Fog of Grief

Smelly Socks and Garden Peas

Feb 1

Yesterday (31 January 2023) marked four years since baby boy3 made an unexpected and far too early exit from my body.

I'm not someone who dwells or wallows in the grief I feel for his loss. I acknowledge it, I'm honest about it with myself and with others. I don't shy away from talking about him with my closest friends or referring to him with even acquaintances. I don't and won't pretend he didn't happen. But I don't rub my own or anyone else's nose in our loss either.

Each year, I mark his loss and his due birthday (in June) with a longer or harder run than my regular routes offer. As I'm recovering still from flu in December, I didn't even attempt a half marathon this year. Instead I ran on Friday, from school drop off, up our local big hill. Just 11km all in all, but very slow (1h37min) and with 295m of ascent. It was hard work and honestly, I walked a lot.

The weather was pretty unpromising when I set off, with fog and cloud in the valley and up the slopes. As I reached the real climbs, it was dense and quite cold. But I didn't find the fog scary or disorienting, it was comforting somehow. That set me thinking that sometimes the fog of grief is like that too. It's somewhere we can be peaceful, we can see only what we can see, we aren't overwhelmed by all the other things off in the distance. We can take comfort as we take some time to just "be" in our grief. We can explore it, or not.

I know my grief, my loss. It's just a part of my life and of who I am, who our family is. It's another facet of me. It doesn't mean that the rest of me isn't there. The world still exists in the fog, but doesn't intrude.

The fog of grief is comfortable, and comforting. It feels good to be aware of it, without being overcome by it.

As I ran on Friday, I climbed the hill and as I got higher, I came out of the fog and clouds and to the summit. There, I could see the layer of clouds below, but also the lighter skies and the beautiful views in the distance. Grief's like that too. It's not all close and enveloping. The rest of the world and life is still out there and grief doesn't stop us seeing it's beauty. Maybe even in grief we are more sensitive and appreciative of the positives in the rest of our lives.

There, those are my thoughts for this year. All that remains is for me to say, as always and forever, we love you baby boy3, we miss you and we wish you could have stayed to become a present member of our family.