I'm not alone I know, with feeling lost with my grief. I'm tired of myself,and am not at all surprised that maybe others are tired of me too.
My grief has changed, I don't get flashbacks so often and so unexpectedly. the grief is burrowing deeper inside, less obvious to everyone else, but always there, always hurting.A relentless ache with no dignity.
All this, unyet I'm so lucky, and don't think for one moment I don't realise how lucky I am.
I'm typing this with Ernest nuzzled into my neck, sleeping on my shoulder. I don't expect him to cure my aching heart, but he's a joy all of his own, and so loved.