Morbid mother in the grip of madness? (Or how Abba and EastEnders ruin my day!)

Of course it’s a ludicrous storyline and I don’t believe for one minute that anyone would do what Ronnie did because she was in the grip of grief. It’s honestly not troubling me too much but as my mind briefly probed at how I would react if something fatal happened to our son I was hit by the sudden realisation that I’d immediately want to go with him, wherever that was. It wasn’t a long drawn out internal tussle, or a tearful, hair-pulling reasoning but what seemed like a sudden, obvious choice. They say you should never have to bury a child, but I wouldn’t have to then would I? Now, I don’t want you to think I am haunted by some morbid, mawkish madness and I was shocked myself, so don’t call the Social or anything.

Surely the other side holds nothing but nothing? But I don’t even want him to be in nothing without me, not so young anyway. And what if there is a journey for him to go on? Well I’d have to hold his hand of course, like I always do. Alone, I would be burnt, but together we’d be buried, cuddling underground.

Those that have actually lost children must have thoughts like this? Their terrible grief must tip into an inconceivable thought process and having to make horrendous choices? It’s unthinkable. Maybe this is why I am thinking this, trying to address the unthinkable. As someone pointed out to me, what if you have two children? More? What would your decision be then?

Or maybe this is a form of mental illness? The mind is clever at hiding these things from you, when it is patently obvious to others. But the mind is also perverse and when you’d rather shy away from such thoughts it insists you explore them, which is probably why I am writing this now, if I can get it onto paper then I won’t need to hold it in my head.

Since I’ve had my child I know I have been more emotional, more hormonal, more everything and certainly more aware of the nasty realities of life. Anything can set me off: the news, seeing an old man on the street, an Abba song (you ARE the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen, yes you CAN dance…) yes really! I also seem to have lost any quick wits or common sense that I had and my ability to spell. So you know I’m not vouching vociferously for my state of mind, but damn that TV show for making me question it and for putting such thoughts into mother’s heads.

But so far I am one of the lucky ones. I feel for the parents in horrific situations that I probably won’t find myself in, and I feel as ridiculous as EastEnders for allowing myself to wallow in their very real pain. My son is in rude health so it’s a moot point really. So this is a moot post if you like? My husband would kill me anyway if was I to do something so stupid. Mamma Mia!

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