Boo's journey through widowhood

Enough

2012-01-07T19:15:00.002Z

I want to go home.

I can't find my way home.

I still feel like I'm bleeding everywhere. From that amputation.

Fuck this. It hurts. Fuck death.

Three years

2012-01-06T00:11:00.002Z

Three years.

I can't believe it's been three years since I touched the face I long to see.

And I swear ... he came to see me today. I had a nap and woke up at exactly 3 pm (which is when he had his stroke). I looked at the clock and said, "hello baba. I love and miss you still."

and I do.

I always shall.

How can I not miss the other half of my soul?

But most of all I am grateful that I had those years.

Love. Is. Stronger. Than. Death.

It had to come

2011-12-24T07:51:00.001Z

It had to come.

I thought I was doing so well.

Got gifts. Thru mail order to avoid all cheery people holding hands at huge mall.

Got neighbour to wrap all the gifts.

Put gifts in car ... ready to give when visiting friends and family over the holidays.

Then got ill - flu which developed into chest infection so slept for a week.

Then ran away from Christmas past by dreaming about Christmas future - this time next year - I'll actually be decorating my first tree since Cliff died. This time next year ... in Spain ... in our new home in Andalucia ... Me, Jayde, Amber, Theo and Scarlett. Familia. Cliff's blood. But they are mine. As well. I don't feel like a step-mother or step-nana. Perhaps a step-Boo? Actually no. Not step anything. Familia.

So ... yep ... been dreaming about "Feliz Navidad" in 2012.

Then I turned into an aisle at the supermarket to have my nostrils assaulted with such an evocative hit of fresh pine that I immediately started crying. For him. Two aisles later I had regained control. But it was bubbling.

Just beneath my skin I'm screaming. Salva Mea.

I rush to escape.

And fly out the door like a bat out of hell.

To promptly release a public outpouring of grief. Seriously primal. Loud. Those mournful animal noises that come out of me. But not in my voice. Noises I never made before he died.

People stopped. Mouths agape. Did I care? Fuck, no. I just got louder and louder.

And I felt better. After.

Those translucent faded watercolours are following me once more. Today. They've brought me to my knees. Literally. And they've brought a beginning of a smile too.

I've learned. I can't dwell in Christmas past or Christmas future. I have to live in Christmas present. It's called present because it IS a gift.

And so I'm celebrating it by making a proper homemade trifle for his best mate. Another first. And I'm celebrating that it IS less painful. I mean the tsunamis still hit. But. Less often. And they dissipate faster. Thank fuck for that. Another gift.

So, what's on your wishlist? Apart from Christmas past or future?

I'd like a pair of Louboutins. Or charms for my pandora bracelet. But Santa died back in 2009 so that's not going to happen. I'd settle for anything. Anything at all. With one caveat. All I wish for is that whatever I'm given shows that some thought went into it. That's all. Because I do. I mean ... I put a lot of thought and time into selecting what I give. And it makes me feel so very sad if I receive stuff that o know could have been thrown in a supermarket trolley. That'll do. Or worse. That'll do for someone. Then having it assigned to me. Ungrateful? Not really. It could cost five quid. It's the thought I wish for. The care. The selection.

I don't think it's such a huge ask.

I've got so much baggage ... you don't want to go there

2011-11-09T21:37:00.008Z

I tumbled towards him, juggling cans of diet coke whilst frantically pressing the "lock" button on my car key, as he was (trying) to come into the shop. "oh, I thought I'd left my car unlocked. But I didn't. Whoops. Sorry!"

A nano-second of eye contact. A glimpse of his bemusement.

Marlboro Lites. Banter with Sri Lankan shop-owner.

Tired. Hair in need of wash. Makeup all but disappeared. Eyes tired and dry.

Almost tumble down steps to car and bleep car open. Throw stuff on passenger seat. Walk round to driver's side and become aware that a man in big car is talking to man in van next to me. So ignore him. His voice gets louder. And he's looking at me.

I hear the words, "have you got a husband or a boyfriend?". It's the man I almost fell into. And he's clearly not talking to the builder in van parked next to me, even if he is listening avidly, along with two other men in the car park.

And I open my mouth. Then shut it again rapidly. For fear that the words in my head will tumble out my mouth. Involuntarily. (My husband is dead.)

Instead I smile kindly. Because I feel sorry for him ... because of the words I have to say ...

"I'm widowed actually. And I've got so much fucking baggage. You really don't want to know me. You don't need me. But thanks. It's a compliment. For me."

And I flash him another smile.

"Fair enough," he replies, but he's maintaining eye contact. "What's your name?"

"Boo. It's Boo."

"I'm Joe by the way."

and I reach through his car window, "pleased to meet you, Joe," and he once again grins with amusement, as I shake his hand.

He has a good handshake. Firm. I hate wet fish or pathetic handshakes.

I don't think and the fucking words start tumbling out my mouth.

"hey you know what, why not. Give me your number and I'll get in touch."

He obviously knows. Knows that I won't. I mean to. At the time I really do mean to. But he knows I won't find the courage. So he convinces me he hasn't got a pen or scrap of paper in his massive vehicle. And I don't even think to get mine from my glovebox. Because I'm planted to the ground. Like a fucking rabbit in headlights.

Then I hear my voice telling him my phone number while he punches into his mobile. "I'll text you, Boo."

"OK, nice to meet you Joe."

And I screech off at my normal breakneck speed, but instead of parking in my drive, I stop at my neighbour's, fly in their door and tell Daniella what's just happened. She's grinning. I'm not. All of a sudden I think I'm going to puke. So I go and stand in their bathroom for a few minutes. For nothing.

Daniella feeds me potato and toast to settle my stomach before I head home to sob.

I don't want some Joe, I want you back Baba. But you know what? If he does text me, I'll go for a drink with him. He looked kind and he's got a sense of humour. It'll do me good.

I should have known some shit was going to happen. That North Star was shining so so brightly. All the way home. You still watching over me? You feel further away now.

I miss you baba.

Don't know ... just don't know

2011-10-17T20:34:00.003+01:00

Up and down. All the time.

For some reason it's hard for me to blog and read others' words, let alone leave comments for them at the moment. I feel bad about it. But I don't seem to be able to give right now. That's a first. And it's uncomfortable. It doesn't sit well with me. But I know that to survive I have to follow my intuition.

I'm having a tough time. Fuck, this whole year has been a nightmare. Much harder. Oh, so much more painful than the year before. I miss you more, baba.

I've struggled with my health, finances, housework. Everything. To be honest work consumes what energy I do have. I'm fucked. And fucked up. But not.

How so?

Well, I'm living half in the past ... and half in the future. I've spent time reading books that have helped me and made plans for more memory books ... and found notes and cards we wrote for each other that have soothed and ripped me apart at the same time.

I've replayed scenes in my mind ... Sobbing or laughing at them. But in the end ... It's always the same result. I'm so grateful he chose me. My heart expands with love for him. And slowly it will banish much of the pain that still resides there.

Struggle. Each day a battle. I know friends and family are expecting more from me. But it is what it is.

I have stuff to blog - Camp Widow, the Angel I met on my journey on the flight home, who curiously took the shape of a young drum n bass DJ (who miraculously became the first person I managed to tell - without losing it - no holds barred - what happened that day) .... and healed me so much as we swishes across transatlantic skies. My plans to move to Spain. And my happiness that Cliff's daughter and children intend to follow me there. I can visualize myself there.

I ache to be there now. I can picture it. Yet, simultaneously I find myself leaning against the walls he built - almost vomiting at the thought of letting go of our home. Home is not here nor anywhere on this Earth. It is with him. I want to go home but the timing of my reunion is not mine to decide. So, I dream of a new life. And I will make it as happy as I can.

I'm just clocking in to say hello. And to say I still care about you all. I'll get there. Just in my own time. I can't do it any other way lest I am floored and cannot find the strength to try again. So I've switched off. And pretend I don't give a fuck that peeps disapprove or feel I've not been in touch. It hurts. Because there are days when it's too much to ask me to brush my hair, let alone visit them or phone. Really.

And so I'll sign off for now. It might be a while till I post more. Conserving energy. Emotional. Spiritual. Mental. Physical.

Wish me luck as I attempt to open our safe to retrieve cash that's been there since he died. He's stll looking after me. Surreal! The old door is stuck. Solid. I've almost cracked it. The can of WD-40 has taken a caning.

More and more shit seems to be happening and I'm unsure whether it's just life or another unhappy by-product of the Cliff-shaped hole left in my very heart and soul - or a mix of the two.

Like the fact that I'm sitting in Tesco supermarket car park writing this post, whilst charging my iPhone because the fucking plug at home doesn't work anymore.

It's endless. Relentless. Exhausting. Sorrowful. My tooth cracked last night. Just another thing to add to the list. My worry that I may have to euthanize my deaf dog because he bit my toe in protest at not getting his own way. He didn't savage me. But ... I worry. What if it was a child. More importantly Cliff's grandchild?

More to worry about. Alone. I know I have peeps to talk everything through with but stll ... the harsh reality is that it is all my decision now. As is the fallout.

I want to have a bath and lay down in clean sheets with him. Just hold each other and look in his eyes. See the love and sleep like a child for a night. That is all.

Instead ... I see my battery is now at 70% so I'll head home knowing I can chat on facebook as a reward IF I can open the safe.

Laters peeps <3

But I'll get there, baba. For you. For me. For love. For the future.

Grief

2011-09-13T00:01:00.001+01:00

Grief is the price you pay for love.

The price is high ... but is it too high?

No it's not.

Those 15 years I shared with my magical beautiful husband, as well as the years before, as friends ... Oh, every second of this pain. The pain that feels like an amputation without anaesthetic ... Where I STILL feel as though I am bleeding everywhere. He is worth every second of this pain.

After a while ... you learn that time does not exist. Not when you love.

My heart is filling with love.

Little by little - the love is squeezing the pain out of my heart. Slowly but surely.

Love.

Thank You Chelsea

2011-08-03T12:35:00.002+01:00

Ohhhhhhh, these lyrics

and here's U2 singing it

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I've been in that deep dark place recently. Battling the darkness. These words have reached me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's time to walk towards the light again. Clean the house. Look after myself properly. Only I can choose to do that ... only I am accountable .... only I can choose my attitude.

Never forget, you always have a choice.

a quote that I love

2011-07-26T19:14:00.008+01:00

If, as I can't help suspecting, the dead also feel the pains of separation [...], then for both lovers, and for all pairs of lovers without exception, bereavement is a universal and integral part of our experience of love.

~ C. S. Lewis

This time ten years ago ...

2011-07-21T13:12:00.008+01:00

... I started jumping up and down on the mahogany double poster bed at the lovely resort where we got married.

"I want to do it again," I said breathlessly.

"Boo, do you realize how much 'it' cost?"

"Baba, it was included in the booking, so it was free. Because this is all-inclusive. I don't mean it literally, you know? I mean, do it again, right now. Like rewind time and do it again."

"I swear to god you are trying to kill me."

"Never."

"Who loves you, baby?"

"You do, baba."

"That's right .... I do. You are so beautiful ... to me."

And he set the timer on our camera and waited for me to stop bouncing and gravitate towards him by nature ... gathering me up in his arms and kissing me. All safe in my la-la-land. So indescribably and deliriously happy.

The photo captured our feelings - our spirit - on that day so well, and I think it was the only photo we ever took of ourselves, using the self-timer.

And I find myself wishing once more on the day of our wedding ... wishing I could turn back time ... to this time ten years ago. Just for a few minutes with him. Even if it meant exchanging the rest of my life ... even if it meant going through all this pain again. He is worth every second of it. Every fucking second.

Only you, baba.

I want to do it again. Still. Always.

Thank you so much, from the deepest and most sacred room in my heart ~ to Megan ~ for creating this cherished piece of art, with so much love, empathy, care and, most of all, for getting angry and hurting on my behalf. There is no greater gift.

My body knows what my mind hadn't realized

2011-07-12T16:37:00.002+01:00

uh-oh, here we go ...

our Wedding Anniversary is on the 21st.

It would have been our tenth ...

my body is mourning him
before my mind even realized the date was round the corner
is it any surprise?
when I can still feel his touch upon my skin?

Wake up Boo

2011-07-11T20:10:00.003+01:00

And this is how I fight.

I have always had to learn the hard way. Go to the bottom so I can climb back up.

So after hiding in my home and ignoring the world ... essentially pretending he's not dead, trying to give myself time out because I'm finally on top of things at work ... I finally woke up and noticed my Sky subscription and Internet connection has been severed (sorry for not commenting on your blogs) I finally stopped stepping over the pile of mail on my doormat. I finally started to take in the advice I'd gathered on diabetes.

So I'm feeling better. Work is good.

And tomorrow my girlfriend is going to open all the damn letters and bills and were going to figure out what I need to do. Cliffs still helping me. I have some money in the safe of his and some roof tiles to cash in. I might have to call in a debt or two - which won't go down well but that's tough.

I've woken up and it's time to take care of me now. If I don't take care of me I can't help anybody else, can I?

I want you more than I need you

2011-07-10T21:28:00.002+01:00

I miss you so much baba.

There are such nasty people on this earth.

On Friday night I saw a man (and I use that term loosely) punch a woman. Several times. If you'd been there it never would have happened. I've never seen that happen before. I'm still in shock. I've not left my home since and shan't till it's time to go to work tomorrow.

My sixth sense came into play but really I was listening to what you'd have told me to do.

And so apart from being sad that people have no morals I'm reminded once more that you're not coming home.

Just moments before he punched her he'd spoken to me. Pretended to be charming. But I knew. He was looking in my eyes but I could see the madness in him. He said, "I'm not trying to intimidate you," and I replied, "no one can frighten me. You can't intimidate me. No one can. You have no idea.". I went cold and was calm. I saw a flicker of anger in his eyes as he realized, without understanding, that I was telling the truth and nothing but.

I think that sent him over the edge in his drink (and drug?) addled and clearly paranoid mind.

