Weaving my life together was a bit like making a pom pom: the weaves got cut in half and stuck out everywhere. Unlike a pom pom though, my life was far from cute and bouncy, colourful and happy. My life was like a great-big-fat-worm-ridden-dog-shit sitting upon a beautifully manicured lawn.

I had never felt so isolated. Even when I mustered the courage to go to the shop nobody made eye contact or said hello. I know this because I didn't dare make eye contact or say hello to anyone in the shop either. The shoppers and staff were far too together and who would want to acknowledge me anyway? The only time someone spoke to me was to ask why I was wearing two pom poms on my shirt. They don't match you know, the young check out girl chastised me. What would she know.

How come everybody else had great lives and I didn't? How come everybody else had friends, lovers (gee, I believe some people had more than one at a time), hobbies and interests. How come everybody else in the world had children. All I had left was boredom, pain and pom pom making.

The occupational therapist suggested pom pom making as an activity to focus, build hand eye coordination and increase movement in my wrist. That car accident all those years ago sure had stuffed my life around.and even though every expert under the sun told me to be grateful that I had survived, I didn't want to be grateful. I wanted to be dead. Depressed and isolated I was now. I wanted to cry myself to sleep every night (or day, I still slept a lot).What would they all know what it was like to lose a husband, a mother and two kids in a car accident?

I just wish it was me that had died.

So now I spend my day making pom poms. The counsellor said I needed to start with what I had left. It was possible to rebuild and to enjoy life again. NEVER, my head screamed at her. NEVER, YOU FILTHY BITCH. NEVER!

Five years was a long time to still feel the heaviness of grief in my chest, every single time I breathed. My eyes were too heavy with homesickness for my family to lift up and greet other families. That's why pom pom making had suited me. I didn't have to lift my eyes.

The kids would have loved to make pom poms with me. They sit with me, you know, every time I pull out my little work box. They sit on the chairs and I chat with them. I tell them all about the changes that have occurred since they were savagely torn away from life. I yarn up about their school friends, the animals in the street, the latest kid's fashion, where we would visit if they were here. If only they were here still. Oh god. If only they were still here. My babies. My life. Why did I have to survive? Please God, let me die.

One of the most helpful things the counsellor has done for me was to grow my kids up with me. Their woollens would be far too small for them now so why not remake them to fit life now, she suggested. I so wanted my children to look beautiful and to wear clothes that fitted them, have the knowledge that they needed, play with their friends and have my time that maybe once I wasn't so generous with.

I unravelled their cardigans, jumpers, shawls and rugs. I lovingly wound the wool into little balls of "mummy loves you" and,  everyday, I recycled my love for my children into pom poms: little hearts of bounce and colour. I placed those pom poms all over my house. Signs that my children are still with me.

Why would I want to go out to the shop and talk to people? I want to stay home and look after my babies.


If you wish to join the Writers Prompt Daily simply use the above photo as a prompt and post a short story, poem or paragraph to your blog. Leave a comment and the link here so that all participants can come to you and read/comment/encourage. Story above is copyright and is Megan Bayliss' writing around the above picture prompt.