Seasons are a mixed bundle. We try to separate them, delineate them, carve them into simplified segments of time that we can understand and communicate within a square on Instagram. But as we reach into the depths of autumn and revolve into winter, I am aware that the mysteries of the seasons are deep and will take a lifetime and more to even glimpse the edges of them, let alone plunge into their depths. Seasons are also often messy.
For many, becoming a new parent is the ‘summer time’ that they have been waiting for; full to the brim with joy and laughter, fresh connections with other newbie parents, and a new sense of purpose. This bubbling brook of wonder is a sight to behold! It is a season that we celebrate and pop bubbles of fizz for. But even then, there can be days where a chill breeze from autumn can hit out of the blue and a sweater is needed to be found in the form of a hug.
Through my work as a postnatal doula, I help families transition from one season in their lives to another and I have become used to meeting Grief as he finds his way into many parts of the birth process. Sometimes he is raw and wild and doesn’t hold back his dark presence as he steals the golden hope of futures that have been dreamt about for years. He plummets families into winters so deep that the snow feels like it will never thaw. At other times, he slinks into the shadows behind the party dresses that are slowly shoved to the back of the wardrobe, and the lipsticks that are lost at the bottom of a nappy bag. When I work with new Mums, we talk about loss and hold the space that we need to. We drink tea together, eat cake; commune and weep. These winters can be long, cold and dark, with the light that hope brings can be hard to seek out.
Grief follows us as parents. Although he is not always there taking up centre stage, he does skulk around the edges. Those moments when we fold the baby-grows up for the last time and put them in a box in the attic. The first lost tooth, ceremoniously laid out for the tooth fairy. The loss of belief in Christmas fairy tales. The first boyfriend. The first girlfriend. Walking them around a university campus. Grief tickles our heart strings to remind us that he can still make the spring season chilly for a moment; he is not a season, as he walks through them all.
And as children we feel him also. The first loss of a pet is always hard to navigate, and there are times when we experience the inexplicable loss of grandparents and great aunts or uncles, not understanding why there are so many tears flooding the house, but equally realising that the world as we knew it has shifted and changed, and not for the better.
I am entering a winter season now as the child of my Dad. My Daddy was creative, strong, outrageously funny, a dependable leader, and the man I looked up to more than any other. He was my rock as I went through chemo and started my Palbo treatment; sitting next to me in the blue wipe-down hospital chairs as we worked our way through lockdowns. He enjoyed time with my hubby, and he swung our daughter high into the air, celebrating her with delight! He was a joy to be around, and always great at a party. I am so proud of him; my love for him is boundless. The thankfulness that I feel in my heart for him cannot be put into words on a screen; it is an emotion that has no verbal vocabulary.
Thankfulness is the one bright light I can see flickering around the edges of the dark right now. I have felt how friends tighten their hugs around me; holding me so that I don’t fall. The food that has been cooked for my family, and the small errands that have been run have been heartfelt. The simple act of being looked after has been a balm in my life this past week and I am learning yet again that this is how communities from centuries past have helped people through the winters that come into their lives. Kindness runs deep, and for so many good souls out there, kindness is an act that allows us to wallow in the unvoiced act of love.
As a doula, the self care that I encourage others to embrace is the thing I am turning to now. Tea, cake, long walks, slow yoga, binge watching TV under mountains of blankets snuggled with my family. Healthy food is stacked in the fridge. My dogs have become my shadows, offering deep sighs of understanding, their heads lolling onto my lap as I sit at my desk and journal as my tears cascade.
My winter season is starting with the shorter days when darkness naturally wraps around us. I am thankful for this in some strange, brutal way; I don’t have to fight against long hot days filled with fields of wildflowers bobbing their happy little heads. I can walk along paths that are guarded by leafless, naked trees that throw spiky shadows on ground lit by weak sun. I can walk with Grief in this time and not have to worry about the disconnect between my heart and the world around me. Although…
I find myself looking at the beauty of the dew on the grass that glints and sparkles as I feel the betrayal of my lips as a smile starts to curve upwards. I feel a giggle gurgle up as I see my daughter fool around in the kitchen. Then a full blown laugh rages forth as my sister reminds me of a time my dad did something silly at Christmas. I am thankful that my emotions are still there; although deep, they are not fully silent.
As parents we head up our tribes, we march forth and create a way forward for our little ones to follow until a time when they want to forge along their own tracks. As Dad walks into his new adventure, the one I am unable to explore with him, I am ever so thankful for the privilege of knowing him as his daughter.
As I embrace the thankfulness I feel through this wintering, I may be a little quieter, but I am still here and I shall still be writing to you, and we can look forward to the spring-time together. We can be thankful that the earth will always hold us within her deep mysteries and depths.
This is so beautifully written Sam xx