Heavyweight Memories

Memories. Things that are remembered.

For me: these memories are heavy, an encumbrance, a millstone around my neck.

A heavy weight.

Memories. Things that are remembered.

For me: some memories are happy, and welcome. Other memories, not so much.


This time of year is difficult: last Saturday marked Hugo’s second birthday. As much as Martin and I have tried to celebrate: celebrate the life of our precious little man, and the fact that I am still here, it is hard.

Really really hard.

Every day features a running commentary with the theme “On this day in 2014…”. This commentary is augmented by Facebook reminders. I don’t mind those reminders: the photos of Hugo along with a snippet of news helps reinforce the fact that it was real, no matter what my messed-up head might try to insist and confuse me with.

They remind me just how hard Hugo fought to stay with us. They also help remind us how loved Hugo was and is – how many people were willing him on, willing us on, sending so much love.


On this day two years ago I was recuperating on the post-natal ward. The evening before I had been attached to an ECG machine after symptoms including whole-body shakes and a racing heartrate gave cause for concern.

Luckily the tests found nothing awry: it was ‘just’ my body trying to tell me that recovering from a critical illness and major surgery requires a bit of rest.

No time to rest. My little boy needs me. He should still be inside my tummy.

My super champion boy.

My Hugo Boss.


Memories. Things that are remembered.

Remembered, retained.

Many special, special times. Memories that are treasured, irreplaceable, gripped on to with an iron grip.

Many traumatic, awful times. Memories that I would like to go away. Reappear with no control.

Triggers.

Hospitals, the sounds and smells within them. Understandable triggers, though no less unwelcome for that.

Pots of yogurt. The memory that I had yogurt in identical pots for lunch in hospital every single day after Hugo was born. The terror those yogurt pots evokes? Not so understandable.

Pots of yogurt. Yogurt pots. FFS.

Or maybe it is understandable. Stop berating yourself. Self-compassion and all that.

They remind you of an awful time. Feeling helpless, vulnerable, in physical pain and undergoing emotional torture.

Not just a simple yogurt pot.

Representative of a heavyweight memory.


The traumatic triggers dwell with the special memories.

They coexist, uncomfortably.

Burdensome.

Heavily.

Wearingly.


Memories, anniversaries. Exhausting.

So so tired.

Drained.

The weight of the memories drags me down.

Makes me slow. Sluggish. Brain steeped in treacle.

The fog no mere mist, but a true pea-souper.

I’d say I feel like a sloth, but those creatures are too small, gentle, elegant for such an analogy.

No.

The weight of the memories feels like a gigantic dinosaur, so big it blots out the sun at times. An angry dinosaur, stomping so hard the ground shakes. A dinosaur so furious that when it roars the world trembles, flinches, shudders.

I feel as if I am standing on the periphery again. Peering in to the deep, endless, unending darkness of the chasm that my life fell in to.

The tremors of the weight of those memories threaten to tip me over the edge.

In to the darkness.

Fall

Further and further

Down down down

With no control.


I peer in to the chasm.

In to the darkness.

My heavyweight memories are beside me.

I can shoulder the load.

I have to.

And I will.

How?

With regular rest.

Letting my fingers take the pressure, unload the burden through typing these words.


Heavyweight Memories

mumturnedmom

5 Comments on Heavyweight Memories

  1. Becky Cowley
    March 9, 2016 at 3:20 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, this is such a powerful post. So hard to read, your heartbreak and loss of control is written in a way we can all feel. Sending love xx
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  2. Verily Victoria Vocalises
    March 7, 2016 at 3:20 pm (1 year ago)

    These are such personal, painful memories that you continue to share with us and I hope that in some small way I can help by saying that I am thinking of you – I regularly do – and I hope as the years pass the memories become easier to bear. Lots of hugs to you lovely xx #ThePrompt
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  3. Sara | mumturnedmom
    February 28, 2016 at 3:49 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, I wish I knew the right thing to say, to help in any way. This is incredibly raw and powerful writing, hard to read, but necessary I think. Thank you for helping me to understand a little more. You know you’re in my thoughts. Sending love x Thank you so much for sharing with #ThePrompt x
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    • Leigh
      March 2, 2016 at 11:35 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you Sara. Your support is always appreciated xxx

      Reply
  4. Jo Winwood
    February 26, 2016 at 2:45 pm (1 year ago)

    Gosh, I’m struggling for words here. This is such an insight onto a trauma that most of us will never experience. I thank you for sharing these personal, painful memories; thank you for enlightening me and letting me see that I was truly, truly blessed to have a perfect pregnancy and a perfect son. Sometimes I forget that and I should never stop being grateful for that. Also, thank you for being strong enough to share these thoughts and feelings with us. xxx
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