Weight of responsibility

 I have not crumbled under the weight of responsibility of raising two young children single handedly, of running a house, of keeping the house under increasing pressures. It has been almost two years of me, I am all they have. I haven't stopped to think about it much, although I recognize it is hard, the intensity of solo parenthood means you push through the barriers, it also leaves you with little thinking time. 

I have often been asked how do I manage, work, children, life; I don't really know. Perhaps is ignorance, perhaps is an unfailing faith in myself, and even when I am not alright, my children's need come first. In all my shortcomings they also have faith in their mother, their imperfect mother. 

I have vivid memories of football training, me the only mother on the field, I had no idea what the other dads were talking about, I have little interest in football. I felt broken, even if my face didn't betray my feelings. I promised myself we would get through this, and also other occasions that shove the reality of loss in your face, father's day, mother's day, parents evening...valentines day. Days that meant nothing and that also meant everything because now I couldn't celebrate it, not in a way that felt good or familiar. 

I have faced other challenges soon after I lost Ju; my son had an accident and caused damage to  his eye, that meant a trip to the very hospital where Julien died. Having no family in the UK,  I packed the children in the car a trip of sorrow to the hospital. I could have driven to that place with my eyes closed, but there was no Julien there to visit, only painful reminders of what was gone. I swallowed the tears and the children begged me not to take them there, they shut their eyes shunning reality. Perhaps what we don't see we don't feel. 

When we arrived  there they were shaking, pure and utter fear. I embraced and reassured them that all would be well. How life could be so cruel? I had to walk past the lift I used to take to his ward, I prayed so much you could mistake me for a religious person, but I have no faith.

I prayed I would keep it together for the sake of the children. Eventually we returned home after few hours of wrenching torture, I was drained and Luca was sick in the car, he purged his feelings, not just metaphorically. I was drained, like a fully discharged battery, emotionally and physically.

Over a year later my daughter had a very bad bug, she was so violently sick that even water would come back up just as quickly as it went down. My first thought was that there was a very good chance she would be hospitalised, so I packed a bag for her but what about my son? Who would look after him?  Would he understand that we would come back? I have friends that would step up but this is not how it was meant to be. 

It took me almost two years to write about this because I have long forgotten what is like to have another parent in the house, but with my mum here I can see with absolute clarity just how much I juggle.

I have branched into my husband's domain, DIY, gardening, football, car, play fighting. If I cook we eat, if I don't cook, it is hello Domino's. 

The children take as much as they give, you find solace and  happiness but it is impossible to keep up with their endless energy.

I wrote all this because I am different version of a mother, a grieving mother, one that will never know what the other version would look like. If I could spread the load I would be kinder and calmer. A mother loved, reassured and supported by her husband.

I miss the joy of shared parenthood, when I started this journey we had shared "ownership" of our children. 

The little worries, the big worries, and the ones so insignificant that it may seem irrelevant to others, these are all my worries now. 

When I had my husband it was the only time that I could relinquish responsibility,  no questions asked and this is the real weight of responsibility I can't unburden myself even when I want to.