My reaction? I protected the dog in the room knowing it would attack him and that he would hurt him. Badly. So I watched the violence worsen as others tried to stop him hurting the woman whilst I covered the old dog - deaf now - ensuring I blocked his vision of this abhorrent scene.

When it was over I calmly walked home. But it's reminded me of how soft Cliff was with women and especially with me. A stark comparison.

And made me miss him more. And made me accept he's not coming home. Just a little more.

I hurt. Too much. Right now. I want you baba more than I need you. And that is how you measure love. To want someone more than you need them.

Coldplay

2011-06-26T19:48:00.005+01:00

I've had a fairly good weekend, only a few tears. There again I've snoozed through a great part of it.

Friday night I went down the coast to see Cliff's daughter. She laughed at me, because in my excitement at seeing Scarlett, I ran straight past her.

As promised, I'd printed out some photo collages I made on Photoscape of her and the kids. I'd also made one of Cliff and myself, and had it in the same pack, ready to show my BFF Vicki. Jayde caught sight of it and her reaction so touched me.

"ohhhh, wow, what lovely photos," she said.

"I chose those ones because they're really happy memories. Good times."

"I can see that. They're wonderful. I love this one, it's so beautiful," she added.

"Would you like this copy then, you can have it?"

"I'd love it, thank you."

Baba, your little girl has grown up so much. We still have that sisterly relationship. But she's become my friend now too.

Sitting there holding and telling Scarlett how beautiful she is and how she is loved so so much ... it grounds me. It gives me such peace. She just lays there looking at me, but she makes me feel so happy.

It was great to see Vicki. I hadn't seen her for the past two weekends. We gave each other a huge bear hug, both getting a bit emotional really. Her daughter (my goddaughter) was sleeping there in between moving, and when she came home and went to bed, we went upstairs to Vicki's bedroom, lying down on all the pillows, chilling and chatting. It felt as though we'd gone back to when we were 18 again.

The rest of it? Playing on my laptop, reading, snoozing, phone calls.

Like I was saying, I was having a fairly good weekend, then I put the Glastonbury highlights on, and Coldplay played these three songs, almost in a row.

And I broke.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdBym7kv2IM (The Scientist)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JI-o25K6B-E (Fix You)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Kf_6BWcOOg (Every Teardrop is a Waterfall)

It's just as well I didn't go this year.

But I'm going to go the year after next ... (next year Glastonbury isn't on) because I want to go before I'm 50, and before I move to Spain. Cliff always refused to go, saying that I'd start crying when I saw the state of the toilets and the food and that he'd have had to have found a hotel, thus doubling the cost of the weekend. I think that it was the only thing I ever asked for that he said no to.

So the plan is to hire a campervan (with toilet and fridge .... oh and a freezer shelf for ice cubes of course) and go in 2013. Maybe Jayde (his daughter) will come with me. I think we'd all like that.

Right now it's sunny and warm outside ... even though it's 20h30. I looked out at the decking and wanted to sit there, but I knew I'd break again .... he's not here to sit with me. When I move to Spain I'll be able to sit outside again without him.

Just one little problem, when I do move, I know I'll finally believe that he isn't ever coming home. On an intellectual level, I accept that he's dead. He's dead. But my heart ... my heart still doesn't believe. And it scares me. I'm scared I'll lose my mind. I'm not ready for it yet. NOT YET. Two years and counting ...

Now You're Gone

2011-06-21T01:20:00.001+01:00

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/floetry/nowyouregone.html

no explanation required.

Laundered linen sheets
Touch me their coldness
And thoughts I can’t repeat
Shock me with their boldness
Why did my mind and body believe,
That you would never leave them?
Now there’s parts of me that blame,
Or well they force me to deceive themS
o come back and relieve them
Who would steal you?
I still feel you
Now you’re gone
These are lies
They’re not real
This is more than I can feel
This is wrong [3x]
A bath so hot it almost scolds
And I let the warm surround me
I slide down
Till only my face shows
But I feel colder now
Than before you found me
When u used to pin me down
The clarity in your intent
But if your mind was somewhere else
I can better anything you can invent
I thought you understood how much you meant
Who would steal you?
I still feel you
Now you’re gone
And these are lies
It’s not real
This is more than I can feel
It’s all wrong
Now you’re gone
I work hard to carry on
If you could’ve seen
How I’ve been
Then you’d know how much you meant
Who would steal you
I feel you
Now you’re gone
Now you’re gone
Now you’re gone
GoneGoneGone
Don’t you know how much you meant?
Who would steal you?
I still feel you
Now you’re gone
These are lies
They’re not real
This is more than I can feel
This is wrong [till end]

For Daddy

2011-06-19T17:02:00.001+01:00

Jamaica Say You Will

2011-06-17T23:20:00.040+01:00

Joe Cocker - Jamaica Say You Will

I feel empty.

And nothing can satisfy the emptiness.

The hunger.

only you ....

I hunger for him.

This pain ... it's unspeakable. It's too much. Every cell in my body. My mind. My heart. My soul. All in unison ... screaming and screaming for him.

It's been more than tough recently.

I bet he never thought that at 2 and a half years into this new world, made to appear ugly and unsure at times by his absence, that I would be quite so bad. Or maybe he knew. I'm amazed that after 30 months, more memories flood into my heart and mind, and take my breath away. Sometimes bringing a smile. Sometimes bringing me to my knees, mouth open - expelling breath ... no sound, even though I am making the sound, it doesn't come ... instead I expel air from my body ... which culminates in a need to start gulping air after a while. Too stunned to cry. It reminds me of when I held my breath as he took his last, and how I despaired when my body would not let me join him, there and then.

Yesterday I remembered him saying to me (right at the beginning - 17 years ago), "don't worry, it's only infatuation." He was trying to convince himself too. We both fell hard and fast. And I remembered how excited I got every day on my way home from work, because I was going to see him. After 15 years with someone, that's pretty cool ... and rare perhaps. I remembered him giving me a handful of 20p pieces the first couple of weeks we were seeing each other, as we said goodbye in the morning before work. I stood there and must have looked puzzled. So he explained, "you have to pay 20p for your drinks at work don't you?" I was stunned. Neither of my ex's would have even thought to do that. And he looked after me like that for another 15 years. Spoiled. Yes I was. Happy and safe. Yes, the happiest I've ever been. And I know for sure that I'll never feel the same again.

Angeline (Joe Cocker)

Angeline (Joe Cocker) lyrics.

But he is worth every second of this pain. And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, just for 5 minutes with him. Just for a taste of him.

... and whilst searching for that song on YouTube, I discovered Cocker released a song (and album) back in 1975. No way can I listen to it yet, but it's called "Jamaica Say You Will" (where we got married). Never heard it before and don't think Cliff did either ... but I'm glad Cocker was such a big part of our lives ... our life together, and still is. Today, think Soul time, Let the Healing Begin, Have a Little Faith ...

I am beyond hurt. Sometimes it hurts too much to cry. Like when you're in so much physical pain that you daren't cry ... because the act itself will add to your pain.

and recently ... I've been feeling like he's around. Almost within reach. Trying to be visible. I see a shape in my peripheral vision ... then turn around and ... gone. But I can FEEL him here. Or is it because I wish it so ... and I'm imagining the whole thing? There is a Celtic saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller. It was suggested that spiritual places such as forests and canyons, places of wild beauty, were the best places to seek these magical-sounding spaces ... just to sit and remember, meditate or talk to your loved one. Well, you won't find me trundling around a fucking forest looking for somewhere to sit and be still. Not unless I can drive my car and tom-tom (GPS) through it. Because the universe would only laugh at me and I'd end up slipping in bear or bambi-poo, getting lost, and forgetting which side of the trees the icky slimy green stuff is supposed to be on if you're heading in the right direction.

I think my "thin" place is in my heart and in Stockbury. I find him here, in the picture above each time I drive down to the coast. I found it in the Blue Mountains and Uluru. I see him in sunsets and stars. I find him everywhere ... I don't think I need to go searching for that which I know better than anything or anyone else. I don't believe in god or heaven, but I do believe in goodness and an after-life. I know that there is something after this life ... something greater, more magical and beyond our limited imagination here on this Earth.

I'm struggling big time.

No one mentions anything positive. Only the negatives. So out of proportion. I'm sick of explaining stuff to people who have already formed opinions based on incorrect information, yet feel qualified to tell me what's wrong with me, don't listen when I tell them the actual facts, then repeat their original words to me, as way of letting me know that I'm wrong ... or my memory is ... or perhaps I'm stupid? Or worse, lying. It's insulting. I'm sick of being considerate to everyone, but most not returning the sentiment. I'm sick of politics and fucking games. Just because I don't play them doesn't mean I don't see exactly what they are doing. Since Cliff died I seem to have inherited his ability to predict what people would do before they even thought of it. Sad. Not nearly intelligent enough to see that though ... they want to be careful out there, or else

Don't sit down cos I've moved your chair

(the lyrics are here).

what else am I sick of? People talking to me like shit. People moaning I haven't been in touch or visited them. FFS. Some days it's too much fucking effort to brush my hair. I know I can't expect them to understand. I also know that I had an extraordinarily close relationship with Cliff, and they might not get that either. No, fuck it. You know what ... I don't go round making assumptions based on heresay or jackshit, WTF gives them the right to? Arrogance, delusions of grandeur? They wouldn't survive 10 minutes in my world, yet I can thrive in theirs. Come and play ... you have no fucking idea. None.

And it hurts when old friends of his don't think of me when they must have thought of him. There is no such thing as a coincidence in this world. Because when one of them discovered that I wasn't interested in jumping in the sack with him, he's become invisible and mute. Nice. NOT.

I'm sick of duplicity and moving goalposts.

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I'm sick of people not saying "thank you".

I've been searching for something, I don't quite know what. So, I've been going through drawers that I haven't really opened for the longest time. It was like taking a peek into my previous life. With him. A blissful time of happy and innocent oblivion. Amongst many other things, I came across these mini-Winnies and a lovely necklace that he bought me and ... one of Hammer's (our rottweiler who we lost 3 years before Cliff died) last cuddly toy, all safely wrapped in plastic. Of course it had its eyes, nose and mouth missing, along with one leg. A gorilla. I breathed in his smell ... and my heart called out to him and Cliff ... for that wonderful life. My two boys.

And then I did something really stupid. I thought I'd check out a dating site and while I created my profile, I felt nauseous. And when I had to upload a profile photo, I kept touching his face as I trawled through the images on my laptop looking for a suitable image. (Images of me before and after - in case you're wondering I chose an "after" picture. Anything else would have been subject to the trade description act.) I was going to have a look then delete my profile. And, I forgot that minor point. So each day I've been avoiding going onto the site to shut down my profile because then I'll see all the photos and messages. And I'm scared. WTF? It's not like they can see me, right? I wish I'd got that black cab driver's number.

Three things have had a profound effect on me this month:

1. Being reminded of what arseholes Margate Police are. They overtook me (I was doing the speed limit) and they didn't even break, just swerved a bit, when a racoon (or something ... do we even get racoons in the UK?) ran out in the road. I managed to avoid it by braking, letting it cross to the safety of the other side. But I think it was hurt. I saw the look on its face and started screaming, "no, no, nooooo you fucking bastards". They didn't even slow down at all and carried on driving to ... get their fucking coffee and donuts or whatever (because I saw them turn in to the place) without a care in the world. I wanted to go check on the critter, but was too scared in the pitch black to do so. If he'd been with me though ..... sigh.

2. The nightmare I had. Cliff told me that he was in love with another girl. I was heartbroken. He showed her to me. She was happy, confident, healthy, balanced. Everything I'm not. I hated her. Then I woke up and realized the other girl was me. Before. And I hated her even more. Was he telling me to go on and live?

3. The view of Margate seafront when I drove down a couple of weeks ago. I knew they were building an art centre there. But I somehow didn't think about actually seeing it. As though it would remain invisible to me. It isn't. And when I saw the seafront ... changed ... not Cliff's seafront that he was a part of in so many ways ... not the view his eyes drank in, it broke me. I was howling unashamedly in public for the first time in ages. I managed to reach the sanctuary of my friend's home and then broke some more. She got it. But then she's a widow too.

and I need to kick this behaviour ... for the past couple of months, when going shopping for essentials like milk etc after work, I've been sitting in my car in whichever supermarket car park for ages. I check facebook and blogs on my iPhone. I sit and stare. Sometimes wasting hours there. It's like I don't want to go home. I sob and shed those healing tears. Then exhausted, return to my dogs and my otherwise empty house. Home is with him. Not here. It's hard to engage in life when you don't have emotional investment in it. When the only thing you want is not here.

But I shall. I will. I promised him I'd be alright. And I can't let him down.

Just need to get over that little thing next month. Our wedding anniversary.

Jamaica Say You Will? Oh baba, in a heartbeat.

Stay

2011-06-12T21:16:00.009+01:00

Stay (Sash)

I had a dream last night

You were there

You held my hand so tight

I thought I'd just died

Do you remember?

When we used to have

So much fun

I used to cry sometimes

Those days are gone

Did you remember?

Do you remember?

I wanna go back to

Back to the days

When I needed

A little more fun

When I believed I

I believed

I could fly so high

Through the clouds

Tear down these walls

If just for one day

Tear down these walls

I need you to stay

Stay

Turning back time to

Times we made love

All day

Under the sun

When I believed I

I believed

I could fly so high

Through the clouds

Tear down these walls

If just for one day

Tear down these walls

I need you to stay

Stay

Three Days Old

2011-05-28T23:20:00.008+01:00

Scarlett Grace Mayhew

I didn't cry, baba. (Not till I got home and shut the front door behind me.)

Not even when I smelled that baby smell (you know, that amazing babyness/scent on the top of her head ... does nature make babies smell gorgeous as well as look gorgeous so that adults immediately want to protect them at any cost?), or even when I first held her.

She is a relaxed, content and beautiful baby. Most of the time she slept ... yet we found that fascinating ... finding ourselves leaning towards her, just looking ... we kept doing that. And laughing at ourselves.

