When The Flowers Stop Coming...

Before you start reading this post, please know that I am in no way putting out an unsubtle request for more flowers or gifts to be sent. We are incredibly grateful for all we have been given and sent already - you are all so generous. These are just my thoughts on the many changes I have faced in the last week or so.

I’ve always loved flowers but, before Posy, they were few and far between in our house. They were an occasional expression of gratitude, they were an exchange in return for hosting, they were a spontaneous romantic gesture or an unexpected birthday gift. They simply weren’t a common feature in our home. Whenever there was a floral presence of course they were very much appreciated, however I’ve always been of the opinion that they were an overrated indulgence. I was never very good at arranging them to make them look their best, I often forgot to change the water and after a while they would be but a shadow in the corner of my eye. I think it’s needless to say that I much preferred accepting gifts of the chocolatey kind.

You may be thinking that this is strange because surely Posy’s name came from my love of flowers... but that isn’t quite accurate. Her name actually came from one of my favourite childhood books and my passion for dancing - the floral association was a pretty, little bonus which certainly attached itself to her character when we finally got to meet her. Also, a name like Rebecca Louise, as lovely as it is, definitely lacks in originality for a child of the 90s, (sorry Mum, I really do love my name now!!), and I wanted to try and avoid my daughter sharing her name with at least three other girls in her class, like I did.

So, when our house suddenly bloomed in flowers after Posy was born, I was surprised at how appropriate the connection felt. I also didn’t think that I would be so welcoming of the many bouquets of flowers that found themselves on our doorstep following Posy’s death. I assumed it would all feel rather dark and depressing and an impersonal act of sympathy - but never have I been more wrong. The posies that have filled our house in the past month or so have been such a comfort and a constant reflection of just how beautiful our little Posy was. They were the perfect gifts without words yet they said everything that I needed to hear.

I have just thrown out the last of our beautiful bunches - they had pushed hard through their last leg of life and were undeniably dead. They were dry and wilting, droopy and lifeless, lacking in the beauty that they once held and no longer providing comfort or a Posy-ness in our home. I had held onto them for as long as I could. I had done my very best at prolonging their life and now they had to go. The realisation that, not only did I have to get rid of them but, there weren’t any more to replace them with was a peculiar one. After weeks of never-ending blooms we are no longer getting the frequent, almost daily, deliveries from our loved ones. That was until my lovely mum knocked on the door, chocolate in tow and armed with a beautiful posy. We laughed, because I had recently said that I think I have been well and truly spoilt and forever put off the standard supermarket flowers. Of course this is only due to the extra beautiful posies we have received from Bloom & Wild, Posy & Posy, (yes, the name is particularly fitting with this one), and other companies of the like. Yet somehow, she had managed to find a wonderfully wild and pretty bunch anyway.

I have been pondering the sudden cease in blooms and contemplating what this means for us. I feel like we are no longer sitting in the immediate stage of grief following Posy’s death but instead, we have entered a new phase. One which I don’t think I like very much; a phase which, I know, is going to be long-lasting and painful and actually rather lonely. The idea that we are very much stuck in this stage now and that it’s not necessarily going to end, although I am sure things will get easier and brighter, is quite frightening. Things will change and develop and bring hope but we will always be grieving parents to Posy and that, in itself, is hard to admit. The sadness doesn’t seem to be subsiding and in fact, over Easter and this week, I feel like I have been in a brutal fight and lost. That’s not to say that I haven’t had any good days. I have had days where my smile has been genuine, where my sense of humour and I have shared a giggle and where I have been able to familiarise myself with my laugh again, but I am getting more and more disorientated in the complex maze of emotions and can’t always find the strength to look up and chase the sun. This is the stage where we have to work out our way of carrying on. We have to find our new ‘normal’, define our ‘okay’, begin our hunt for hope and navigate our route in moving forward carrying Posy with us.

So... what now?

I have been hit with a couple of unexpected curve-balls since Posy's death and they have certainly left their mark. I am bruised and I am hurting and I am left hoping that I'll be able to duck in time for when the next ones come flying. I am more aware than ever that even though my life is currently travelling at snails pace, no one else's has slowed down with it. It feels like I'm stuck in one of those movie scenes where the main character is still and in focus, while everyone else is moving in a blur around them. I wish I could hit the pause button so I at least have a chance of catching up.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sitting here feeling sorry for myself and wishing that everyone else would stop in sympathy as well, I am merely overwhelmed by the fact that my plan isn’t going to plan and I am incapable of doing anything but sit for the time being and get comfortable in the crap (for lack of a better word) that comes with grief. For a while I was floating through it all, watching myself from afar and not really feeling like it was happening to me. But, this week my wings have been clipped and I have landed, rather painfully, on my bum.

Everyone knows that, even when the worst happens, life carries on. The painful part being that it carries on whether you want it to or not and whether you are ready to or not. Michael has gone back to work full time now, the rest of our family are back at work and lots of new things are happening. News is being shared and the coming months are springing towards us, much faster than I’d like and abundant with plans, changes and would-be excitement. But I’m just not ready. I’m not ready to start taking my own steps. I’m not ready to look forward. I’m not ready to go back to work or even think about it. I’m not ready to celebrate joy and I’m not ready to allow myself to be happy just yet. I know I will reach a point where all of this will be easier and when I can allow the happiness to creep back in without the bitter sting of guilt and resentment - I’ll let you know when I’m there - but not right now. I am going to take it slow, painfully slow, exercising my ‘happy’ on the days when I can and giving myself the down days when I need them.

Again, in my inability to just be in the now, in anticipation of the months ahead and with my new-found love for flowers, I am determined to make our garden a place of beauty. I am not, and probably will never be, an avid gardener but I’m going to try my hand at it nonetheless. I know that when the summer comes I will be wanting to be outside in the fresh air, in the naturally therapeutic sun, but I also know that I won’t always have it in me to face the company of mums and babies in the parks that I usually escape to. I am desperate for a safe place where I can find contentment, relaxation and maybe even a smile; a significant place at home where I can just be Posy’s mama. I want to be able to sit in a garden of wild blooms and an abundance of pretty flowers, where I can enjoy all the colours and feel close to my daughter. I particularly want a cosy space where I can read, write and enjoy a glass of wine. So, I am going to learn how to dig, sow, plant and grow - although I may need a helping hand. I am going to allow this mini project to consume the small amounts of energy I have, in the hope that by the time I reach a point where I can feel happy again, I might also feel a sense of accomplishment on my maternity leave. If I can do it well I think I will be satisfied with the flowers living outside, although I may have to treat myself to a floral display in the house once in a while.

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I feel I must add how grateful Michael and I are, for the money given to Posy's flower fund in light of her memorial. We have organised with a local florist for a fresh bunch of flowers to be prepared for us, so we can place a beautifully arranged posy by her side in the woodland every few weeks. Her bed is the prettiest one there and sings Posy's name whenever we visit - thank you!

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Becca

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