Dean, Irene and the bodies

In the weeks before the anniversary of Dean’s suicide, and later his mother’s, the world reminds me that it’s round the corner.
In my mind the bodies build up, pile up. And soon it will be here. The day that had taken two of the most important people in my life: My first love and his mother.
And every time I turn on the TV or computer or step into a shop it’s there – VALENTINES DAY. And there is nothing I can do to avoid it. It’s the tension and anticipation that makes it worse. But there’s no stopping it. 11 years ago on February 14th Dean died. It was a slow, painful death. Paracetamol will do that. it hurts and it lingers and it breaks my heart that he went through that.
Six years later, to the day, his mother, my confidant and companion in the grief, sat down in her garden pond and let the cold take her.
Hearts and flowers. For weeks the world reminds me that it’s coming. And the corpses in my mind build up.
This year, though, I will be surrounded by wonderful, laughing children who will need my full attention. I will come home and I will cry, not from saddness, but from joy, because they are so much better than the grief, and the pain. And so much bigger.
I’m on supply in an ASD unit at a local primary. I feel so welcome, and so happy there, but more importantly, I feel useful. And the children need so much from us all that there is no time for my heart to break again this year.

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