I know this. I would die for her. When she wrapped her fingers around one of mine ... I knew I would always love her. She is part of you. As your daughter and other two grandchildren are. You cannot help but love those who are part of the person who you love so deeply. So I do.

When she held my finger, I nearly lost it ... because I remembered you telling me that when Jayde first did that to you, you felt a bond and you loved her from that very moment.

I'm so so happy to have them in my life. Another legacy. Breathing legacies with great personalities.

She is magical, baba. I think you held her soul before she came here. It's a shame that she will have forgotten by the time she can walk and talk. But I think she remembers now.

Magical.

They aren't mine. But I don't even need to wish they were ... because they ARE. Mine. Simply because I love them. We are all family in every sense of the word, bonded because of you.

Mayhew.

You should be here

2011-05-26T01:47:00.003+01:00

Scarlett Grace Mayhew

My beautiful husband, you should be here for this. Your grand-daughter arrived on Monday the 23rd May, at a healthy weight of just under 8 pounds. She is gorgeous ... adorable.

I'm going to see her tomorrow ... I can't wait till Friday and I could hear the happiness in Jayde's words when I told her I was coming a day early.

But you should be here. You should be holding her gently in those huge hands. Just for a while before I get an hour long cuddle ...

This is not right. The universe has made an almighty fuck-up.

Your blood is running through your daughter's veins, and your blood also runs through this precious new life, along with her two beautiful siblings. How can you not be here?

I shall hold her, smell that baby-scent on the top of her pretty head and I shall cry. Happy tears, tinged with sorrow. Did you hold her soul before she came here? Did you whisper to her that you'd be watching over her? Did you ask her to tell her Mum and I that you love us? Did she giggle? I keep remembering your face, the emotion shining from your clear blue eyes as they "drank" your daughter and me in. It was as though you were trying to take a mental photograph. We were singing along to something that had very explicit lyrics and Jayde was 14. You managed to ignore that ... and told us, "Oh I love you both so so much."

You had a heart as big as the house you built for us. You still do ... it's just not tangible anymore. I know you're here sometimes. We're going to be okay, but we're never going to stop missing you. How could we?

You should be here ... making me cry with emotion at the sight of her, the whole of her held safely in one of your hands. I miss your hands so much.

She is so beautiful, baba. And tomorrow will be the only time that I cry with happiness and sorrow. I shan't be able to stop the tears, if I do, I'll end up even worse ... after the first few seconds of that first cuddle, there will be only happiness. It's just the first few seconds.

I'm so excited. And you know ... over the past couple of months I've really not been doing well ... getting stressed, working silly hours, diabetes tiring me even more, so I had no energy to look after myself or the house, and working silly hours gave me an escape from the reality of you not being here. A vicious circle, spiralling downwards, out of control - the pilot completely oblivious ... until her boss marched her to HR and read her the riot act.

So ... a new life in our family. Already loved. A new start for me - working towards some balance in my little world. You were my balance and my safety net.

You should be here. I love you. I want you.

Blog to win!

2011-05-15T05:12:00.002+01:00

Widowed Bloggers -- win a ticket to Camp Widow! Write a post sharing WHY you want to attend Camp Widow 2011.

LINK your post below to make sure we see it (you can also send us a note when you post it, to supa.dupa.fresh AT gmail.com).

Camp Widow is a exceptional weekend for widowed people of all ages.

We will choose one (possibly two) bloggers to receive a PARTIAL scholarship that covers Camp registration and some incidental expenses.

NO ACTUAL CAMPING IS INVOLVED. Learn more about this event, which is in its third year, at campwidow.org.

How do I enter?

Please write and publish a blog post telling the world WHY you wish to attend.

You can include topics such as how you expect to benefit, or share about some of the widowed people you've already met. You do not need to demonstrate financial need though if you wish to write a separate note discussing your financial circumstances, you may do so. Those notes should go to supa.dupa.fresh AT gmail.com.

Who is eligible to compete? Widows and widowers of all ages who started blogging before 4/1/11 and who are interested in attending Camp Widow 2011.

Please note: you should be prepared to pay for and arrange your travel to and from, and your lodging in San Diego. (We can help you find a roommate to reduce costs). If our generous donors can pay more, they will, but please don't apply unless you are prepared to make the trip (including arranging child care, taking time off work, etc.). You must publish your blog post AND notify us by midnight EST, Tuesday, May 31.

We will notify the winner within 2 weeks. Camp Widow will be held August 12-14. Details are at campwidow.org.

Winner MUST schedule and pay for his or her your own travel and hotel reservations.

Scholarship covers Camp Widow registration fee plus some incidentals.

Questions? Want to help fund this scholarship?

We want to hear from you.Supa.dupa.fresh AT gmail.com.

Getting through Easter, my Birthday and two bank holiday weekends

2011-05-11T18:04:00.000+01:00

I decided to celebrate Easter at work by being the secret Easter Bunny. Having to meet some New York colleagues on the Sunday at work, I managed to leave this (and one just like it), unobserved, at two shared areas within our office. It felt good to join in. It felt even better when I saw my colleagues' reactions to them.

OK, it's not Christmas. But it's a start.

I celebrated my birthday along with my god-daughter's (she was born the day after mine) with a lunch at a favourite Italian restaurant. Eating al fresco with a view of the sea on a sunny day in the company of my BFF, goddaughter and BFF's youngest sister was good for my soul. The simple things. In life. I remember how we used to sing along and understand Joe Cocker's tribute to that very subject.

After lunch we went for a walk down to the harbour and people-watched, chatted and philosophised about life. Goddaughter headed off for a night out and BFF and I returned to her home for numerous cups of tea and some heart to heart conversations. She is my rock and confidante.

This card brought nothing but laughter to me. I think my team at work is trying to tell me something.

The shoe man came into work on my birthday, and he appeared bemused by my reaction upon seeing him. "Yay, it's my birthday, and you appear with your shoes .... as if by magic!" whilst clapping and bouncing up and down like 3 year old. He grinned and showed me shoes he thought I'd really like. He beamed when I openly showed delight upon seeing him ... followed by what I imagine was confusion ...I wondered afterwards if he thought I saw him as some sort of masculine version of Tinkerbell.

Talking of fairies, I was so touched by one of my gifts. A Fairy wind chime from Roy and La-la. Some friends have told me that they think of me as a Fairy (with Tourettes? LOL) and it reminds me of the magic and connection I still have with Cliff. That nothing is impossible. You just have to believe. And he is the gentle breeze that makes the chimes sound. Maybe there are fairies or angels. Who knows whether they exist or not? I know love is real. And you can't see or touch that either. But it's real. Real enough to be stronger than death even.

(not actual gift but very similar)

And for the past 6 weeks, I've been stocking up on baby stuff. Focusing on the new life about to join our family instead of what has been lost. Cliff's third grandchild will be joining us on May 23rd. The c-section is booked. I really had fun shopping for her arrival. The evidence of my enjoyment resulting in four huge canvas shopping bags full.

*one of everything I could find in the baby care range - disposable diapers, and a diaper that is designed to last until they are potty trained - you just have to buy the cheaper option of slip in pads which are sold in increasing sizes to match baby, nasal decongestant, gripe water, nappy rash cream, teething gel, q-tips, baby wipes, disposable bibs and changing mats for days out, and one of each in the Johnson's Baby Product range - baby oil, baby lotion, baby soap, baby powder etc etc.

*baby girl clothes. 0-3 months, 3 - 6 months, 6 - 9 months, 9- 12 months. My personal favourites (apart from the Winnie the Pooh range) were a 0 - 3 month white cardigan and a 9 - 12 month raincoat in pink with black polka dots, and a 3 - 6 month denim dress with matching striped tights and long sleeved t-shirt.

*baby paraphernalia. A bouncer for her to sit in (the seat resembling the shape of an egg ... a womb like shape) which vibrates at the touch of the button ... to soothe. It is of course pink and girly and comes with a mobile that has stuff to stimulate her sight, curiosity, touch. Another bouncer type seat designed for using in the bath. So her mum can enjoy bathing her, and bath time will result in hopefully playtime, as opposed to a slippery, squirming, tearful battle of wills. I think I bought the whole Tommy Tippee range, with magic mat, bowls, bottle, training beaker, weaning spoons that change colour if her food is too hot, and some Winnie the Pooh dishes and plates too. A Winnie the Pooh blanket (which I think they will ALL be sharing).

*toys. Her first doll. Her first book called, "That's not my bunny". A bunny to cuddle (whose feet are designed to chew when baby is teething!) a teether that can be frozen or microwaved to provide some pain relief, a hippo that swims, to keep her company in the bath. And a rubber duck which changes colour if the water is too hot. Baby Roo who plays a lullaby.

Amber

And a gift for both of her siblings. Theo is only three (although he wears age 6 - 7 clothes already, and I can see so much of Cliff in him, not just because Theo is clearly going to be of a similar build). His love of animals. Being such a boy. But equally sporting the softness in him. I decided upon Aquadoodle for him, because he recently had an "accident" with paint in his bedroom.

Amber is older and would not be affected by sibling rivalry, but how could I leave her out ... so she was given cash to spend on her own choice.

And Jayde - the mum to be - a scrapbook designed to capture the baby years, and a wooden photo frame - with 3 spaces to show off her 3 children.

Jayde - only 2 weeks to go

I got such pleasure watching her look through everything. She was so touched and kept saying, "you've got me everything I need. oh wow! Look at this!" At the end, she looked around the lounge and remarked on how it looked like she'd held a baby shower, but it was only me.

My beautiful husband, you would be so proud of your little girl. She is a superb mother and knows that she is rich and lucky to have her 3 children (including one not yet born). She's finished growing up now that you've gone. She's been subjected to some darkness in her life. But like you always did, she's moved on, discarding bitterness but kept the learnings. I've been sharing some of your childhood memories with her now her children are at the age(s) that you were when your most formative memories occurred. The imminent arrival of your granddaughter has got me through the past few weeks, which would have been very dark without her to look forward to ... I had my 3rd birthday without you. Two more bank holiday weekends, including Easter. I kept falling into that deep dark place, but instead of dwelling and wading through a treacle heavy grief for days on end, I kept focusing on this new life, her blood shared with, and because of, your own.

You'd have had (mock?) annoyance with me on this shopping spree. Each spree resulted in a checkout girl oooowing and aaaaaahing over the cute outfits I'd taken so long to select. Was it soft enough, was it faulty, would Jayde like it, did it look cute? I tried to remain grounded and remember the practical things like bibs, socks and babygrows, and succeeded. I bought for different seasons. I didn't frequent the out priced baby designer shops. I was good actually ... for me. But even I, in the end, thought to myself, OK you've amassed a selection for her first year - to wear. You've set her up with everything a baby needs in consumables, and chucked in some stuff purely for fun and pleasure. That's enough. Don't venture into that ground of trying to compensate for your absence. I think I was close to stepping over that line. This baby doesn't replace you, but she is a living descendant of yours. Just as Jayde, Amber and Theo are. How could I not love them and spoil them every now and again.

Were you there? Were you there when we went through all the stuff, laughing and aaaaaawing at the cuteness of some of the outfits? Did you feel pride that Jayde could "see" intuitively, no need for the instructions, to assemble the bouncer? Did you feel happiness at seeing how Jayde and I are still like sisters (I still love her for saying, "she's not old enough to be my stepmother" every time someone asked years ago). Sisterly still. But now friends as well. Comfortable in each other's company. A shared humour. She has become a beautiful woman. In and out. I love you with every breath and every cell in my body ... so she and your grandchildren are remarkably easy to love ... impossible not to love to be honest. I love seeing them and laughing with them. Another legacy. You left legacies in so many shapes and forms, some tangible, some not. But this legacy is more special than any ... and I am grateful that they are in my life. I promise you that I will do my best to be there for them when they need it. Being there for them is a given. What I mean is do my best if I can help them in any way as they face their own trials and battles in life. Not as well as you would have done. There was only one you and there will never be another like you.

Someone told my BFF that I'd be okay but I had to realize that I'd never find another you. FFS. Has he only just realized? I was aware of that fact when you were still here with me.

I felt you there when an overwhelming sadness shrouded me on that last baby shopping spree. Sorrow that you were denied the pleasure of meeting your last grandchild. Injustice that she wouldn't meet you. I was battling with emotions at the till. The middle aged lady who was manning the checkout remarked on how lovely my choices were and asked who the baby was. I told her, "my late husband's third grandchild. We know it's a girl and she's due in a couple of weeks." She looked me right in the eyes and said, "I'm widowed too. Twenty years ago next week. How long has it been for you?" I told her and asked how she was doing at 20 years. She said that mainly she was fine, but significant dates or a trigger would bring the grief tumbling down on her again. She would never stop loving or missing him, but it had become normal to sit with that, the ache was no longer noticeable - it had become part of her very being. I nodded and agreed that I saw myself following her footsteps in time. She shared that her husband had heart problems and endured painful life-saving surgery, only to be subjected to cancer as he recovered from this. And the cancer stole him from her. She said she still found it hard. That he suffered with heart surgery - post op. for nothing. Except a fate worse than what he had already borne. I started shaking my head, "not fair, that is NOT fair". She said it was their wedding anniversary the following week, and I reached out and squeezed her hand. We looked at each other. There was a couple behind me and they had (without my noticing till that point) been observing our body language I guess .... which caused them to tune in to what we were saying ... and their feelings were palpable. No words spoken, but their faces said a lot. It took two hours in the shop's car park till I was in a fit state to drive. But I felt you there. I felt your love more than I felt your death. But still I cried. Making those noises that didn't sound human. Primal. Animal like. For when we grieve we return to that state, and remember that we are animals. Upon returning home, I played these songs by Joe Cocker, who along with dance music (when we used to go out) was very much the soundtrack of our life together. I remember you playing me two songs specifically when we were first in love. You played them again and again - we played them - until you left. We shared those lyrics, we knew they were about us. We knew them to be true, just as we knew our love was. You are so beautiful. Have a little faith (this one speaks strongly to me today, viewed from a different perspective). How I wish it were not so. It's only recently that I've been able to listen to Joe Cocker again.

