You Gave Me Purpose


    Purpose. It’s funny to think but the power of purpose is often forgotten about. In our hectic days and manic lives, purpose can become lost or confused, hidden or overshadowed. Yet the power of purpose is phenomenal.
    Purpose drives us forward, pushes us to achieve. 
    Without purpose there’s simply no point. It’s the catalyst for our actions, the sole reason for why we do.

    For so long, I searched for purpose. I lived, I breathed, I existed. But nothing felt worthwhile, nothing felt meaningful. 
A life without purpose just isn’t fulfilling. You can carry out routine procedures but the joy behind it just isn’t felt. It’s sad, when you think about it, to consider that some people never recognise purpose. It’s sad to think that purpose can be so easily masked or mistaken. 

    I had no idea myself just how powerful purpose could be…until there were you!
When you entered my life, you revealed my purpose. I know that this sounds cheesy but I need you to know this. I need you to always remember that my purpose was you! 

    Having children is certainly life altering. There’s times everyday where I still feel so intensely overwhelmed by Motherhood, so intensely submerged. I’d love to say that this was always positive but it’s not. There’s times everyday where I need to say ‘I didn’t enjoy that’ and not be judged. I mean, who really wants to argue with a two year old in public? Who wants to feel undermined by a toddler, with little beady judgey eyes on show? Who wants to feel embarrassed and worthless? Throughout these trying moments, please never forget that I still find reassurance in my purpose.


    Throughout all the mania, there’s something so magical about it all! Something that makes it so outrageously worthy.

    Before your Brother arrived, my body had meant nothing. I’d overworked it, abused it. In an attempt to find purpose, I’d put it under immense duress to stay slim and slender. Your Brother taught me that being ‘skinny’ wasn’t my purpose. As my hips cracked to make way for his arrival, I accepted the full extent of my body’s purpose and worth. The purpose of my body was not to be viewed as beautiful, beauty lay in the roundness of my childbearing belly. The purpose of my body was to protect both you and your Brother – through childbirth and forever after. Your Brother taught me to love my body, to appreciate every curve. 

    Suddenly, I had purpose.


    I had purpose to live, to breathe, to take care of myself the best I could. The change in me began, I felt it from within. Unlike before, the most measly of tasks could supply pleasure. That feeing of pleasure made everything so worthwhile…late nights, early mornings, lack of sleep…all of it had purpose!

    When you arrived, it’s fair to say that I already had purpose but nothing could prepare me for how much more purposeful my life would become. 

    The day you nearly died, I realised my purpose was to make you stronger. Your strength was already admirable but I needed to teach you to WANT to survive. I knew that I needed to teach you to see how magnificent living could be. I needed to teach you that living would be worthwhile! I knew that this could only be accomplished by showing you all the wonders of life, to show you how to be a glass-half-full kind of person. I knew that my only way of succeeding in this would be to change my own mentality (this harder than I’d like to admit, I’ve too many people in my life who ridicule this outlook on living, too many people who’d rather focus on the negatives). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to change.

     Then, the day we discovered you had cerebral palsy, I realised my purpose was also to champion you. Your determination was just as admirable as your strength but I knew that I needed to make you feel the extent of your worth. I realised immediately that I just couldn’t ever allow you to feel self conscious or doubt. The only way I’d succeed in doing this is to show you how to love yourself, that this also meant me having to love myself too (again, this is harder than I first imagined. For too long, I’ve listened to the listing of my flaws, the reasons as to why I shouldn’t). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to accept myself for who I am.

     The day I heard that you may never walk, I realised that my purpose was to support you – both physically and mentally. If your own body won’t supply you the means to show you the world, then mine will. The purpose of my arms is to carry you wherever your heart desires. The purpose of my legs is to walk you wherever your feet want to travel. The purpose of my heart is to love you enough that you won’t feel hurt by the rejection of others. 

   Between you and your Brother, my life will never be short of purpose. Purpose to love you, protect you, guide you and direct you. Having purpose has given me more confidence and strength than I’ve ever felt before. There’s something so gratifying about knowing the importance of your existence. Never before have I felt so comfortable in myself, known what I deserve and what I don’t. 


   So, through all the hard times, the tears and the tests – I need you to know that I’m so grateful for my purpose. 

    Thank you for giving me purpose, thank you for making me a Mother, thank you for giving me the gift of watching you grow.

Love you – Mama 💕

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Remind Me

I know I’ve said this before but I really can’t reiterate how true it is.
Our life is bloody hard!

 
Between us both working full time jobs in stressful roles; a two year old well and truly in the grasp of ‘terrible-twohood’; a premature daughter who loves to keep our anxiety levels up and the most erratic border collie to have ever existed…it’s mental.

We struggle to find time for the ‘mundane’.So, finding time for the ‘exciting’ just doesn’t stand a chance. Most nights, we manage to spend the grand total of twenty minutes in each other’s company before you fall asleep on the settee and, well, most of that is also usually dominated with me working from my phone.
It’s not a case of no longer loving each other. It’s a case that we just sometimes forget to show it. It’s too easy at 9pm on a Thursday night to slog at separate ends of the room, tranced by the hindsight of a hard day and a manic evening. It’s too easy to sit numbly in front of the TV avoiding eye contact for fear of small talk that you no longer have the energy to pursue. It’s too easy to climb into bed an hour later and immediately adopt your fail safe sleeping position without a good night kiss. It’s too easy to let life pass us by. 

  
Our relationship has become that of a ‘working’ one. Our exchanges are predominantly business negotiations (who is cleaning whist the other one cooks? Which one of us will bath the babies whilst the other one irons?). The times we talk through the day are mainly opportunities to swap notes – Siena has needed her inhaler, Tristan had eaten well. The question of how one’s day is going never enters the equation. I’m not blaming you here, we’re both equally as guilty. 

