This Is As It Was And Will Always Be
What is Really Behind a Number?
I am coming up to the 10-year anniversary since my son passed. There is some significance in the number 10 for me. The decimal system may be behind this. It could be because 10 years seems to be a period large enough to genuinely reflect on the path your life has taken. I sometimes think it may be because I had felt so overwhelmed when trying to imagine the burden of carrying this loss for 10 years. I do know that learning how to carry this burden has caused so many iterative changes to my personality and outlook, I find it difficult to relate to myself a decade ago.
Why do numbers matter?
It is interesting how we dwell on numbers and how this process ultimately allows them to take on a significance they probably do not deserve. I put this down to evolution. We are constantly looking for patterns in our environment. Why should 10 years be radically different from 9 or 11 years? The truth is, they aren't, unless another life-changing event occurs around this period. While I attribute this to evolution, I realise I have some control over it. The idea is not to become fixated.
Hard lessons learnt
I learned my lesson leading up to the first anniversary of his death. This was a tense time; my family and I had no idea how we would react and whether we would be able to cope. Clearly, I did because I would not be writing this Substack. At the time it was incredibly intense and foreboding. I felt I was being stalked and hunted by the date and time of his death. I knew it was coming, and I would have to face the day.
I spoke to a few people and was advised to have a plan for the day. This meant filling the day with undemanding activities. Ignoring this advice, I decided to organise a remembrance ceremony at my house. It never went ahead. Sadly, my mother-in-law passed away a few weeks before the date. I cancelled the gathering, honestly using her passing as an excuse; my heart wasn't in it even before she died.
There was a strong conscious need to publicly acknowledge his death. I did not know how I arrived at this conclusion other than I thought it was the “right” thing to do because the anniversary was so important. It was and still is important, but it needed to be done in private. The force and direction of your unconscious, or emotional self, seem to guide you. Fighting against this at times feels like a fruitless exercise that results in unnecessary suffering. These subconscious needs compel you to make decisions that feel contrary to your conscious ones.
As the day approached, I focused on getting through it to support my family. I was telling myself, let's just get through the first year, with no real thought of what would happen after that. When the actual day arrived, it was deeply unpleasant. The tension rose and rose until the actual moment of the anniversary came and passed.
Many more battles ahead
The first anniversary passed. I woke up the next morning... I was not relieved that I had made it through the first year. The year had been a war of attrition; every day a battle. Parts of my life were falling away. I faced difficult decisions about work, friends, socialising, and finances—decisions I never imagined I'd have to make. I was in crisis management mode, yet I had the least capacity to manage anything.
I realised that I had still lost my son and there were so many more battles to face. I think that I had placed such an emphasis on getting through the first year that I may have imagined there would be some small reward; either an easing of the suffering or the struggle to function. This never came to pass. On a personal note, the next few years were worse than the first year. There were some external factors that contributed to this, but the simple fact was that it would take as long as it would take for my ability to cope with it all to slowly improve. This capacity came from carrying the burden of my suffering—a process unconcerned with dates and anniversaries.
I emphasised the word 'some' earlier for a reason. I want to deny the significance of 10 years. I acknowledge it, but I won't dwell on it. I know now that my feelings have little to do with time passed, but rather with the progress of my family (including me) and friends. The more positive their growth, the better I feel. This is as it was and will always be.