Well, I've realized that he still is part of our lives, even though I can't see you, you are still here somewhere, just out of my reach and sight ...

Every time it rains

Everbody Hurts

Now that you're gone (Cliff would always associate the beginning lyrics with me)

Just breathe

2011-05-09T21:29:00.002+01:00

Yes I understand
That every life must end
As we sit alone
I know someday we must go
Oh I'm a lucky man
To count on both hands
The ones I love
Some folks just have one
Yeah others they got none
Stay with me
Let's just breathe
Practised on our sins
Never gonna let me win
Under everything
Just another human being
I don't want to hurt
There's so much in this world to make me bleed
Stay with me
All I see
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
What if I did and I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
'cause I come clean
I wonder everyday
As I look upon your face
Everything you gave
And nothing you would take
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
What if I did and I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
I come clean
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Hold me till I die
Meet you on the other side

(Pearl Jam)

Will you join us in helping a sister widow?

2011-05-03T03:50:00.006+01:00

We are a close community. Some of us have never met, and may never ever meet face to face ... but I feel such strong ties to everyone in this circle. This community. You are family, actually you have become as important to me as my family over the past two years.

I would not have coped this far or this well without each and every one of you. Fact. Because of having you there beside me, cheering me on, understanding and feeling what I feel ... I have felt less alone. I have realized that I am not losing my sanity. There have been days when I would only open up to this community, shutting the rest of the world out.

We've laughed together and we've cried.

Many of us refer to each other as sister-widows. I have many times.

Well, one of our sisters needs help. Right now. Her name is Cadi and she was born to be a mother (IMHO). She has beautiful children and she is a gentle soul. Cadi has not asked for help. But she needs it now. Some of my favourite sister-widows got together and asked for help on her behalf, which makes me proud to know such huge hearts. Hearts that despite their unspeakable pain are full of love and caring.

Please visit her blog and donate a few dollars/pounds. Any amount ... $5 ... £5 ... or whatever you can give ... will be gratefully received.

The lovely Debbie Thomas (Sudden Widow) is also asking for a contact for a Lawyer in NZ, please let her know if you know of someone who would work pro bono. Please.

here's the link to Deb's blog: http://suddenwidow.blogspot.com/

and here's the link to Cadi's blog where you can read Jackie Chandler's guest post ... and donate via PayPal.

http://maehegirl.blogspot.com/

Please send her light and love. We are all devastated by our grief, overwhelmed and struggling ... fighting our own private battles. But I for one know that I can afford to stay in my home, heat it and eat 3 meals a day. Not all of us are so fortunate.

If we can't help each other, well ... who can we help?

He's dead

2011-05-02T12:47:00.002+01:00

Osama bin Laden is dead.

I'm feeling quiet and reflective today.

Thinking about Kim and Abby.

Thinking about 9/11 and all those people who died and their grieving families.

Thinking about friends in and from the Middle East.

Thinking and wondering about what is going to happen now.

I wish everyone in the world could watch this video ... would it even make a difference? Hatred is such a waste of emotion and energy, but it is so so powerful and frightening.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUEGHdQO7WA

I wish you peace, all of you.

Inspiring

2011-05-01T18:31:00.009+01:00

I read this yesterday, and although it made me cry, I also found it so inspiring and wanted to share it.

http://drowningsupportnetwork.wordpress.com/2010/09/20/meeting-james-ventrillo-the-boy-earl-rescued-in-the-los-angeles-river/

The radio clip here is especially worth listening to:

http://www.scpr.org/programs/madeleine-brand/2010/09/20/

(other links for support for the bereaved - if they have lost someone through drowning - can be found here: http://nasbla.org/i4a/pages/index.cfm?pageID=3409)

It made me look at an old schoolfriend - Mark - in a whole different light because he is a search and rescue helicopter pilot. A quiet hero indeed.

Not lying down in the ashes of a forest fire

2011-04-29T17:58:00.017+01:00

People who don't get it just want to see you getting better ... they don't understand the length of time that it takes to start a new life when your old life has been completely annihilated ... they probably don't see that your old life has been completely destroyed ... they probably think that, "well, you lost a husband but the rest of your life is still in tact so you just need to carry on," ....

but, in fact, even if the framework looks on the surface like it's still there (you have a good job, a nice house, etc..), the entire landscape (inner landscape) has been destroyed ... how do you carry on walking through the woods after the woods have been burned to the ground? You can walk ... but it is sort of aimless walking ... well, at least it's walking, not lying down in the ash ...

but real walking and enjoying the forest doesn't happen for a long time because you have to wait for new trees to grow!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks Kendra for your support, as always.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My old school friend who selflessly helps me through her own pain. She walked through the ashes for a long long time, and as you can see ... the new trees did grow again in her forest. Here she is in that very forest, doing even more than walking.

riding our own waves of grief - together - on a day of calmer seas (Singapore 2010)

enough already

2011-04-25T21:30:00.003+01:00

Goodnight baba. Thank you for the glorious sunset.

I forgot something. You taught me never to give up. Never. So I shall not give up. Ever.
To do so would dishonour you. It's okay to grieve. But not for days and days on end. I also promised you that I wouldn't do that again. And I promised you, as you were dying that I would be okay, that it was okay to go. I need to deliver on that promise to you. It was the last promise I made you. How could I break a promise to the one person, the only man who never, not once let me down.

The sun will rise again tomorrow and I will shed this attitude as it does so. For you. For me. For love. And Light.

and I shall remember these words, written in Zulu ... and honour you.

(Go well brave warrior woman, for the sun will rise again tomorrow.)

And rise it shall.

And rise I shall.

... for Love is stronger than death.

Easter Monday

2011-04-25T17:45:00.016+01:00

Today I'm despondent, missing you and lethargic.

Laying on my sofa with our dogs, still in my PJ's.

The house is a tip. The mail remains unopened for a week. Phone calls un-returned.

I opt for solitude because I can cry unashamedly and often. I can speak to you. With you even. I opt for solitude because it feels as though I am with you.

The leg of lamb I bought at a reduced price (you'd like that) as a treat for the dogs still remains in the freezer, for I cannot bear the smell permeating our home, as it would have done, had you still been alive.

Subjected to a fourth night of sleeping on this sofa because of the spider in our bedroom.

I've stayed in since Friday morning when I spent those hours in Stockbury, and missed all that lovely weather. Just as I have missed you.

I activated our old AOL email addresses on my iPhone because I finally realized that I still had those even though I changed my internet provider. It hurt to see the business address there. Your construction firm's address. Another reminder of broken dreams. It hurt to see a couple of emails received from friends addressed to both of us. Us. Before. My old life.

I look in the mirror these days and don't even recognize myself. The sparkle in my eyes has turned to a deadness. My smile is forced. My cheeks sunken. I look like a fucking heroin addict. I don't look like your Boo. It would sadden you and worry you so much and it makes me feel like I've let you down.

I've done a lot of grief work which is reflected in the amount of posts to my blog. It's exhausting, it bares my nerve endings again whilst healing me some more. It brings me some peace, but at a cost.

Time to have a break from grief work now.

Back to work tomorrow.

I miss you so much it's unspeakable, baba.

Is that why you keep coming to me in my dreams? Please don't stop. Not yet.

The Grief Recovery Handbook

2011-04-25T13:53:00.019+01:00

yeah, right I hear you say.

Because that's what I said.

But I was willing to work through this book and give it a go ... and wanted to share my experience of doing so with you. I've completed some of the assignments and already feel more peace for doing so. And after my BFF and I have read each other our letters (at the end) I'll let you know if it helped.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This book approaches the subject from an emotional viewpoint, rather than intellectually. And I liked that they immediately explained that Kubler-Ross' concept of stages applied to dying, not grieving, which reassured me, along with the fact that both authors had experienced deep loss themselves. They explain that anger is an emotion that not all of us who grieve experience. I know that I've only felt anger, true anger, once ... so it made me feel a little more "normal".

But what really kept me reading the book were these words:

"Not forgetting" becomes incorrectly entangled with the idea of "not getting over". This crippling idea keeps the griever's heart eternally broken, does not allow for recovery ...

they suggest that we say, "when I am reminded of his struggles and death, my heart feels broken. Other times, remembering his wonderful qualities, I feel happy and pleased to share my memories about him." instead of "I have a permanently broken heart."

That closure is an inaccurate word. That a lawsuit cannot help you become emotionally complete.

That instead of using the word Guilt, we use different, better, more

That using the word survivor isolates you even more in our society, that every relationship is unique and therefore every loss is unique.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The lessons:

1. What we have been taught about loss/things people say to us -

Don't feel bad (don't cry)
Replace the loss (you can marry again)
Grieve alone (go to your room and cry - as a child) (others react uncomfortably to tears)
Give it time (time heals)
Be strong for others (being told to be strong for your mother if your father died)
Keep busy (it's only a distraction)

Even a well-meaning friend who has a parallel loss does not know how we feel. It's only an intellectual fact, not an emotional truth.

2. How people react to our grief -

they are uncomfortable or even afraid of our feelings (be strong / be brave)
they change/shift the subject from you to the deceased (I feel so sad .... but she's in a better place now)
they intellectualize (she led a full life / you'll find someone else because you're young / the living must go on)
they don't hear us (we don't need to be fixed by them, just listened to)
they don't want to talk about death (he passed away / Dad's gone)
professional distortions (grief is normal reaction to loss, it is not a pathological condition or a personality disorder. PTSD / Depression - incorrect use of these words is misleading)
they want us to take pills to make us feel better (grief is painful and sometimes in the short term benefits the grieving, however in the end approaching grief naturally is shown to have more long term benefit. Our society deals with upset this way when we are children: "Don't cry, have a cookie."
they want us to keep our faith (you shouldn't be angry with God)

We are taught that we must act "recovered" in order to be treated in an acceptable manner. Putting on the "I'm fine" smile. Intellectualizing increases our sense of isolation and creates a feeling of being judged and even criticized. So we focus on only fond memories, even enshrinement (keeping large numbers of objects that represent the person lost, and look at the relationship as only positive, not remembering anything negative at all ... or we focus only on the negatives ... and it is critical that we are honest with ourselves and others about the person and our memories.)

Unresolved grief tends to separate us from ourselves. It saps all the energy from us. It takes everything to get out of bed and go to work.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Road to Recovery

What do you wish had been different / better / more?

e.g. you were unkind to the person the last time you spoke to them.

Write down what you wish had been different / better / more.

I wish that I'd had more time with you. That I'd helped you more renovating our home. That I'd realized I was depressed about losing our dog and talked to you about it. That I'd been more proactive about taking you to be checked out instead of telling you to see the doctor. That you felt you shouldn't worry me about your deteriorating health, that I either didn't see or sub-consciously denied. I wish I could have had your son. I wish we could have retired in Spain, or that I'd thought of my plans for living in Spain before, so that you could have retired ... and you might have lived longer and stress-free.

Realize that others are not responsible for our feelings. We cannot change others' actions but we can choose how to feel/react to those actions. We turn ourselves into victims. We are advised to let it go or to move on, but as humans we simply don't work that way. We cannot recover until we stop seeing ourselves as victims.

Choose whether to work alone or with a partner (who is also grieving a loss - any loss is fine). If working with a partner, lay some ground rules:

agree a safe meeting place, bring tissues, crying is natural, so is not crying, agree whether hugs are acceptable (but wait till the end of the exercise to hug as this can stop feelings coming out), treat this as two friends having a conversation). Be totally honest, maintain confidentiality, respect the uniqueness of their loss - do not compare losses.

I'm intending to complete this with my BFF who has lost her mum.

Homework:

Review the myths and cliches you have heard:

e.g. don't feel bad and she led a full life

At least you're young, it could be worse.
He wouldn't want you to be sad.
Life goes on.
Time will heal.
At least you experienced real love, I haven't.
Everything happens for a reason.
Be strong.
Be brave.
You should be getting better now.
Why don't you take anti-depressants? So what if you are on them for the rest of your life?

Discuss the misinformation you have been taught or told. Discuss the impact it had on you. Discuss how you have been using some of these concepts to deal with your loss.

Short-term Energy-Relieving Behaviours:

these give relief in the short-term but are damaging in the long-term. Examples of STERBS are:

Food
Alcohol
Drugs
Anger
Exercise
Fantasy (movies, books, TV)
Isolation
Sex
Shopping
Workaholism

Some of these are not harmful in themselves, only when you use them for the wrong reason.

Identify your use of STERBs

Food
Alcohol
Reading
Isolation
Shopping
Travelling
Working
Internet use - Facebook, Blog etc
Refusal to change anything in the house from the day he died
Minimizing my loss in comparison to widows in the Third World
Focussing on others' loss instead of my own

Create a loss history linear graph of your losses, starting with your birth year and ending with this year. Write down all your losses along this chronological line (e.g. dog died, divorced, mother died, spouse died). Then draw lines downwards for each one. The longer the line (downwards), the greater the pain associated with the loss.

Share this with your partner. Don't interrupt your partner if it is their turn to talk. If you cry, try to keep talking, don't choke the feelings off. Remember to include any STERBs you used during these losses, the myths or cliches you were told and how that influenced your grieving.

Now choose one loss that you want to work on.

Cliff

Create a relationship graph in the same style as the last graph. The difference this time is that you include happy memories (above the line) and negative stuff (below the line). Again the length of lines above or below denote how positive or negative these experiences were.

Start the graph on the year that you first met and be totally honest.

Share this with your partner and as before, don't interrupt them etc.

