6 months without Stephanie - Losing a child.

Two weeks ago I spent Sunday in same day Emergency Care at Worcester Royal hospital with a migraine and not getting home till 1am on Monday morning, I was exhausted. I went to see the GP first thing and made a plan to withdraw from the anti depressants which side effects have been headaches and haven't been helping. I'm at the stage now where if I choose to talk about Stephanie, I'm ok and no longer feel that counselling will benefit me as the process is causing me a lot of stress by taking me back to places that is causing me a lot of upset that I have made peace with, accepted and have been able to move on from. It is triggering and I can't deal with it. What does cause me the greatest trauma is Monday mornings, the bin lorry, the tulips by the front door yet to flower (planted after her funeral) medical appointments, ambulances with sirens and hospitals. 

I am however dealing with all of this. I'm very calm. I cope better on my own. I'm quiet. I'm switched off. I do my own thing. I don't feel the need to explain why I've switched off, retreated into my own protective bubble of peace. I look at photos' I twiddle the ring I had made with Stephanie's name. I watch a video I have of her, listening to her giggle. I smile, I remember the happy times and in my head I go back to all the places that were just mine and hers. I cry. I accept that apart from Peter there is no one else to share our grief with. We don't grieve at the same time, we don't grieve over the same things.

There is no one else for us to share the memories with, there is no one to else who misses her, there is no one else who is impacted by her loss like we are. 

I'm jealous of others who have lost a child who share their grief with their families, grandparents, siblings, in laws, their Childs friends, schools, the wider community. 

Stephanie was 36. She had no friends, no job, no partner, no social groups, no community she belonged to. She lived in supported living. She was cared for 24/7. She went horse riding. She did not communicate. She relied on others 24/7. Yes, people knew who she was, her neighbours, who complained about the high foot traffic and taxis and parents visiting and the noise spoiling their neighbourhood. We were screamed at once by a neighbour who said we had no idea what it was like having all these people in and out the cul de sac 24/7 disrupting the peace and spoiling their enjoyment of the garden in the summer with the noise coming from the bungalow. Yep, for real. I just screamed back in her face to 'eff off' One of my finest moments.

The staff turn over was high, the were some regulars who truly cared for Stephanie and had been there many years and were devastated by her death, but they weren't their for us, they were traumatised by their own grief and the only time we could see them is whilst they are on a paid shift looking after the other residents.

Three of them were there with us the night Stephanie died, it was a traumatic and sudden death. As a member of staff they had to return to the house, return to work, They had their own trauma to process. As parents we had a different trauma to deal with. We're moving in different paths.

There's no one sharing stories, photo's, memories on facebooks. No one coming up to us and sharing stories of Stephanies life. We knew it all, we fought every battle, every penny that was spent, we knew about, every medical appointment, every item of clothing that was bought for her, every place she ever went we knew about. There were no surprises to find out about after she died, no new things to learn about her.

Everyone else's experience with Stephanie was with us, me and Peter. The kids memories of Stephanie are as children. Whilst Stephanie remained a child both physically and mentally, they grew into adulthood and moved away. Their visits home and with Stephanie were with us. Their time limited. Stephanie loved the boys when they rolled and jumped and played with her. We just all grew up around her, whilst she stayed the same. She knew who we all were, but not who we were, if that makes sense.

Everything to know about Stephanie was already known, there was nothing left for her to have done. She'd achieved everything she was capable of achieving and that was by the time she was 8, the time I first met her, the time she started to walk, her greatest achievement.

It was 26 weeks ago today to the hour (when this post was scheduled) that Stephanie died. 6 months. Half a year. I wrote this 2 weeks ago, it was the first day, that I was able to write this, read it back and not feel pain. I cried a flood of tears, it took me all day to write it. I managed to read it back in one go and make edits as I went, but the raw pain was no longer there and that in itself made me feel sad.

I don't want to hang onto that feeling, it physically hurt and I'm sure it will hurt again, but for the first time, I was able to breath, without gasping for air, without breaking down, without reliving that night.

It's been a long and painful road. I've lost friends along the way. I've struggled with work. I've become withdrawn from certain things and certain people. There are a lot of things I no longer have time or the patience for. There are lots of things that no longer matter. 

I'm not strong, I never have been, my exterior walls have built up over the years for a reason, to protect myself from hurt and pain, but Stephanie's death, nearly destroyed me. I can't rebuild those walls, there is no need to, nothing else could ever hurt me that much ever again.