Triggers.

There are so many triggers to things that make me unbearably sad about the death of my son. A song on the radio, a garden, seeing children with similar glasses at the supermarket for example, children from his primary school walking past my apartment, driving or walking past a place where we once walked; any number of things. This happens at least once a day and I have a hardout cry for several minutes.

A few minutes ago I stumbles upon pictures of children who survived Meningitis. They had amputated limbs; sometimes both arms and legs. Seeing them made me think of my son in the hospital. Surgeons operated on his legs in an effort to try and remove the pressure and swelling. We were told that they'd probably have to amputate. I can't imagine our active big boy having to live with that. I know that he would have been very brave though and found a way to get by. Somewhere I'm relieved that he didn't have to though. Do you understand? Of course I wish with all of my heart that he had survived no matter what.

So, trigger number one for the day. Time to take an anti-anxiety pill before it becomes too bad.

Flower Power.

I've got green fingers. I've always loved gardening and growing house plants. Unfortunately, gardening is another activity, along with reading and music, that has fallen by the wayside since the death of my son.I suppose that it may be due to the fact that he and I planted some green beans together about a week or so before he died. He joked that if he planted them upside down they'd grow in New Zealand. Since then I haven't been able to garden and the majority of my houseplants have kicked the bucket.

NZ Greenhood Orchid.

However, it's not all doom and gloom. I have suddenly refound the desire to grow things. Unfortunately I no longer have access to a garden now that I'm living in an apartment. Nonetheless, I'm now taking care of my remaining house plants. I've also decided to get in to growing orchids. I've loved them since we lived in the countyside as I was growing up, and often went to see, with Mum, the native New Zealand orchids growing in the bush.

So, I've sent my Christmas list to Santa asking for an orchid. You gotta start somewhere. Hoping that St Nick comes up with the goods.

I also thought that I'd build, rather than buy, a planter box so that I can start growing a few more indoor plants.

These are all signs that I'm coming right. Fingers crossed.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly....

Well, we're hitting the silly season and I'm determined to try and make this a goodie. I'm lucky that, despite being divorced, my ex and I get on really well (most of the time. Let's not go overboard). We'll be spending Christmas Eve together; the traditional Christmas Dinner here en France. That will probably end in the early hours of Christmas morning. I'll head home, crash and then get up and head around to Madame's for the presents, followed by Christmas dinner...again. Bring on the seafood, foie gras et 'je ne sais pas pour le viande'.

After lunch it's home James for me and Christmas evening spent by myself. I picked up a New Zealand leg of lamb and am going to dine out on that. Not really Christmas fare but a touch of Aotearoa to help buoy the spirits. I'm going to have a movie marathon so if anybody can suggest some good films on Netflix (no dosh to buy DVDs), it would be much appreciated.

Christmas is a tough time of year without our big boy. We're here for his little Bro though and make the whole experience as positive and happy as possible. He deserves nothing less.

I have a nice anecdote about N on one of his last Christmas mornings. He rushed downstairs early in the morning, as kids do, and went to see the presents under the Christmas tree (and Santas footprints in 'snow' leading from the chimney to the tree). He then returned to the door to the stairs and told us that he wanted to wait for his little Bro before attacking the presents. We didn't encourage him to do this; it came from him. He loved his little Bro and was incredibly protective of him. This touched me dearly , and still does. In fact it's brought a wee tear to my eye writing this. It happens at some stage everyday.

So, I am trying my damndest to make this Christmas a positive one. For both of my sons in their different ways, and for my ex-wife who has suffered, and is still suffering just as much as me.

Hard yards.

I'm currently going through a rough patch. It started last night at bedtime and has carried over to today. Everyday I process my grief for my son in different ways. I'll be honest and say that I have a wee cry everyday. Today has been particularly tough. I'm rerunning so many things in my head. Primarily I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that I got angry with my son on the night before he was hospitalised. He was having difficulty concentrating on his Maths homework and I said something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. We found out later that lack of concentration is a symtom of meningitis. He was already sick. I apologised later when I tucked him up in bed. He asked me to stay for a cuddle, and I did, but I should've stayed longer. Another regret that I will take to the grave.

I also rerun so many moments from the hospital. N saying hello to his Maman, Papa and brother; his last words. The moment that his heart stopped and the shouts for help from the doctors.

Fuck it. I miss him so much. It is an unbearable pain today. I can't go on living like this.

Sounds.

My new found hobby is my vinyl collection. I love the 'real' sound, crackles included, as well as the physical act of turning over the record (or big CDs as my son calls them). They just seem more romantic if I can call them that. With my  Bipolar induced, and totally unreasonable spending sprees, I do need to be careful; so easy to order from eBay or Amazon.

I do have CDs of course and use Spotify Premium, which I love, but my first love is my vinyl collection. 30 odd for the moment.

So it's time to put on The White Album by the Beatles and chill out for awhile before attacking some more French administration.

Word of the day:  Turntable