Using your graph categorize all the events into the following:

Apologies

for being impatient and ill-tempered after working too hard
for not noticing that your health was deteriorating
for not being strong, so that you always had to be
for not vocalizing how I felt sometimes
for not giving up smoking
for making you feel that I didn't listen to you anymore. I did but I am sorry that you thought I didn't.
for being jealous sometimes
(Note: there are more apologies but they are private and will only be shared with my partner)

Forgiveness

I forgive you for being nasty to me for the first two days of our cruise.
I forgive you for ruining a Christmas because you were angry that you couldn't buy gifts for everyone and you took it out on me and got drunk.
I forgive you for the birthday when you inexplicably turned on me and really frightened me because I couldn't understand what I had done wrong, and I still don't know.
I forgive you for always "picking on me" when you were uncomfortable in anyone's company because it must have made you feel better. You were never really horrible but it made me not want to visit some people with you after a while.
(Note: there are more notes but as before these are too private)

Significant Emotional Statements

I love you
I think I have loved you since I was 18
I shall always love you
You are my "one"
I shall never feel the same
You let me retain my innocence and made me safe
You gave me everything
I remember your words and lessons. I listened.
You made me feel beautiful and special for the first time in my life
You loved me more than anyone could
You knew me better than anyone could
You taught me so much and still teach me
I shall never stop missing you
I'm so proud to be your wife
You are a man.
You healed me.
You gave me confidence, support and a safe environment in which to grown.
You sacrificed an entire life for me and never once complained.
You worked so hard for us.
You are so smart and patient.
You would have died for me.
I would die for you.
I've never been as happy as I was with you.
You are my world.
You gave me the best days and memories of my life, and more fun than I ever had in my life.
I still want to be with you, but I'm learning to cope.
I promised you as you were dying that I would be alright, and I need to deliver on that promise.
You never let me down, not once, and that is why I find it so hard to believe that you can't come back.

Read this out to your partner, without interruption or hugs, whilst reading it. Try to carry on reading if you cry. Don't discuss this with your partner afterwards. It is what it is.

Now write your completion letter. Review your assignments already completed first. The purpose of this is to say goodbye to the pain you associate with this relationship, including unmet dreams. It signals the end of this communication BUT NOT THE END OF THE RELATIONSHIP. It is crucial to end the letter "goodbye).

One format to use follows:

Dear xxx

I've been thinking about our relationship and want to tell you some things.

xxxx, I apologize for xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (how many you want to include)
xxxx, I forgive you for xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (whatever you wish to say)
xxxx, I want you to know (emotional statements)

I love you, I miss you. Goodbye xxxx
(Note: I have decided that when I write this letter I will not publicly share it)

As the listener, be a heart with ears. Do not interrupt. Do not touch. If tears well up leave them there. If you wipe away the tears you give the reader the message that tears are bad. Do not judge or analyze. As soon as the reader says "goodbye", hug them. Hold them as they cry.

As the reader, close your eyes and get a mental image of the person whom you have written to. Open your eyes and read. If you cry, keep reading otherwise you will swallow your feelings. Before reading your final sentence (say goodbye), close your eyes and imagine the person again.

You have said goodbye to unfinished business, emotional incompleteness, pain, isolation and confusion and the physical relationship that you had.

You are not saying goodbye to fond memories. It doesn't mean you will no longer feel sad, it just means you don't have to go over the same things that were bothering you, especially feelings of guilt in my case.

It's ok to add a P.S. to your letter if more things come to mind.

After completion you may find you want your external environment to match your internal thoughts. e.g. cleaning up and sorting through physical reminders of your loved one. Don't rush this. Having a friend to help you is recommended. Tell them (or talk out loud if alone) about memories attached to the clothing. Place it in three piles: keep / dispose / unsure. Put the keep pile back in the closet. Dispose of the dispose pile appropriately (give to friends/relations/charity), box or bag up the remainder. After a month, bring out the unsure pile and try again. After 3 months, try again. Eventually you will make up your mind about everything in the unsure pile. Eventually you may choose to put the "keep" pile somewhere else in the house.

Silence

2011-04-24T18:48:00.005+01:00

Delerium - Silence (ft. Sarah McLachlan) - Tiesto remix.

Lyrics:

Give me release
witness me
I am outside
give me peace

Heaven holds a sense of wonder
and I wanted to believe
that I'd get caught up
when the rage in me subsides

In this white wave
I am sinking
in this silence
in this white wave
in this silence
I believe

Passion chokes the flower
'til she cries no more
possessing all the beauty
hungry still for more

Heaven holds a sense of wonder...

I can't help this longing
comfort me
I can't hold it all in
if you won't let me

Heaven holds a sense of wonder...

In this white wave
I am sinking
in this silence
in this white wave
in this silence
I believe

I have seen you
in this white wave
you are silent
you are breathing
in this white wave
I am free

Re-visiting old homes

2011-04-24T12:52:00.029+01:00

Recently I have "accidentally" visited most of the homes that I shared with Cliff.

Unfortunately, my BFF had lost her mum, and I had to park in a "two hour max space" when I got to the wake. To be honest, I was relieved to just stop driving because I felt shaky after attending the first funeral since Cliff's, which was held in the same place his was.

My goddaughter (my BFF's daughter) and I ran into the pub, both relieved that that part of the day was over, even though it had been a lovely service, culminating with Adagio for Strings being played. I was still trying to figure out why I had played this non-stop during the one hour drive to the crematorium, because it kept me calm, only to be stunned when I read the service to find it on there. Strange. Not creepy, kind of comforting, but strange nonetheless. And when the classical version played, I felt the tears come.

After an hour I mentioned to my BFF's boyfriend that my parking time was running out and he said he'd come along to direct me to a safe and FOC place to park ... and so I found myself zoning out and simply following his directions ... until he said, "this is it. Park there." I froze. He looked at me trying to fathom out my reaction (or lack of).

"ohhhh," I said. "That's our first home. The first place Cliff and I lived that was ours. The White House. Oh wow," as memories coursed through my mind - our first Christmas tree, being burgled, how he had not given a thought to the high rent "if I was happy there", the excitement of moving, loving one another and our new found privacy. My emotions were huge - missing him, but above all, my heart was just bursting with love, and tenderness for how innocently I had viewed the world back then, thanks to him. An intimate memory made my cheeks burn.

I took a photo or two just in case I never had the courage to revisit the house intentionally. Then we turned the corner, and I said to my BFF's boyfriend, "and then we lived in that flat for a short while before moving from Broadstairs to Margate." Again, he looked worried, expecting my calmness to break ... but it didn't. For I was squinting up into the flat's front facing windows, looking for us, remembering more happy times. I actually expected to see a mini-movie of us through those windows, so high up. I remembered him plumbing in my washing machine, shopping for kitchen utensils with him (the first place was fully furnished), arranging our bedroom storage, learning more about people and the world and not liking what I found, which resulted in me not wanting to leave the little safe bubble in that apartment ... and his patience and understanding of me. His encouragement. That despite my neurosis at the time, how happy I had been there with him, and with our friends who visited us there. Another vision of us came to me so vividly and I smiled, feeling myself blush. I also remembered him telling me how beautiful I was. Twice. Once when he lifted me onto a kitchen counter top and put his finger under my chin, tilting my face towards him. And again while I was relaxing in a hot bubbly bath with the door open. I remembered him gently splashing me with water and feeling so safe, so loved, so enveloped in this man's love and protection.

Then I looked down the road at Grand Mansions and drew in a deep breath. It hurt. I remembered an eighteen year old wearing baby blue dungarees with pink clogs, walking up all those stairs carrying burgers and coffees for Cliff and his crew ... when I first knew him. How the wind had almost blown me off the huge flat roof that he was working on. How I had known, even back then that I could trust this man. There was always a connection there.

After the wake, I went to visit another good friend and took a wrong turn ... finding myself at the turning into the road where we lived in Margate, after leaving our apartment (above). I stared at the road sign in disbelief, saying the words out loud to ensure that I was right ... that this was the road we lived on when my father died and how he had held me, standing against the lounge wall for 6 hours until he told me I had to stop because he was crying too. The home where we got our rottweiler (Hammer). The home where I took a break from working, because I needed to and because he let me. Another home we were so happy in. I didn't drive up the road and look at the house because I could visualize it ... and us, more memories without seeing the place through today's eyes. I remembered carrying my puppy up the hill in the snow, his little button eyes looking at me while I told him that he would always be with us and that we would love him. How Cliff had lectured me for a long time about the "rules" - the dog was not allowed in our bedroom blah blah blah ... and when I stepped over the threshold with him, Cliff picked him up and said, "oh, you're far too small to sleep alone" and after feeding him, promptly took him up to bed, only for me to find them both sleeping. This huge man in comparison to this tiny puppy who was snuggled into the crook of his arm.

We had moved from there to our amazing apartment that overlooked Margate Harbour (from where the first firework housing his ashes was launched). The apartment where we really revelled in entertaining friends, where Cliff healed me from my fears of the ugliness in the world and where he re-built my confidence. These were some of our happiest times. We got married while we lived here. Wonderful memories with friends and with him. A closeness that most will never experience. Celebrating NYE 2000. Being so in love. The home we passed in the hearse on the day of his funeral, where I sat disbelieving, wanting to escape from that ghoulmobile and run up those stairs to that apartment so damn fast, that I might find my husband and dog up there, that I would find "us".

Due to my job relocating, we had moved an hour away to a rented place here in Larkfield whilst we house-hunted to buy. I remember the excitement, the sense of being alone and a pioneering spirit. We were going to make it. We had everything going for us. Both of us working hard, celebrating our first wedding anniversary in Paris, loving each other always. How he always thought of me and put me first - that is what is clear now.

And then here. I remember standing on our patio, our arms round each other, watching our dog exploring his new home the day we moved in. "We're all home now" Cliff said. A couple of wonderful magical Christmases (they all were, but two stand out today), going on a cruise for my 40th, exceeding at work due to his support and encouragement, yet realizing he resented my time and attention being taken, that he regretted insisting that I should seek promotion in my career, that he hadn't realized what this would entail. Feeling more secure and at home than I had since I was a small child, if not more so ... and telling him. Him working so damn hard on this house and for the house, accumulating a massive deposit in only 6 months. My bathroom. "I did this for you, you know, for our anniversary." Today, feeling as though he is washing me when I sit in the double jacuzzi, and it's like he's wiping away my tears when I take a shower. How amazingly happy I was, and how today it hurts me to look out the back windows at the garden, because every time I do I see him rubbing his back, having planted the lawn seed. How I wished I'd helped him more, but working, commuting, cooking and trying to clean took all my energy. But I still feel bad. Being depressed after Hammer died and how we reacted differently. He got busy on the house and I wanted him to be with me. I sat on that sofa every weekend upset about my dog and wished selfishly for him to sit in misery with me. I remember painting our lounge at the back of the house - our music/bar-room and having so much fun doing so, and I remember how great it looked all decorated for Christmas with our two latest dogs. How charismatic he was. How I loved serving his drinks and sitting on his lap. How much fun we had. And how I kissed the walls that he built, plastered and painted with his hands, after he died. How I would lean against the coolness of those walls and just breathe. And today I am irritated with myself because the santa's are still up from Xmas 2008. I still can't walk in that room. If I've needed something from there, I fly in and out like a bat out of hell. I will never entertain in that room again ... there is a hole in that room that threatens to swallow me whole. I lived the dream in this house. I lost my dream and my entire world in this house. I wandered through its rooms searching for him ... and sometimes I still do. It is my sanctuary and I'm stunned at what he did for me, thankful that I told him I appreciated him when he still filled that huge hole in the back room. The room I remember him standing in looking so sorrowful, the last time he played music in there. I was rushing around doing chores, and I felt the pull of him. I knew he was calling to me without speaking and went and softly swept my hand down his face and we held each other. "What were those two songs?" I asked. "They're just on this album," he showed me it was Mandolin Wind and Tom Traubert's Blues by Rod Stewart. An album we played songs on regularly enough, and somehow I had never heard these tracks. "It's beautiful" I said, but I hadn't heard all the words. Until recently. I went into the room and found the song that he had last played. The song that I realized he was playing, knowing that time was running out, and a song that made him mourn his BMF who had died a couple of years earlier. He cried and told me, "it hurts, I miss him so much." and I just held him and led him up the stairs to bed, to make him feel better the only way I knew how.

I played that song, and a couple of Frampton's when I visited Stockbury. The words reached me and I cried unashamedly, for he died in the coldest winter in 14 years and it snowed that day. His only thoughts were for me as he died. That IS love. As for Frampton's Show Me The Way, there's no need for explanatory words is there? It was a favourite of his, and it is one of mine too now. When I heard the words, "this cannot be happening to me," I started to laugh. With Cliff. If that doesn't sound too woo-woo.

It hurts so much, baba. More than you missed Dave. Did you know? Did you know how broken I would become? After all that time and love and patience that you took to heal me?

I miss you. I love you. I want you. I need you. The pain remains the same. All that has changed is my ability to cope. I just want to be with you. Nothing else. I've looked for you in all these places and all that is apparent is how much you loved me, how much you did for me. And my heart threatens to explode with my love for you.

It breaks. It realizes that I cannot find you in any worldly place. No home we shared. Nowhere, no matter how far I travelled. Australia proved that to me. Forever.

Forever is such a big word especially when I know that home is with you. Not a place.

Cliff's lantern

2011-04-23T22:08:00.008+01:00

You may remember that I wrote about releasing some lanterns on Cliff's birthday. Well I did release most of the lanterns. All bar one. They were beautiful. But when it came to lighting his one. I. Just. Could. Not. Do. It.

So my friend Shirley and I released Cliff's on Thursday evening, I felt ready. And I don't feel bad for my attitude when doing so ... he'd have loved to see me react like the old me. And you are getting a taste of the real me ... as I didn't realize my iPhone was recording.

Click below to see serenity personified (not).

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150565214360177

Visiting Cliff as a child

2011-04-23T20:17:00.010+01:00

Cliff was fostered at the age of three with his older brother.

