I read a quote recently from F Scott Fitzgerald. If the name is not familiar, don’t worry, you are not alone. I hadn’t heard of him either, though I did recognise his famous novel The Great Gatsby. In 1936, while navigating a simultaneous decline in his health, relationship and career, Fitzgerald reflected in an essay titled ‘The Crack-Up’:

“The test of first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind
at the same time and still retain the ability to function.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about this and recognise it as a fundamental part of the grieving process. If we use the definition I have described previously – ‘the physical loss of a loved one, or a relationship, a job, a business, an identity or even a long-held dream – any experience that invokes pain or sadness and a sense that something essential is missing’ then Fitzgerald’s quote makes perfect sense.

I remember sitting in the hospital, entirely focused on Ben. Part of me felt numb, the other fiercely protective and strong enough for both of us. Even then, in the midst of the wreckage, I felt an overwhelming need to make something count. I couldn’t imagine what the future might hold, but looking back, I recognise this was the first flicker of the drive I carry with me today.

In those early days, I remember thinking, How can I ever laugh or genuinely have fun when I am heartbroken and miss Ben so incredibly much? Yet alongside this grief, there was a quiet force within me, a need to keep his name alive, to honour what he would have wanted, and to make a difference with whatever time I had left. Emotions would arise – and sometimes still do – with such speed and intensity that I’d be left breathless, and powerless to contain them. I had no idea how I was going to survive this, let alone live the rest of my life this way, but somewhere deep inside, I knew Ben was now a part of me and his presence would carry me through.

More time has passed now, and I find myself drawn to the second part of Fitzgerald’s reflection:

“One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless
yet be determined to make them otherwise.“

Today, I honour my journey and those who walk a similar path. Remembering and speaking about Ben fills me with love and joy and inspires me to continually become a better version of myself.  

I now know that no amount of love can rewrite history. I also know that my experience has shaped the journey I’m on, guiding me toward the work I do, and I wouldn’t be here without it. It goes without saying I would give anything to have Ben back with me physically, as any bereaved parent would, yet I am also filled with gratitude for the many experiences and connections this journey has brought.

Sometimes life shifts in ways that completely change how you see yourself and the world.
Things happen that leave you feeling broken and vulnerable, and then ask you to rebuild from the ground up. And sometimes these shifts bring tears to your eyes and a love so deep, you could never have known it any other way.

To my gorgeous son: you are loved beyond measure, missed beyond words, and continue to inspire me in ways I never thought possible. You are and always will be the love of my life, my guiding light, and forever woven into everything that I do.

Much Love
Dalya & Ben xx 💙