The request. Write a blog for Mindfulness Matters. My reaction – blind panic, doubt, feelings of inadequacy and the urge to say no straight away – to take the easy way out. However, saying no to people is not something that comes easily to me and so here I find myself attempting to formulate my first blog.
I have been a primary school teacher for sixteen years and have always had a particular interest in developing and supporting the emotional well-being of the children in my care. I have completed a number of professional development courses in the areas of mindfulness, building resilience, yoga for children, confidence building, etc. over the years and have previously facilitated on the Mindfulness Matters summer online course.
So why the big deal about writing a little blog? Because these days I struggle to identify with that ‘old me’ – the me who although not brimming with confidence, felt competent and secure in her ability to express her views and opinions coherently and in a meaningful way. That me has given way to someone who, on a daily basis searches for the appropriate words to express the craziness that’s going on in my head so naturally I questioned the wisdom of undertaking the task of writing a regular blog.
Allow me to take you back to April 2016 in an attempt to explain this change of personality, this, to a certain extent, loss of self. On April 24th, my 37th birthday, I spent a lovely day with my amazing husband Mal and our two beautiful little girls – Lottie, four and Rosie, three. That evening with a heavy heart, I kissed them all goodbye as I left to attend a course in St. Patrick’s College, Dublin for the week. I had never spent that long away from them and I knew I was going to miss them terribly.
When I woke on the Thursday morning I remember my initial sense of relief that I had only ‘one more sleep’ left before seeing my little ones and being back in my husband’s arms at night time. That relief quickly turned to a sense of uneasiness when I looked at my phone and realised there was no message from Mal. (I had asked him to text me every morning just to let me know they were all okay – which he had done on the three previous mornings).
I texted him but got no reply, phoned him but got no reply and finally phoned my Mam who lived in an adjoining granny-flat and asked her to check that everything was okay with Mal and the girls. Minutes later she phoned me back and uttered the following words – words that I will never forget as long as I live –“He is unresponsive”. Panic ensued but the end result was that my beautiful, warm, kind, caring, loving husband had died during the night from SUDEP, Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, it was our four year old daughter who had found him.
That day my whole world turned upside down and part of me died forever.
Mal and I, though it sounds clichéd to say, were truly soulmates. We met and married within nine months and had our little girls soon after. He brought the sort of love and happiness into my life that I had always dreamt of but never imagined I would be lucky enough to find. He completed me.
As I write this, a year after losing ‘my Mally’ I am amazed that I am still here – amazed that it is possible to regularly feel that you are being ripped apart by grief but to still survive.
Am I saying that I owe my survival to the practice of mindfulness? No – not exclusively – but it has undoubtedly been an extremely useful tool in my toolbox and one that I have endeavoured to share with our little girls. We regularly listen to some of the Mindfulness Matters CD’s, practise yoga and breathing exercises and do simple mindfulness meditations together.
These pursuits have not been easy to persevere with in the midst of profound sadness, loneliness, exhaustion, despair and anger. There have been days, indeed weeks, when these practices have fallen to the bottom of the list of priorities – when, to be honest the only thing we were doing as a family was existing. But it is very apparent to me that it is precisely the times that these practices fall by the wayside, that we really need to be engaging in them.
It is called Mindfulness ‘Practice’ for a reason. It is not easy. For some, children and adults alike, it is almost impossible … at first. It does undoubtedly get easier the more you practise. The challenge, like most things worthwhile is creating the habit and persuading yourself to do it even on those days when it is the last thing in the world you feel like doing.
Without doubt, my greatest source of encouragement to continue with mindfulness practice has been my children. I feel very strongly that if I equip them with this skill early in life, I will be doing them a great service for their futures. They have experienced a profound loss and of course it has, and will continue to affect us momentously as a family but I am determined to help them to realise that the pain, sorrow, loneliness, anger, shock, etc. that they feel in any given moment, hour or day will categorically not last forever. I need them to understand that all of our emotions are transient so that they don’t allow themselves to be swallowed up by the negative ones that will invariably come along.
Mindfulness Practice is one of the most powerful aids I have to assist me in achieving this goal both for my children and for myself. A terrible thing has happened in our lives but our lives are not terrible. We were blessed to have had the most exceptional husband/father anyone could ever wish for and although we desperately would have liked many more years with him, I have no doubt that there are lots of couples together for a lifetime who will never experience the love that Mal and I shared and there are children whose Dads live to a ripe old age who won’t have spent the amount of quality time with their fathers as our two princesses spent with theirs.
My own Dad, when times were tough, used to say “the sun will shine again” and those words sum up for me the essence of mindfulness. As I write these final words, I am going to be honest and admit that now, at this moment, the sun is not shining for me and that’s okay because I know that tomorrow there’s every chance it might be again – here’s hoping!
Stay tuned. I’m looking forward to the ‘blog experience’ and to sharing my experience of Mindfulness and how we, as parents and educators, can use it to support our little people. Part 2 coming soon.
This blog was first published on MindfulnessMatters.ie. Mindfulness Matters was founded by Dr. Ann Caulfield and Derval Dunford to offer opportunities to professionals, parents and children to discover quiet space in the mind. Mindfulness Matters offers courses and resources to assist in the discovery of present moment awareness, calm and confidence, and specialise in online facilitation.
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