The foster family had two sons of their own and only took them in for the money, not for love. The three year old did not know what he ever did that was so bad, but he was always blamed for any wrong-doings in the house. One of their sons was a spoiled vindictive and sneaky child who singled him out, often tittle-tattling on him about things that held no truth. Or he did not understand that he should not touch their toys. It was only Cliff who was treated this way. The youngest in the house. Regardless, he was punished and harshly. Beaten. Scared. Not understanding. Fear. One day he reacted to this treatment – this constant state of unhappiness and fear. And in an expression of anger, he smashed all of the model aircraft that this son of theirs had collected, which were displayed in his room. Which he had touched or played with and … been beaten for doing so. So he smashed them all to smithereens … because even at that young age where he was helpless and powerless, he had no control over his situation but his attitude was forming. It was a statement. An expression of his anger and fear, of how unjust his treatment was. That if he was going to be blamed and punished for playing with another child’s toys, he may as well wreak havoc and destruction. But he never imagined how far their wrath would extend when their son howled with disbelief, upon discovering his collection of airplanes destroyed.

And Cliff told me that they really did beat him … “and I don’t really remember the rest of it, it goes kind of black,” he laughed, but with a laugh that is delivered with a shaky voice, a voice that is trying not to cry or show too much emotion. A memory that had been suppressed too long and too often. It did not go black … he blackened out the memory because it was too painful to recall. But he did recall it that once, to tell me … and I remember feeling my heart break for the little boy in him, wanting to turn back time and hold him safe, make it better. After he died I remember wanting to find out who these people were, to hunt them down, to hurt them, really really hurt them physically.

He and his brother returned home and this little boy starts to believe, slowly but shakily that his ground is solid again. But his faith is misplaced. And he is to be fostered once more.

When he has his worst fear confirmed, his little body reacted to the stress so severely that his little limbs swelled to twice their normal size. He was sent for blood tests, more and more blood tests to try and find out what was wrong with him. It was stress and fear. Terror in a child’s mind. Unspoken and not understood. In the end all the tests did for him was give him an irrational but very real fear of needles. He was needle-phobic for the rest of his life.

I remember this feeling of love and protectiveness emanating from me towards him, touching him, and empathy. But I never shared my opinion on what had happened … I’m sure he knew me well enough to know my thoughts, but he didn’t need to hear them. I saw nothing positive coming from voicing them. I hated what he went through, it affected me on a level that I can’t find words to express … and I had no understanding whatsoever for how this had happened to him. My own childhood – my point of reference – had nothing like this in its data banks. Nothing I could refer to. At that age, our worlds were poles apart. My heart wanting to rewrite history for him, but being powerless to do so.

Months, maybe a couple of years afterwards, we had had “words”. He shouted at me that he had told me more about himself, more about his life, than he had with any other person. He shared everything with me, so that I understood him … knew him better than any other person. All of him. That he had never told anybody else everything. He’d never bothered but he had wanted to share his whole life with me. Hold nothing back. So that we would stay together always … so it would work.

Strangely, instead of shouting back, I broke. Out of nowhere, but somewhere in my subconscious, my heart broke and I told him … wailing, “I want to go back in time, I wish I could go back to when you were a little boy. I would go back and protect you from what happened, for what those fucking bastards did to you. I want to go back and hold you safe and tell you it will be alright. Make it alright. Protect you from what happened. It breaks my heart to think about that …”

He stood there. Stunned. Speechless. The stupid argument was forgotten. Our eyes speaking to each other. Both feeling the emotions passing between us. An understanding. He looked almost comforted, almost healed or satisfied … as if my absorption of his pain as a child – my empathy and my retelling his story, albeit from my viewpoint, had given him confirmation that I had listened, really heard him … and he knew with conviction, that I loved him enough to hurt when he did, even if it was in a past that I had not even been alive in – not yet born.

With hindsight, I now understand that he’d finally been given validation. That what he’d had to endure as a child had finally been validated.

And with my deeper understanding of love and loss, two years after his death … I now know that it proved that my love for him was eternal, it was true and endless, it crossed borders of time. That I had loved him his whole life, that I had known him his whole life, even thought I physically hadn’t, somehow I did. He really did give me his whole life. He did more than share his life’s memories.

And so, Cliff and his older brother were sent to their second foster home. This time it was an entirely different experience, thankfully, and made as big an impact on him as the first foster home. “ They were an old couple,” he told me, “well they seemed old to me. They loved us and were kind. They fostered because they wanted kids, not because they were paid to. They understood me. One day, I decided to go for a walk. Their land was so big, it seemed huge to me at that age. I couldn’t see where it ended, so off I went exploring, not knowing the worry my absence would cause. The panic that I might have fallen in the pig pen because I loved to feed the pigs. They were always telling me not to lean in too far, to be careful. Always reminding me that I mustn’t do it on my own. Unknown to me, the whole place stopped, everyone ... all the farm labourers were pulled in to search for me. When they found me, I knew something was wrong. And I thought it was all going to happen again. You know, that I would be punished, beaten. But they understood little boys and they understood me. They cared. They knew how to deal with me. They told me, ‘this is your tree’ and that became my special place that I could go to alone … and safely. It was a compromise that I loved. It was mine. I had no desire to wander off anywhere else. They loved us. I’d never felt so safe and happy as a child.

Cliff explained, “Then one day my father appeared to take us home. I didn’t want to leave them. He had to carry me, kicking and screaming.

Afterwards I found out that they’d applied to adopt us both.

Imagine how different my life would have been? The opportunities I would have had?”

I commented that we might never have met if he’d lived that life. That he was the person that I fell in love with, the man who had been formed by his life experiences.

He said that fate was fate and we could have still met.

Then I added I didn’t think he’d have been happy cooped up in an office, conforming to a corporate world.

It was the only time I saw that tiny piece of him – as an adult - that expressed a wish for things having turned out differently should he have had the opportunity. He stated, “how do you know what I would have liked?”

And I realized that he was right. I explained that I saw him as a free spirit, self-governed, and the thought of him sitting in an office cube was tantamount to a tiger being caged. He concurred, but added that he wondered how things might have turned out for him, for us, if the cards he had been dealt had been different. That we might not have had to go through what we had. That we might have had our own kids or adopted some. That we’d have longer together, because his life would have been so different, that his lifespan would be longer.

He told me that he’d never resented that his parents couldn’t give him those choices. He understood. He never blamed them and never would. “But imagine …” he said to me. It made me sad to hear his broken dream. It made me feel guilty that I hadn’t made the most of the chance I had had laid on a plate for me. It made me finally understand what my father had done for me … yet I was happy with my life as it was. And he never once resented my background. It takes a man, a special person to go through all the adversities he did and come through it without bitterness, only strength, understanding and love.

I was quite shocked as he’d always insisted that he’d lived three lives and, “I wouldn’t care if I died tomorrow if I wasn’t with you Boo. I want to live longer for you.” He knew that his lifestyle leading up to when he met me, even though he slowed down with me … would mean he couldn’t have the years he wanted to give me.

His regret. Not self-pity. Just a wish that things could have been different, but they weren’t. He knew, he somehow knew all along that we wouldn’t get as many years as he wished for, or that I would long for after he had gone. Even in our first year or two together, he almost broke one day after we had talked about the Aztec prediction of the world ending in 2012, as if he knew that he wouldn’t even make it that far … his voice broke, his face dropped, he looked away and told me, “we’ll have to make the most of the years together then, really live while we can,” but he never spelled it out because he always knew what I could and couldn’t cope with … he knew me better than myself, but he hinted, he tried to prepare me gradually.

Hindsight and time to reflect gives you such clarity. That’s my regret. That I couldn’t see it all, that I didn’t decipher the words before. That I can’t tell him that I get it. Finally. But perhaps, he intended it this way. There is no doubt in my mind that he protected me always, but yet again, I recall his words, verbatim ... and after losing him, I understand what he told me fully.

I loved him with all my being and would have lived with him, penniless in a mud hut. That said, for his own fulfilment, this man who was more intelligent than most, whose intellect surpassed mine, who was capable of learning anything and quickly, who could have turned his hands or mind to anything – architecture, archaeology, a passion as opposed to the best he could do with the opportunities he was given who nevertheless earned a lot of money, and I mean a lot of money, but through taking risks and/or working untenable hours. Yes, he could have earned it with stability, learned with passion, and perhaps fate would have been kind enough to reunite us in this lifetime, and grant us longer together. He’d have still been the same man, had the same heart and soul and I would have recognized him and loved him as I did and still do.

We both felt it was strange that our home, our real home, the last home we shared and bought – was only minutes away from where he’d been so happy all those years ago. And now he finally had happiness again. The two times in his life he had been truly happy – played out in the same geography.

Yesterday, I went to walk along the flint wall that he told me of. The flint wall he walked along everyday en route to school. In his words, "I'd know it. I'd recognize it if I saw that wall - it seemed so big to me then." And in my mind I saw that little boy, happy and safe. I saw his little sturdy legs march across the landscape, solitary, exploring, fearless and adventurous. The little three year old that his older brother can only remember being happy (as a small child) when he lived there. The little boy who loved animals and always would - the catalyst for this being the "Lassie" dog that lived on the farm. And I left that little boy there, where he is safe. I took some flowers along too, from me and from him to say thank you to them and tell them he’s come back to see them.

They were called Mr and Mrs Walls and they lived in Stockbury. His brother and I are going to spread some of Cliff’s ashes there. It feels like the right thing to do. I know he’d like it.

I watched, through watery eyes, the sun rise over the landscape that is only 10 minutes away from home. The landscape that his eyes had known all those years ago ... that we never revisited together ... perhaps indicating that for Cliff in his own words, "you can never go back. Leave the past in the past, but carry the lessons with you into the future."

I have a feeling the landscape was firmly imprinted on his heart and memory, leaving no need for him to see it physically to remember it.

But yesterday I had to go. I can't explain it ... I just had to. I touched the flint wall that he touched as a child ... I could see his little chubby hands and I lost it. I felt him there. And I knew that he knew I got it. Finally.

He'll get his viking funeral after all

2011-03-27T12:43:00.008+01:00

If you've read Cliff's Eulogy, you'll know that we played the Viking Horns at the end of the funeral ... when everyone stood in silence for one minute. And at the time, I didn't really see his coffin move out of view, not only because tears obliterated my sight, but mostly because, in my mind,

"I AM ON A BEACH WATCHING HIM SAIL AWAY ON A VIKING SHIP AND NOW I CAN SEE ALL THE PALLBEARERS LIGHTING THEIR ARROWS. NOW THEY ARE PULLING THE ARROWS BACK AND POINTING THEM UP BUT TOWARDS THE SHIP. THEY RELEASE THE FLAMING ARROWS, ONE BY ONE. FLAMES START TO DANCE RANDOMLY AROUND THE SHIP. THE SUN IS SETTING … JUST LIKE THOSE BEAUTIFUL CARIBBEAN SUNSETS THAT WE SHARED TOGETHER. HE IS SAFE. HE HAS HIS PIECE OF EIGHT, PHOTOS, OTHER TREASURES THAT HE WILL NEED TO CROSS THAT FINAL RIVER. AND I KNOW BEYOND DOUBT THAT HE WILL FIND HIS WAY OVER. WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO STOP HIM … HIS SHEER SIZE AND POWER, NEVER MIND THE FACT HE IS WIELDING TWO MO-FO SWORDS."

Thanks to a widow friend of mine, I found this site (which incidentally is a really good site and includes a wonderful blog about remembering and memorializing) that included this link:

http://www.scattering-ashes.co.uk/where-to-scatter/cremated-ashes-scattered-viking-boat-pagan/

I've written to the company asking for prices.

Perhaps it might be appropriate to visit Kathy in Sweden and let him have his viking funeral there ...

p.s. I also liked this idea which can turn a favourite item of clothing into a laptop or iphone cover (on the same site).

The second firework

2011-03-26T22:22:00.007Z

and so, the three of us watched my beautiful strong husband shoot up up up so high in the night sky. No fuss, no words ... for there are none that can adequately describe him or our feelings. (I had kissed him/the firework 'goodbye' whilst walking from my car to Roy's house, much to the confusion of a teenage boy. I wonder why I have done this "when peeps that I know are not watching" with both the first and this firework.)

Roy watched his friend's ashes scattered by this fiercesomely powerful firework. Power with beauty. A little like my love, who had two sides - the strong and the soft. We knew both sides of him. Few truly knew Cliff.

It was good to watch him go together. It was good that Roy got to say goodbye to his friend as he had missed the funeral due to being thousands and thousands of miles away at the time.

I walked ever so slowly back indoors, eyes remaining on the sky ... with Shirley gently encouraging me back indoors, to be wrapped up in an enormous bear hug by Roy. The moment was over ... as we giggled that the enormous explosion hadn't woken up Roy's snoozing mum.

Thank you R & S for being there for me always ... and for "getting it". I love you both.

Take another piece of my heart

2011-03-20T18:25:00.009Z

The pain remains the same. No less than when I watched him take his last breath. I've learned to incorporate much of my grief into my very being, so that I can function "normally" at work. At home, I release it. Grief tires like nothing else. It debilitates. I have spent this weekend in my PJ's not wanting to speak to or see anyone ... I need the solitude, I crave this time with him, remembering ... and with my grief. Otherwise it spills, making a mess and rendering others helpless along with myself.

Clearly I couldn't cope with scattering more of Cliff's ashes with the second firework ... not so close to his birthday. I should have realized ... but Shirley and I did release some Chinese Lanterns on the 16th. It was cathartic to write and draw on them, then release them, filled with warm air and love ... taking our messages of love and some of our pain away with them. I also felt a strong connection to Jackie and Kim as I knew they were hurting ... missing their loves on the day that they shared birthdays with Cliff on. Three men. So much love ... and pain that compelled me to light lanterns for them too. Here is Cliff's lantern from me.

My heart, upon realizing that three birthdays have passed since he did, breaks into smaller pieces still ... when I believed it could not. And I wonder ... each time I lose another piece of my heart ... does it get sent to Cliff? Does he get to hold it? Make it better and send it back to me, so that love eventually replaces pain, in that great big Cliff-shaped hole that is carved out of my heart? I like to think so. He always knew me better than I know myself, enabling him to heal me from any hurt ... why would that change? Death is the end of a corporeal life, not a relationship ... it cannot end the twinning of two souls that love each other so. So, baby, take yet another piece of my heart now. It's yours anyway. When I'm ready, send it back as love. I know that one day ... my heart will be filled with your love, my love ... us and our love ... powerful enough to fight this pain that resides there now. For love is stronger than death.