  
Nevertheless, sometimes it hurts.

Being the oversensitive soul you’ve become to resent me for, I can’t help but take some things personally. It’s easy for me to convince myself that you no longer love me. That you no longer care about my dreams and ambitions, thoughts or emotions. It’s far too easy for me to believe that our relationship has lost its passion.
But this weekend has reminded me it hasn’t. 

We very rarely treat ourselves to some adult alone time. Our weekends are centred around finding a means of entertaining two toddlers. We no longer laugh together, no longer focus just on us.  

  
But this weekend has been exactly that! We escaped for not one, two nights! An entire weekend in each other’s company. No excuses to ignore each other. No excuses to avoid intimacy.
I’m not saying we spent the weekend locked in a loving embrace. No, we’re more than past that honeymoon stage. I mean, it was cluttered with small tender moments which reminded me that you love me.

The moments you instinctively held my hand as we strolled through market stalls, the moments you offered me your jacket because you noticed I was cold…those moments meant so much. Tiny and insignificant they may be but warming and reassuring they are, also.

Most importantly, we’ve laughed together. Your laughter was always something I loved about you so intensely. When we met, you were incredibly light-hearted. You found laughter in every situation. Recently, it’s a noise I often forget you’re capable of making. I don’t think that it’s because you’re unhappy, I just think it’s because you’re too suppressed by your hectic routine. And that’s fine.

I’m not asking that we promptly plan to change our ways. I’m not even suggesting that we need to. Our lives are busy and incredibly hard but we’re not failing. We are dedicated to our children, still dedicated to each other. Our business negotiations are working for us at the minute and as our children grow, I’m sure life will become easier.

No doubt, there’ll come a time when we can unguiltily centre nights/weekends on each other without fear of abandoning our brood. However, until that time arrives, I am asking…can we have more weekends like this one? Can we take time to hold hands when our hands are free for each other? Can we make a date to laugh with each other again soon?

Can we remind each other of how awesome our relationship really is?

  

I’ll Love You Always, Remember You Forever

  
  
So this is it – the first day of the rest of my life without you. It’s a day I’ve dreaded for as long as I can remember, a day I’d hoped wouldn’t come for yet another decade. 
I held your hand yesterday, as you finally allowed yourself to sleep. I sang you a lullaby under my breath, said my prayers for you. You were beautiful your entire life but in that moment, you were radiant. I saw the peace in your heart, the relief in your face. 
We were relieved too. Thankful for your calm departure. 
Thankful is a word I want to use a lot today. You see, you’ve given me so much to be thankful for. For you alone, I’m thankful.
You’ve always inspired me – even as a little girl. You taught me how to read and write before I went to Primary School. You sat for endless hours on your sitting room floor showing me how to curl a C. You patiently reiterated word after word as I read aloud to you. As I grew, you continued to instil a love of English into me. You listened to my poetry, told me how talented I was. You read my stories, encouraged me to write more and more. At 30 year old, I still find pleasure in the passions you nurtured. You gave me the confidence to pursue a career in English, the confidence to publish my writing for others to read.

  
You gave me the best advice. You were always the first person I turned to in a crisis, the one I’d believe could make me see sense. I’ll always be grateful for the time you spent advising me. You watched me transition into a woman, put my mind at ease at every uncomfortable or daunting moment. 
The day my Husband left me, you discovered me lying alone in my Mother’s hallway. The pain of my heartache had rendered me physically unable to move. You sat beside me, stroked my hair and reassured me that I had the strength within me to get up and move on. You made me see my worth, appreciate that if he never returned, I’d do so much more than survive. You held my hand as I steadied to my feet. Like a newborn Deer, my knees buckled and weakened. You held my hand, made me straighten my back and carry on living.

  
When he returned, you wished us the best and told me you were proud of the strength I’d shown, that sometimes it was stronger to try and make things work than simply disregard them. You had a way of making me feel as though I’d always made the right decision (even if you believed I hadn’t).
The day I discovered I was pregnant, it was your advice I wanted to hear. I could never imagine becoming a Mother without your guidance or support. You were there the day my son arrived, you were there throughout his colic and when my heart broke over not being able to breastfeed, it was you who showed me that there was no shame in formula. You who made me see that his eating habits are nothing to become stressed about. From the day my Daughter arrived prematurely, you taught me to panic less, to be dramatic less. You’ve loved my children with the same unconditional love you showed me and my Brother. You’ve told me over and over again that I’m doing a wonderful job. I couldn’t be a Mother without you. The Mother I am is down to your advice and relaxed approach. Thank you for making me feel like I’m doing alright. 
I owe my sense of Adventure to you. My Mother, a natural born worrier, would have seen me swaddled in cotton wool. You encouraged me to experience life. Told me that I shouldn’t ever let fear or worry prohibit me from living. It was that courage which made it easy for me to leave my profession and seek new challenges. You’ve always made me see that change doesn’t ever have to be daunting, change can be miraculous, exciting, necessary!
The change we’re experiencing right now is harrowing and tragic but even to your dying day, you wanted us to believe that even this was for the best. 
Whilst you were still conscious, you asked us all to be happy for you. We are. We’re happy that you’re no longer suffering, no longer in pain. We’re happy that you’re with your Father again, dancing on his shoes. We’re happy that we saw you leave, had time to say our full goodbyes. Mostly, we’re happy for the life you’ve given us. 
I feel privileged to have known you, honoured to have felt your love, advantaged to have so many beautiful and noteworthy memories with you.
So thank you for your amazing grace. Thank you for making me the woman that I am.
Thank you for being my Gran, my best friend.
I’ll love you always, I’ll remember you forever.