A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

"Baby Andrew and I on the roof garden of Dukes Hotel, St. James, London, where Hugh was the Managing Director"

Baby Andrew and I on the roof garden of Dukes Hotel, St. James, London, where Hugh was the Managing Director

A picture is worth a thousand words, or so the saying goes.
If I had a picture of myself this morning, and were I willing to post it, you’d see me puffy eyed and with red blotches around my nose. Then you would know, without my having to tell you, that I have been crying and that I cannot stop crying.

I am like last summer’s weather. Last summer, when you couldn’t plan any outdoor thing, because it rained almost all the time.

I cry myself to sleep, I wake up crying and I cry almost all day. And why is it that you cannot cry without your nose getting in on the act? You can see where I’ve been because of the tissue trail that tells the tale.

And now all the nerves on the left side of my body, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes are like sharp blades, slicing deeper whenever I make a sudden movement.

After days of pleading, I saw Andrew in my sleep. His beautiful face was looking at me from the mirror in my bedroom. I was aware of seeing him in my sleep and I was grateful that he had come to me, albeit too briefly.

Oh Lord, when will I see my son again? PLEASE let me see my son… There is so much to talk about still, so many hugs aching in my arms, so many things to do… Please…


8 thoughts on “A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

  1. So sorry for your loss,I’m sure people have told you that grief is a process that happens in stages,I pray that you would find the grace to accept and to continue to move forward in your own time…

  2. My heart breaks for you. Although it shouldn’t, it never ceases to amaze me that at any given time, millions of us are going through the exact, same thing: endless tears, can’t breathe, can’t eat, pain in chest, longing to die to be with the one who left us, fear for your sanity, no interest in health-living- or anything that used to be of interest. But most of all, the tears and sense of a loss so consuming that you’re surprised you are still able to open your eyes which see only shades of gray. I know your pain…..I am 2 years into it and have no words of wisdom to share. I feel that if I wake up each morning, I just go on – what other choice? And if I don’t wake up – hurrah!

  3. I can only say I think of you all every day, wish I could do something whilst knowing there’s really nothing I can. But my love to you in bundles.

    N x

  4. Esmeralda
    The only comfort I can offer is from my vantage point of being three years and 3 months into it. I’m not trying to save Bruno all the time. I used to have panic attacks thinking about my other children. I had quite a few dreams were we had conversations, one where I said he couldnt do something because he was dead and him accepting it with a nod and smile. But I no longer have them. I stopped taking anti-depressants after about three months. I am down to 20% sleeping pill. The sadness is still always there and prompted by almost everything since we live in the same house where he was born, lived and died. But I can concentrate on doing lots of things without the terrible grief and dread taking over. I can talk to people without thinking that they are seeing me only as a suicide survivor. I think you have probably been through the worst. You made it harder for youself, by becoming an advocate so you can’t run from it- not that you would – as I think a lot of people suppress their grief because being a suicide surivor is almost as bad as being a victim. I think in the long run that is best both for your own health and your family and for the cause. Get the wellness on.
    ps I had a laugh about Andrews short pants. And I noticed the sandals. Bruno refused to wear Birkenstocks, in preference for what we call ‘Roman sandals’ (very basic with thin sole) but he was into Doc Martens. In fact he wore an almost new pair in his coffin.

    • Now you are making me laugh about the sandals and short pants. I am still taking antidepressant and anti-anxiety and I am not dreaming of giving them up right now.
      You know Dave, I wouldn’t dream of not being an advocate either! I told Andrew when he died: “You and I have got to turn this into something. You have not died for nothing. You from there, I from here; we have work to do.”
      And you are an activist too, and you saying hi from time to time is comforting, thank you.
      SOSAD šŸ™‚

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