One thousand and ninety five days without you

all the ages you never got to be

Three long years since you left us baby girl. You would now be entering tweenhood, but I find that so hard to imagine. The little girls my eyes always linger on are the ones that are all the ages you were, not the ones you never got to be. The toddlers wearing gumboots and tutus, pre-schoolers wearing glittery star t-shirts and choosing buns covered in sprinkles at the bakery, gaggles of giggling six year olds.

Some days, when something jogs a forgotten memory, or a photo unexpectedly brings a rush of emotion and I can recall the exact sound, smell, touch of you in that moment, I feel so close I could almost touch you. Other days I feel I am drifting further from you, despite hoarding memories, photographs and all your possessions.

The first year without you, I was barely holding on, riding uncontrollable waves of grief, the second year, I took some tentative steps into the world again. This year the steps have been less shaky, I have been able to raise my eyes from the next step in front of me and look in the direction I want to take.

I know this is the nature of grief, to become less searing and gentler over time, or we would never survive it (though there are still many hard days and bitter moment that catch me by surprise). But still I resent it. It feels like a betrayal, moving forward without you, so I still find ways to take you with me.

Today, as on all your birthdays and anniversaries, we will go to our local cafe (even that has changed a lot since you were last there and this I resent too) and order your favourite breakfast. Then we will plant another new rose for you in the garden. I have some other things in mind, my little rituals for you, some things for The Angel Zoe Kindness Project. These things always keep you close.

As I write this, Charlie Cat is snuggled up against me. He left before you died and turned up again after your second anniversary. But I think you know this. I choose to take as a sign from you, that he is here to help me move from the past to the future while keeping you alive in my heart.

6 thoughts on “One thousand and ninety five days without you

  1. Kiri there are no words that will help to console you for your loss, But I was reading was posts and it has a special ability to touch my soul. All I have to say and just have in God maybe He’s gonna help. I don’t know mate how can I say it but this is such a great work. I’m in complete awe.


  2. I am awed by your ability to share these things in your blog. Reading your posts makes me cry (I’ve read three, and each one of them had me in tears), writing them must be so hard. Maybe it’s cathartic. I don’t know, I’ve always been one to keep my hardest emotions close and personal an private. I’ve had losses and can’t imagine writing about them and sharing them with the world like this. You are so strong and brave! I just want to send you a virtual hug, for both of us. 💜

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much. Sorry I made you cry! Most of the posts do have a hopeful note in them too, even though the subject matter is sad. I do find it cathartic to write, partly because I am also one who finds it hard to express my feelings verbally. I find I can process them and express them better in writing. I also hope other people can relate in some way and get something out of it, which they seem to, so that gives me a sense of purpose.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Kiri that is so moving in so many ways. The ending is perfect. I see a memoir coming from you that will move, & help heal so many people. Happy birthday for Sunday. We are heading over tomorrow to Auckland. Will be spending Freeman’s birthday dinner with Jay & Roger. Love & light always to you both. Xxxx

    Liked by 1 person

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