Cliff used to love love love me singing this to him. And it now takes on a different meaning in loss, as many songs do.

Happy Birthday

2011-03-16T12:56:00.015Z

a day for remembering the life that filled a room wherever he went - Jayde Mayhew

I had no fear despite the fact that I was miles above the earth, because I was safe in his arms. In fact, fear was never a consideration.

All I felt was happiness and a sense of normalcy because I was close to him and it was so natural to slip back into "us" ... the way we were.

He was behind me and holding me in his arms, just the way he did the first time we went on holiday together. I remember feeling completely safe then too as he gently swayed and swished me around in the warm Caribbean sea ... I remember letting go and feeling the warmth and security that a child does when they absolutely trust their parent not to let go. Blissfully unaware. "Is that nice, baby? Are you happy?"

He was holding me just like that. Except this time we were miles and miles above the Earth. "Look, baby ... see?" as he pointed out where the sun was warming the Earth, bathing a continent or country in the warmest bronze you ever saw.

I turned around, wrapping my arms around his neck. All I could feel was love, happiness and knowing that I was where I was supposed to be. Where I belonged. Home. With him.

The huge firey sun was nearby, flame-throwing right behind us. But I didn't care. I saw it as a thing of beauty alone.

When I woke up this morning, the dream was so vivid still and I don't think I shall ever forget it, or the feelings that accompanied it. How could I? They were all that I felt for 15 solid years. Yet, recently I have felt as though I'd forgotten what it really felt like ... and I kept telling him so ... (yes, I still speak to him).

So on the morning of his 55th birthday, he gave me the gift of remembering ... how we were ... how it felt ... and he reaffirmed my faith that he is waiting for me. I guess the line in the song that we got married to (Van Morrison's "Someone Like You") is right ...

"Baby, the best is yet to come" ...

"Stay" - Sash

Thanks to Naz for lighting a candle in the place of his birth - Malta - for the light that lit up so many rooms and lives, just as his daughter's words describes above.

Dedicated to womanNshadows a.k.a. Susan

2011-03-13T10:47:00.008Z

The Ambassador of Grief and Whimsy visits London
or
The Bun hangs out with Boo for a coupla weeks

I created this little book over the weekend, and dedicate it to wNs. Of course it is for anyone to enjoy, however all credit goes to Susan and I wanted to thank her publicly (much to her chagrin I am sure) for turning her idea into reality.

Thank you so much Susan for arranging all the logistics, for all the little details of love and care that went into Bun's around-the-world-trip to meet widows, right down to making her a rucksack and enclosing a journal for us to share whatever we want to, for every little stitch that you embroidered onto her jeans and t-shirt, for making me laugh when I saw her silk knickers with the hole in them for her white cotton-tail to peep through. Tears smarted my eyes when I saw your CR loves SR signature because I could visualize you sitting there, doubtless crying when you had to sew those particular stitches.

Thank you for reaching out in such an innovative, fun yet touching way.

Thank you for my gift (which I am not allowed to talk about).

I enjoyed her visit and was stunned when I realized that I had made a decision about my future because of it! I'd had to think about where I'd take her, what people I wanted her to meet ... and simply taking a moment each day to stop and think ... was a catalyst that kicked off a thought process, which in turn dictated that some research be completed ... with a fairly well rounded plan being the end result.

It's a particularly stressful time for me right now, not to mention Cliff's 55th birthday (16th March) hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles.

So thank you for providing me with some silliness, laughter and giggles. Thank you for the respite.

oh and BTW I told her about that rabbit-proof fence in Australia and she said to let you know to be sure to ring ahead and let the lady know that she'd like to walk her along its entire length while she's there. She's not really interested in any other tourist attractions.

and finally (and seriously), please know that I will not be offended in the least if you completely change these pages when you write about Bun's Visit to London ... because I want you to write the world-trip book the way you want to .... ok?

This is just about thanking you.

The future

2011-02-27T17:21:00.047Z

Mine is an unwanted and unplanned future.

It is not ours. Not our dreams. Not what we had planned.

But I do have a future. And I've just accepted that fact. In its entirety.

Australia proved to me that there is life out there for me. One option that I am still considering is to move to Sydney, as I can apply for roles at our Sydney office and my preferred residence would be in Leichardt (a little Italy, street cafe life, Italian restaurants, safe, with superb sights of the city). I love Australia almost as much as I love my family (who offered to sponsor me should I choose to move there, thus negating the need to jump through all the emigration hoops) and friends who live there.

The property type I had decided upon ... old world on the outside ... sleek stainless steel, granite, wooden flooring, outside decking, minimalist on the inside

But this weekend, I started thinking, I'd be swapping one rat race for another ... albeit a better climate and standard of living.

And so I started to investigate other options, most of which I quickly sent to the reject pile, however one idea grew and grew in interest and I think I might seriously go for it.

Spain.

It's nearer to most people I love. Peeps I'm close to are moving there, and other friends intend to retire there. I've always felt at home in this country and speak the language. The standard of living is good and I can buy a beautiful property there from half to two-thirds of the value of my home in the UK (which I would sell), thus releasing capital to fall back on just in case. I've pasted links below that show examples of the villas which fall inside this value bracket and they are mainly in the Almeria, Alicante, Malaga and Valencia areas.

Almeria

Alicante

Malaga

Valencia

So ... I could trade in the rat race for:

teaching English as a foreign language privately (from home, which is why I have chosen homes that have offices/extra rooms which can be adapted for this purpose). I'm already qualified (certificate and diploma) with two years experience under my belt. The going rate is 30 Euros (= $40 or £25) per hour, so this translates into only needing to work a twenty hour week.

and to supplement my income, all these villas have a separate "casita" included, which I could rent out to peeps on holiday. Not to mention they all have a spare guest room or two, which I am sure would be occupied regularly by friends and family visiting.

Oh ... and they are all walled and gated to ensure my two "perros" can't escape.

I've even thought about the fact that I can take a cutting of the fern and some soil to plant in my new home (from where Hammer - our Rottweiler - is buried) ... as well as keeping a small amount of Cliff's ashes to do the same, which goes without saying.

Working a 20 hour week, not having to commute ... hmmm, that does sound appealing. I could employ a cleaner once a week to rake the gravel over and clean (am good at keeping place tidy ... not so good at cleaning) while I prepared my lesson plans ... it would free up time to do ...

this this

this

and this

Oh, as well as exploring the country, rich in history ... moorish castles and white washed villages. Lemon trees and orange groves. Olive trees and siestas.

I figured that even though it's a future I'd rather not have ... it may as well be the best future I can live.

Here are some villas if you want to have a look:

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-32636663.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-27135401.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-32632103.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-13879047.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-27165583.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-15336969.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-27841784.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-29319524.html

http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/property-32599664.html

and the boring stuff is here:

http://rightmove-property.buyassociation.co.uk/169/BuyingGuide

and here: http://www.rightmove.co.uk/overseas-property/help-and-advice.html

When I shared these thoughts with my BFF, she announced that she might move with me ... we laughed at the prospect of once again sharing a home ... something we did when we were 18 years old ... she is the only person I can imagine living with and I'm secretly hoping she wasn't joking ... because she did look serious about it.

Yes, it's scary and I'd be alone a fair bit. But then I am now.

And I'm so fucking tired all the time.

This life might be something I can actually cope with, you know? Because right now I just can't keep my balls up in the air. Something always drops. It can't be work. So it's my health, my lack of socializing or living in a house that saps all my energy. He worked so damn hard for this house and on this house ... and he'd be sad to see me remain here out of nostalgia. Because that dream has gone. This will never be the dream that was ... for he is not here to share it with me.

Portugal

2011-02-22T20:13:00.009Z

Having blagged our way on board our flight from London Gatwick to Faro with 12 over sized and overweight bags, we relaxed on the 3 hour journey, enjoying a vodka and tea, the best marzipan in the world, giggling about old shared memories ... and talking of grief and loss. Cliff ... and my old friend's grief over her father, best friend ... and more recently yet another extremely close friend.

The flight went quickly and we saw the Algarve coastline, beautiful and clear even in February.

After squeezing the luggage and ourselves into Maria's car ... she treated us to an hour of her raleigh driving (having 30 years experience of being a raleigh driver) along the sea road from Faro to Monchique. We stopped for dinner at the bottom of the private dirt road that leads up to Nicky's new home for dinner, meeting the locals, and I was relieved to find that my Spanish allowed me to pick up a few words of Portuguese, as well as comprehension of the menu. After topping up on food, nicotine and vodka, we walked up the dark road to look round the villa.

I loved Nicky's new home immediately, and started taking photos to share with old friends on Facebook, as well as capturing the property as it was, before she starts cleaning, decorating and updating it.

The views, even on a cloudy rainy February day were stunning. Mountains. The Atlantic.

But when I stepped into the lounge - a solitary room at the top of this house ... the magic of the place hit me. I could sense the elderly Canadian couple who once lived and loved there ... and felt like crying ... but with empathy. The lady of the house had lived there as a widow for 20 years, and kept loving her home, leaving behind her so many exquisite touches around the place ... and it felt good that my old school-friend would be taking over this home and loving it just as they did.

The chandelier comes from the Palais de Versailles apparently, and there was evidence left behind everywhere of a long life together - signed menu's from Monaco, a portrait of their beloved dachshunds, a paperweight from Harvard, decorated matchboxes - from halycon days spent entertaining on the amazing terrace that encircles the property. I could imagine my parents befriending these people. I could empathize with the lady living there for 20 years after losing her soulmate. And I could imagine my friend living there too, keeping some of the features, completing this life's work with taste, care and respect.

I could also imagine long weekends yet to come .... and of us enjoying this home, browsing through the books left on the shelves, enjoying the sun and views along with the food that this region produces - lemons, oranges, fresh fish, olives, salads ....

I so missed Cliff. I so mourned the loss of our future. The villa of our own in Spain that would never be. I missed his exuberance ... the excitement and pleasure he would have felt exploring this home. Little memories left .... the books, records, artwork and silverware left from a life now over. I missed that he could have renovated this place for Nicky.

My sadness evaporated upon returning outside into the sunshine, and my eyes drank in the beautiful gardens, the trees and the incredible views. A sense of space. We ran around like children imagining how Nicky could decorate and enhance the living spaces. A circular room. Retaining the beautiful hand-painted Portuguese ceramic tiles, along with the flooring, the simplicity of the silk curtains, the white-washed walls, the ironwork, the old cast iron lighting throughout. The nooks, crannies and secret hideaways.

After two relaxing days, spent talking, sharing and reminiscing ... as well as excitement over Nicky's move to Portugal, snoozing, music and laughter as well as some moments of poignant nostalgia, sadness too .... her three dogs joined us, and then even the rented villa - her temporary residence until contracts are signed - felt like home. I realized how tired I was - and am thankful to Nicky for letting me nap when exhaustion swept over me from time to time.

Home. And now time for me to return to my own dogs and home. I didn't want to leave for I knew that I would half expect Cliff to be waiting for me there.

And en route to the airport, I had to take a big gulp when I realized how near to Andalucia I was. How close I was to another life. Another time. A fifteen year old who knew not what life held in store for her. A wonderful magical man. Then losing him. How obliviously happy she was. Naive. Full of hope and joy.

And Maria may have sensed my thoughts. For she turned to me and said, "you two girls. You were so spoiled living in different countries, going to the school you attended. It left you trusting the world, when you cannot and should not."

Wise words indeed. For I have learned that there is nothing certain or guaranteed in this lifetime. In the hardest way imaginable.

But we boarding school children - we are resilient. We may trust when we should not. But I'll take that over being bitter and cynical any day. It was one of the qualities that he most loved about me. And I will not allow this grief to destroy that.

C'mon Boo ... get it together

2011-02-18T05:10:00.004Z

Nicky

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I had to call work this morning and arrange to take today as annual leave.

I slept through till 17h30.

And now I can't sleep.

Not only that ... the house is a tip ... the dogs need grooming ... I still haven't packed ... or booked my "Meet & Greet" parking at the airport ... and my flight leaves in a few hours.

I don't know what's wrong with me ... because I'm looking forward to this break in Portugal with Nicky. I can't wait actually.

Nicky's managed to buy a villa, pack all her shit up, clean her apartment in Putney and has arranged for her 3 dogs to be flown out on Monday. Photos of pups are below ... there is no photo of Phoebe because she is a horrible tasmanian devil-dog ... and she bites you if you leave the house.

C'mon Boo ... get your shit together. Your flight leaves soonish.

FFS.

14th February 2011

2011-02-14T11:05:00.005Z

Thank you Cliff.

For never buying me flowers on Valentine's Day.

Because they were a rip off.

And for buying me flowers when YOU felt like it.

It means I shan't miss them today.

And I shall miss you as much today as I did two years ago.

And as much as I shall in two years time.

Only you.

My heart and soul are yours.

My body though, useless and cold without you is starting to crave warmth.

And I know you feel no betrayal.

For there is none if you no longer reside in any corporeal form here on this planet.

You are free. Having a spiritual experience.

I am a spiritual being trapped in a human body ... having a human experience ... accompanied by the natural need for touch and intimacy. Warmth. Comfort. Release. Passion.

I feel no shame. I was widowed at 44. If you'd lived to be 108 - I'd have remained faithful to you till I was 100.

But our fate placed me here alone. Till you come for me.

And if anyone has an issue with that ... they can fuck off ... along with that stupid little fucking cherub who goes by the name of Cupid.

Black Cabs at Victoria Station

2011-02-13T12:49:00.004Z

Last night I thought about taking the half hour train journey into London today.

At the same time as I did this time last week.

To see if he was there.

Just to give him my phone number and ask him to call me when I get back from Portugal.

