Smile

Today, there was a rainbow outside Elin's window. It was really beautiful. It made me cry. I cried because I wanted to share it's beauty with Elin and I couldn't.  She can't see that far away and she can't understand my descriptions. For Christmas she had a rainbow projector light which creates a lovely arc of a prism of colours across her bed. I was thrilled with it because I thought finally, she can see a rainbow. But today it doesn't feel like enough. Today everything feels a little dark, a little heavy.  I want her to see the real thing, in nature,  not something powered by batteries, as she sits as patient, serene and as good-humoured as ever in the relative prison of her bedroom. It made my heart ache.
Today is not just about the rainbow. Today is the end of a long, miserable mid-January week. It has also been a week of unhappy anniversaries. 8 years ago this week, Elin lost her gorgeous friend, Harvey, whose photo sits in Elin's room and who we still miss and always will. Also this week, Elin's cosmic twin, Ellie, should have been celebrating her 8th birthday, but she is forever six years old. In addition, on Wednesday, the world said goodbye to another old school friend of Elin's. An inspiringly strong, cheeky, joyful, clever young lady. Today, I think, is about all of that.
When you have a child who is severely disabled and/or described as life limited, there is a lot to process. I think the entirety of this blog is testament to this. None of it is easy to digest, it takes years. You never get over it, you learn to negotiate your new normal. Part of the new normal is that you suddenly realise somewhere along the way that children you get to know and love will pass away. Families you share each joy and sadness with on this journey will go through the worst grief imaginable in front of your eyes. You have to come to terms with the fact that one day, this could be your child and your family.
Since Elin was born the children we have lost from our lives has reached double figures. Nothing and nobody prepares you for this. In truth, it's probably something you just can't 'prepare' for. The strength of the families utterly humbles you, the legacy of love the children leave behind floors you. The outpouring of kindness and support to these families inspires you, the reality of the hole that is left devastates you. Sometimes, it all feels too much to bear. There is just too much sadness, it starts to get impossible to process, to make any sense of. It never gets easier (and why should it?) in a way, it gets harder. With the passing of each of the eleven children that have left our lives so far, the world just seems more cruel, more unfair and more terrifying.
So how do you deal with it?
I suppose you navigate the sadness by thinking of all the wonderful memories you have of these amazing kids. The memories you know will stay with you forever, the ones that will, when the initial shock and grief has worn off a little, make you smile. Isn't that the only way anyone can make grief bearable at all? Also by looking to Elin. She, as ever, teaches us so much. As I tried to pull myself together after the rainbow set me off today, she laughed. She laughed A LOT. It was as though she was trying to tell me she didn't care about seeing the rainbow. In the end I started laughing too. As ever, we take our lead from her, our sunshine girl, because she shows us the way. Sometimes, there is nothing else left to do but smile, even if you have to have a really good cry first. Smile, remember the good things, pick yourself up and just try to get on with it. Today, I'm smiling for you, Paige. There were so many good things in your life and you gave so much joy to everyone who knew you. We will never forget you.  If I know you at all then I know that somewhere you are smiling too.
Have a good weekend, folks.
Ruth x