Here we are! Now where?

Hey, it was either going to be a picture of me or a mood-setting photo of a keyboard.

Writing this second post after breaking a long silence feels a bit like recording that all-important second album: some performance anxiety, a little bit of an identity crisis, and a strong sense that just about anything is better than nothing. If I can just put something out there, I can start cranking out blog posts like Frank Zappa released albums in no time.

One of the trickiest things is deciding exactly what it is I want to write about. On the one hand, I am still thinking about and processing a lot of things in connection with losing our son, but I'm  apprehensive to write too much about that here. I'm afraid that people will read my writing and think I am in a much, much darker place than I really am, and consequently worry about me (or be afraid of me!), when really, most of the time I am fine.

On the other hand, I don't want to write fun and frothy stuff and then have people think that I got over the loss of our baby like it was no big deal. It's not something I'm ever going to "get through", "get over" or "put behind me". It's something that will always be with me, but I have learned a lot about how to carry it during these past 14 months. But that doesn't mean that I don't want to be able to write fun and frothy things if that's what I feel like doing. I have learned that I am a fundamentally happy person, and I can't be afraid to let that show.

Summary so far: I don't want to be too dark, but I also don't want to be too light, but I also-also want to be able to be light or dark as the mood strikes.

"But Tamsin", I hear you saying, "your blog is for you, and you shouldn't care what people think! Write what you want to write!" I agree completely. And yet blogging is a fickle beast. As much as I tell myself that I am just writing for me, the reality is that I know that everything I post here will be read by an audience of a few hundred people. And I have chosen that! I have a blog because I want people to read what I write. If I wanted to write strictly for me, I would keep a journal or a really big, angst-ridden document folder on my laptop.

(The irony of writing a post this incoherent about how I write to be read is not lost on me, PS.)

Bottom line (or at least bottom paragraph): I've been through a life-changing event, so my blog is going to have to change with me. I promise it's not going to be all doom and gloom from here on out, but I also promise to talk a little more about the experiences I've had and the things I have gained from them. There will be knitting posts and food posts and maybe some travel posts. There probably won't be a lot of Pinterest worthy tutorials or posts about how you too can be as amazing and put-together as I am, because heaven knows the last thing you need is one more woman on the internet telling you how to live your life.

I will try to be fair and truthful and kind in my writing, because heaven also knows we could all use a little more of that.

I'll write again soon! xox

A beginning

Feeling happy in a garden in England.

I have a little quiet time to myself today, and I am using it to write. I've wanted to write again for such a long time, but haven't felt quite ready. I think I'm ready now. 

When our little son Piran died, I took a big step back from my life. In order to survive those first days and weeks and months, I had to keep everything very small and very simple. Just the basics of being a mom to my children and, once I gained a little strength, a wife to my husband. Occasionally a friend. That was all I could manage. 

Now some time has passed and I am feeling ready to take that step forwards into my life again. To be interested in things, to take on projects and to say yes to so many things. I have put up a lot of walls and barriers in the past 14 months and kept a lot of good people at an arm's length, but now I believe it's time for those walls to come down and for me to start reaching out a little bit again. 

It's scary. 

It makes me feel a little vulnerable, and I hate feeling vulnerable. But I have spent so much time over the past year feeling fragile and broken and lonely, and I don't want to feel that way anymore. I don't want to be a living ghost, and I don't want to be a passenger in my own life. 

We spent five weeks as a family in England (with my mum!) this summer, which is a separate and genuinely happy story. We had a wonderful time. But I mention it now because there were a few moments on that trip that became little turning points for me. One was when we were walking along the street in London together, and I just suddenly felt completely present in myself. For the first time in months and months, I was part of that moment and able to do and enjoy everything that we were doing. Even though we weren't doing anything actually physically incredible, in that moment I just felt strong and capable and whole again. And it showed me that I didn't have to stay fragile and broken for ever. 

There were other, similar experiences like that: Playing on the beach with my kids and feeling completely happy. Discovering a new garden (like in the picture above). Hiking along a windy clifftop path and watching the moon rise with my husband. All little moments of joy, contentment, discovery and wonder that made me feel whole and like I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I think these moments would have happened at home too. But an extended trip away with the people I love most was an excellent catalyst to help me return home with the sure knowledge that my life is here for me to claim and live and love. 

So, that's what I'm going to try to do. Our little boy isn't here with us, so there will always be some hard days. We miss him so much. But there are so many other days to fill with family, friends, love, learning, passion, interest, goodness and life. That's where I'm going next. 

Piran

I have been writing and rewriting this for months now. Trying to find the words that have failed me for so long while simultaneously sifting through all the words that need so much to be said. I have so much to say, and so few words to say it with.

Our son died.

Our sweet baby Piran came into and left this world so quickly and quietly, he slipped through our fingers like a little ray of sunlight. He was born one day and gone the very next.

My life and everything I loved was torn into a million pieces that day. That is how it felt. Grief filled every inch of our existence. The pain of losing our little boy was so intense it was physical. Seeing my two older children experience grief and pain that I couldn't take away or protect them from was beyond unbearable. I couldn't see how I, my family or our life could ever be whole again.

But as the minutes grew into days and the days into weeks, I saw that the best things in my life were unbreakable. Our little family pulled together and carried each other through those darkest days. Sometimes we cried and ached together, but mostly we learned to live and laugh and be joyful again. If possible, I love my children (all three of them) more deeply than ever before. My husband and I realized quickly that losing Piran would either bring us together or tear us apart, and we chose to turn to each other. And we continue to choose each other as we make our way together through this world that will never be quite the same again. I am quite private about my faith, but it belongs here, among the best things in my life. It has carried me, held my head above the unrelenting waves of grief, shown me that there is light in the darkness. When I have needed it, heaven has been so, so close.

It has been eight months now. Most of our days are good days: normal, happy and busy days filled with normal, happy and busy family life. We make Piran part of our conversations and include him in our every day.. He is ours and we love him. But not a day goes by where I don't ache for him. I often cry and cry for the little boy that I hold in my heart instead of my arms. If that is troubling to you, please remember that he is my son. What else could I possibly do? But just as I am learning to make room for myself to feel and to grieve, I'm also learning to set that aside when I need to. It doesn't help or honor Piran to lose myself in sadness. And sometimes I just need to dry my tears, wash my face and pick Gwen up from preschool. Life keeps on happening, and I want and choose to be part of it.

The worst thing that could ever happen has happened to our family. It hurts so much, and I was afraid it was going to destroy us. But it didn't. It hasn't. It won't. We are still standing, and we stand together. All of us.