Zero fillings

(Wrote this a few weeks ago. Forgot to post it. Might as well.)

Yesterday I went to the dentist, a dreaded but necessary visit. That's not the point.

While I was waiting, that's the point.

Every time I visit the dentist  I think back to Catherine and the gum problems she had in the period prior to her death, and how scared she was to be told she may lose all her teeth. In mental health terms, that is termed "catastrophising" or something like that--when a piece of information is blown up out of proportion. While it's true that with severe gum disease you can  lose all your teeth, it would have to be really severe, and I think the dentist was just trying to push her to take better care.

Then I remember going with Cath for her last dentist appointment, and sitting in the waiting room, and her coming out quite happy saying everything was fine.

Yesterday my thoughts also turned to another aspect of Catherine and dentists. She never had any fillings. Nor did Pax, but he was only 3. But Catherine never needed a filling or an extraction, and she was nearly 31.

Credit to her, for taking care of herself, but also some credit to her upbringing--healthy food and more or less avoiding sweets except for occasional chocolate, cakes and pies--oh and icecream, that was another exception, probably the most frequent exception!--but virtually no hard sweets, and hardly any white sugar in her diet at all.

And that's a positive thought. She had a healthy dietary start.

It's SO GREAT when I can manage a positive thought and not just be beating myself up for mistakes and regrets and decisions.

Multiple losses

The loss of my children is the dominant feature of my life now. I'm coming to the end of February 2014. Two months of a new year. There have been days in which I was relatively upbeat, but mostly I find myself in the darker reaches of the valley once more.

There are a few reasons why my grief has become less manageable, I think.

The biggest factor has been a breach of communication with my family. It's a long story and too private to post here; it's not something I can honestly take the blame for. In the past I would have taken it in my stride. Now, it's yet another agonising loss, something I cannot do anything about.

That's the trouble with bereavement, especially sudden, unnatural bereavements. You find yourself disempowered. There is nothing you can do to change what has happened.

For instance, I have really tried to sort things out for my daughter. I sorted out her belongings, I've tried to sort out the problems with the health service's care of her and report into her death. Nothing is going to make any difference though. She isn't coming up.

I tried to make peace with what happened to poor little Pax, with the trip to India (where this blog started). That was something I COULD do. But bringing him back... no that's not within my power.

Now to have another loss--in this case not a loss of life, but a loss of relationship--about which I can do nothing--despite trying over the past 3 months--I have to concede defeat. If I am not wanted by this person, I am not wanted. And I am powerless to change that.

As I started to say, in times gone by I could have just "taken it on the chin", stayed busy, put my mind to something else and leave it aside. But it's another loss; another layer; and has been very hard to bear.

Then I have been sick, and even had a wisdom tooth removed. Between pain and sickness, and out of necessity taking rather more painkillers than I am accustomed to, I am lacking energy in so many ways: physically, mentally, psychically (does that exist?), spiritually, emotionally...

And my better half is going away to the other side of the world for two months. It was my idea; I have promoted it; he needs to spend some time with his family. He hasn't visited them since Catherine died. The last time he went, I missed him, but I managed. This now will be the first time I am properly alone since losing Catherine.

There are other bereaved parents I have "met" on support forums who don't have partners, and I am very fortunate and blessed to have S., but knowing he'll be gone is another loss.

There's an old scripture that's come to mind. "He that loses his life for my sake shall find it." Surely there is something to be found in all of this loss?

I hope so.

PS. If you are following this blog by any chance, you might be interested to know I've started another one, which is a bit more upbeat because I'm trying to promote my forthcoming book. You can find it here A Valley Journal/