Saturday, December 4, 2010

I can see clearly now

When I woke up this morning, I realized why I normally sleep on the sofa at weekends.

It's because it's too easy to pretend that he's downstairs, working on the house, or watching TV.

And I did pretend, or wondered.

I couldn't help myself.

Then I came down the stairs, wanting to shout out, "where's my beautiful husband?"

and hear him say, "here I am baby."

To feel myself wrapped up in his arms, a morning hug.

Have a cup of tea or coffee with him.

The simple things.

My heart is breaking all over again.

Is it because I sat with the neighbours looking at their tree last night?

Is it because I watched my neighbour build an igloo, and know that Cliff would have joined him?

Is it because I have cabin fever and have been stuck, working from home, since Monday evening?

Is it because I've had to walk up the little shop in the snow alone?

Is it because I still can't listen to Joe Cocker's album, "Have a little faith" ... because it will crush my heart, yet I know I should, because I need to hear the lyrics. I need to hear the truth, I need to hear Cliff telling me those words ...

Is it because I've got to clear the snow off my drive alone?

Is it because I noticed that my neighbour had cut back the trees in my driveway the instant I drove onto it. And if Cliff had done it, I wouldn't have ... because all I could see was him? That if my house had been falling down before, I wouldn't have noticed, because all I would have seen would have been him? Because he was and still somehow is my entire world?

Is it because I couldn't visit Vicki last night, as I usually do?

Is it because I'm still feeling bad that I didn't see his family last week, due to being ill?

Is it because I still find it hard, at times like this, to believe he is gone forever?

Is it because Christmas and the New Year - such a big deal for us - two big kids - is around the corner?

Is it because our friend John's son drove me down to the cashpoint, and guarded me, just like Cliff did, waiting for the money to come out the machine? Is it because that felt familiar?

Is it because, this year, I have made plans to be with people, because I know that he would not want me to be alone this Christmas, as I was last year? Because this year, I know that he cannot come home, and last year, I still wasn't sure?

Is it because it's 23 months now, and a sharp reminder that it is almost two years since I looked into those clear blue eyes and that smile?

Is it because I came downstairs and where the snow has started to recede ... I could see the bright yellow cement mixer in the garden, along with the Spanish roof tiles on his shed at the bottom of our property? Little reminders that this is his home too. Evidence that he was here?

Is it because home is with him?

Is it because I so desperately want to go home?

Because I still identify myself as ... "I am Cliff Mayhew's wife." And I'm still so proud of that.

I don't want to be his widow.

It's such a demotion.

And I've never been demoted in my life.

I miss him so much - it hurts physically.

I miss our laughter, our fun, our love, our conversations, our intimacy, our comfortable-ness.

I miss not choosing a tree with him, and his patience with me, his good-natured acceptance of my child-like insistence of having a tree that is too large, year after year.

I miss feeling completely safe.

I miss his hands.

I miss our hugs.

I miss him looking at me across a room and winking.

I miss him.

All of him.

This snow has a lot to answer for.

Last year it scared me.

This year it has broken my heart.


  1. Oh Boo,
    Such a beautiful heartbreaking post. I think it's all of the above. Your list is so personal and intimate yet very universal and I have memories of Austin as I read so many of your details. Winking across the room. I miss that so much....

    This second Christmas is more difficult in so many ways. As you so eloquently said "Because this year, I know that he cannot come home, and last year, I still wasn't sure".

    I'm sorry you're having such a hard time, but as always it's comforting to know that I'm not alone. Hugs and love to you. Deb

  2. Deb, I think it is too ... it's always the little things that floor us, isn't it?

    I know I will be feeling stronger when I return to the office next week, and have that human contact again. I think I've just been afforded a little peek into what was wNs's world for far too long ... and found that I don't cope very well in doing so ... <3

    On another note, Sarah just tagged me in a couple of her Camp Widow photos ... and they brought an enormous smile across my face :-) It was wonderful to have time and share laughter with you!

  3. It's such a demotion.

    Oh, that got me. It's true isn't it. I was so much more before, so trusting and in love with everything. This is Not an improvement.

    I am a week shy of 17 months, and I still expect him back.

  4. Me too, Megan. I know :-*(

    hugs to you, perhaps we will find ourselves again, learn to love our lives again, little by little.

  5. Boo ....
    Yes ... it's all of that .... and more.
    I like how you put it .... " a demotion". It surely is. I never experienced that, either. I think this is the biggest and worst demotion anyone could ever get.
    Well .... anyone who loves the way we loved.
    Thinking of you, my friend.....

  6. Janine, it is how it feels. Cheated really. Not understanding why ... but then we know now that there is no rational explanation, that death and loss is random ... without rhyme or reason. It is what it is ... but it is so hard to accept and to motivate ourselves, isn't it?

    Hugs to you xx

  7. It's because of all those things. The holidays are so tough. I would like to sleep through them but then I would miss being with my kids. Take care, TZ

  8. ME TOO! but not an option this year ...