It felt like a good idea. Exciting. Forbidden.

And today ... my courage has lifted. Somehow it feels as though he'd think I'm stalking him, if he's even there.

And if he wasn't there ... I'd feel deflated, desperate almost.

I'm not desperate ... I mean, I've had plenty of offers ... but I had a connection with him. The perfect stranger.

I'm not seeking romantic love. I don't want anything from him ... other than a couple of nights a month. I want to feel that chemistry ... feel alive ... undress each other with our eyes until we can ... rip each other's clothes off ... and just enjoy each other, give pleasure ... give and take.

Who knows? Perhaps serendipity will intervene. If not, perhaps I'll get the courage to hang round Victoria Station when I return from Portugal ... perhaps though, the magic of chemistry will have worn off by then. Who knows? Que sera sera.

I hope no one thinks I'm on the game if I do.

There again, my mother met my father for the first time, back in 1948 ... under the big clock at Victoria Station. So I can't be that crazy.

Serendipity

2011-02-08T00:27:00.015Z

Alighting at London Victoria, I approached the black cab to ask the driver if he'd take me to Covent Garden, but he simply signalled that I should hop in the back, regardless.

From the instant we looked at each other, there was a connection. Chemistry. I took one look at him and liked him. My age perhaps or younger. Slim, nice looking. Comfortable in his own skin.

In the fifteen minutes it took him to drive me up Grosvenor Place, along Piccadilly and Shaftesbury Avenue, we talked non-stop about all kinds of stuff. His love of Italy. Loads of different stuff. It felt like I'd known him for the longest time ... we were bantering like old friends. Easy. I didn't mention that I was a widow, because it no longer defines me as a person.

But then he asked me if I was on a date, and I explained that I wasn't. That I had become friends with a widower through blogging and we were having lunch together. And so, I found myself sharing my marital status with him ... but only in the context of lunch, rather than as a stand-alone subject. He asked me about Cliff and what happened. And then I found myself divulging more and more ...

"So, I don't date."

"You don't DATE?"

"No, I'm not ready for it. Just not ready for all that emotional shit. And complications. Every now and again, I meet up with an old friend who happens to be man enough to accept that I'm using and abusing him. He helps me. And never crosses that boundary, you know? He knows that I've compartmentialized it away from the rest of my life. Separate. No emotions attached. No bullshit. I don't need someone rocking up on my doorstep. Or projecting their emotional idiosyncracies onto me."

"Well, if I promise to do none of that, can I help you out. You're only an hour away."

We both laugh. Really laugh. Loudly. But not awkward. Comfortable.

Eye contact.

And in an instant, we both know he's not joking. He knows exactly how to talk to me without coming across as an opportunist. He looks me straight in the eye and says, "you must get it all the time ... men giving out their standard chatup lines," and I say I used to, but these days I never know what to say and tend to go quiet."

I can feel him looking at me even though I'm looking at the floor. He says, "there really is something special about you apart what you can see. It's like you've got this extra thing ... an aura. Yes, that's it. You're surrounded by, you give out, you have an aura."

"Have I." I respond quietly. Still gazing at floor. Still feeling his eyes on me. Still feeling like I'm 15 again.

I'm wondering if my aura is love. Or if it's bright red, because all I can see in my mind ... is me climbing all over him. Or if my aura is in fact Cliff wrapping me up in his love. And it's that strong that this man can sense it. And if my aura changes colour according to who I'm with, how they make me feel, or if I sense that they are genuine ... that they get a glimpse of the girl that Cliff knew.

We arrive at Carluccio's and I have this compulsion to say, "take me somewhere later." Instead, there is more eye contact. A girl is climbing in the back of his cab, yet I'm still standing there. He's still looking at me, oblivious to his next fare. I want to say the words, but I'm mute. I turn to go across to the restaurant and we're still holding that eye contact.

I break eye contact to cross the road and he slowly eases off.

"Serendipity," I'm telling myself.

"Serendipity?" WTF is wrong with me? The universe has already taught me that the chances of things working out the way I want them to, are slim to none. I'm kicking myself. Why didn't I take his phone number?

"Serendipity," I tell myself. If you see him again, it's meant to happen.

"Serendipity?" I don't want to marry him. I just want to climb all over him. Feel alive. Laugh like I already know we can. And laugh in the way that you only can with a lover. I want to feel safe enough so I can let go. But not too safe, so there's that edge ...

"Serendipity," my friend says when I tell her about my 15 minute cab journey.

There are 120000 Black Cab drivers in London.

Serendipity indeed.

"He could be a serial killer," my other friend muses. "Well, that's a win-win for me," I respond. "I either get to be with Cliff again, or I get to enjoy him."

"You could ask Capital Radio or Radio One to put out an appeal," suggests another. "Are you shitting me? He'd think I was a bunny-boiler."

So, this song is dedicated to a man who lives in North London. A Black Cab driver who took me from Victoria to the corner of Garrick and Rose Street. The man who somehow managed to make me feel like me again. For 15 minutes.

Perfect Stranger

I still want to climb all over him.

I wonder if he can make me forget my name.

I have this feeling ...

2011-02-05T19:34:00.008Z

*** WARNING - if you don't like swearing - please don't read this post ***

I was very angry when I wrote this and didn't edit it at all

Today, I kept getting this feeling that he was going to come home. I still have that feeling, even now.

I've never forgotten that he's dead. Not once. Not even when he appears alive in my dreams ... part of me still knows, on some level, that he is not really alive.

I know that some widow/ers have that split-second moment ... you know, when they think, "oooh I must tell him about ...", before flipping back to the cruel reality after a nanosecond.

Not me though. Never. It is like there is a constant tape recording ... stuck in a loop .... reminding me, "he's dead, he's dead, he's dead," ad infinitum, or should that be ad nauseum?

No, it wasn't that I forgot he was dead today. Nor did I indulge in some kind of pretence or fantasy. I felt him coming home. Maybe he is, it's just that I can't see him.

Which means he's worried about me. One of his oldest friends said to me last night, "he'd be going ballistic if he was here ... you know that, don't you? You need to put some weight on." Shirley looked at the floor, not wanting to look at my face, because if she had ... I'd have broken.

My voice broke, as I struggled not to cry when I admitted I knew he was right. Roy wrapped up the statement with, "yes, you do know ... enough said Boo." And we moved swiftly on to an amusing (to us at least) subject ... all I'll say is we were humming the tune to "Deliverance". And all three of us were laughing raucously.

But today, it feels like he's going to walk through the front door any second. Like before.

I do know he isn't physically. He can't. I mean, a third of his ashes have been sent shooting up into the sky, courtesy of a mo-fo firework of blue stars, taking him along for the ride.

But maybe he's coming ... the other half of my soul.

I hope I haven't worried him. It makes me feel like I've let him down. I would never hurt him or upset him intentionally. Never did. Why would I start now?

But it appears I have. Fuck. Going to let some tears out, pour a single vodka, diet coke and ice .... oh and, yes I CAN HEAR YOU. Eat something balanced and nutritious ... hoorah for Sainsbury's microwaveable meals for one. See, I DID listen to Roy. And I'm heeding the advice.

I know you're going to sit there and watch me eat it, so I can't give half of it to the dogs.

I know how you hated to see me cry. I remember so well how you hated it so ...

But I have to ... I'm sorry baba. I miss you too much. I want to come home. To you. We weren't meant to be apart. I feel like you've been hacked away from me by some psychotic fucked up butcher swinging a cleaver around, and that I'm bleeding everywhere ... all the time.

It's a shame that it wasn't a fucked up butcher because you'd have taken the cleaver off him and thrown it, embedding it deeply in the nearest wall or door (accompanied by me rolling my eyes -and it's not hard to imagine the scenario because I saw you take weapons off people a few times, with that "do you really want to play with me?" expression on your face, always followed by man running away as fast as possible. Any direction. Just away from you. And that body language that screamed NO FEAR. If you stick that in me, I'm going to get even more angry. I'll pull it out and scream like a stuffed pig, then throw it out of your reach. Have some.) I can see you heading for your samurai sword, or perhaps your Hilti staple gun. Or perhaps both. Bad luck Mr Butcher. Run. Karma is coming for you. He's going to really fuck you up now. The weapons are purely for inflicting fear. Unless you physically threaten me. Then all rules are off. Bad luck. Well right now you are in a relatively safe position, because I'm here watching. But I do know that some people only understand violence, so let's help you on your way. I'll use the fucking Hilti gun as he never actually does. The thought is enough of a deterrent for most people. Unless they ARE psychotic ... then, all rules are off. There, your coat won't fall off now. Not till you get those stainless steel things removed anyway.

But it wasn't a butcher. It was something else. Something that even he couldn't fight. A first in his adult life. Even he couldn't make it go away and never return to darken my la-la-land door again. Make me safe. This was unexpected ... it happened on your home territory and the fucker was cowardly. He snuck up behind you, like a little man with a knife or a sawn-off. I'd have died fighting for you.

But we couldn't fight what we couldn't see.

I tried so fucking hard that day. I tried. I willed the damage the stroke inflicted on you. I willed it. I tried and tried to absorb the damage. Take it out of your head and into my arms. I told you I was going to try. I could feel my hands and the skin on the underside of my arms get so so so hot .... so so hot, that I thought it was going to work. But it didn't work. And when I gained lucidity, I quietly sat down and you gave my hand a double-squeeze. I miss that too. That you understood me like that. Let me try, even knowing I would fail, but knowing I had to try.

It hurts in my body, my heart, my soul and in my frazzled tired mind. I just want a taste of you - I'm not even asking for a minute. I'd start again .... right back at day one of this fucking awful pain and re-live it again and again and again .... just for a taste of you. I'd exchange the rest of my life ... just for a taste of you. You know how patience is not only not one of my strong points, it simply doesn't exist in my vocabulary.

I need to sit quietly. Turn off the banging club music. Be still. And then I'll feel you when you come back to check on me.

It's still a taste. I'll take a taste, no matter how fleeting, how ethereal, how unseen. It's still a sense. It's the other one. The odd one out. The one that people get uncomfortable about if it's mentioned. Unless they live in a caravan of course. And stand on street corners, holding a sprig of lavender in their hand, all mangled and wilting, shoving it in your face in exchange for a couple of quid. Or is it heather? "Lucky heather, darlin?" What the fuck am I talking about?

I'm so relieved I have that in me. As you did. We are only physically separated. Our souls are still safely entwined, just as the palm trees are, in that beautiful place where we exchanged our vows. Maybe it's not "till death do us part" for us. Not us. An unbreakable bond. A tenuous yet very real link. Souls touching.

Love is stronger than death.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oQcBYboY8G4

I fucking hate you, death. When you come for me I'm going to take you with me.

Fucking coward. You'd have never come towards him, unarmed. I only saw one person do that ever. And he stopped because I was there. Neither of them could stand me crying. Seriously. See, men have rules and codes. Well, the men I know and count as real friends do.

You don't. You have jack-shit. Only misery. You're a fucking coward and an arsehole and I'm going to have you. I am his wife. Just think about that. I might act like a baby, but when I go cold ... I don't care. You don't scare me you little shit. You stupid little drunk Glaswegian pathetic excuse of a man, you actually think you're big. You are not. You're fuck all in reality. All you are is delusional. Go on, have another cheap scotch and a rolled up cigarette. Come towards me speaking shit and when you get close, I recoil from your foul breath and am repulsed by the spit that lands on me because you're such a socially inept being ... you can't even speak properly. Come closer, I can't understand what you're saying. But what you're too fucking stupid to see is that I'm not listening to you. I'm not here to fucking talk. Your level of intellect just doesn't do it for me you stupid little man. I'm just waiting for you to get close enough ...

... then I'm taking you down. I'm taking you with me. And I'm like my husband, I can wait a long long long long time. Can you, you little prick? With a two inch dick. Fuck you. You strut about thinking you look hard. But you don't understand, you thick piece of shit .... that I have no fear now that he's gone. No fear. My biggest fear has happened. I've lost my fear of flying. You mistake me for someone who gives a fuck. Or you look at me smiling and misinterpret it as submission. Hell, I'll even lead you into the bedroom and take you down with me, you fucking stupid freak ... you just cut down lives at random. No rhyme, no reason. Because you have no morals ... you don't notice anybody else's. Babies, dogs, children - what sort of sick fuck are you? Hello? You suck the life out of good loving and loved people. And leave sub-human pond-life walking around ... the type of people who hurt kids or animals, just because they can. A little like you. Like goes to like. Maybe that's why you spare the pond-life in this DNA pool.

Fuck I'm angry.

But that feels a lot lot better .... now to eat and be still, so I can feel him ... if I'm angry I never ever feel him.

Karma. If it doesn't come along quickly enough for Ms Patience 2011, I'll make it happen.

Balance

2011-01-29T14:54:00.009Z

There are two things I'd like to keep in mind during 2011 ...

Finding a balance between living and grieving.

Finding a balance between home and work.

How am I going to manage this? Well, during January I took five minutes each week ... and stood still. Quietened my mind. Asked myself if there was balance in my life in these areas. Answered myself truthfully.

And then addressed it.

For example, one week I spent a considerable amount of time participating with others on a Facebook Group for widow/ers, channelling positive energy into a beta site for the widowed, working on a project for Widows' Rights International and keeping up with my blogroll ... only to realize that I'd been "counting" that time as grieving, when in fact I wasn't. It's healthy for me to spend time on this stuff, but I have to be mindful not to sub-consciously spend too much time participating in these activities as a means of escaping my own pain.

The crucial issue is this. Acknowledging the imbalance. Then adjusting in an attempt to level the scales.

So, I took a couple of evenings to just be. I read a book. This helps me immensely because reading ensures that I cannot give my attention to anything else. It is another form of escapism in a way, however, the objective of it is to relax, to have a break. The other evening I spent some more time on my memory books and allowed the tears to flow freely.

Just past the second anniversary, I still cry every day. But it's not enough. There is still a need to have a "big cry" each week or thereabouts. To acknowledge the pain and let it engulf me, simultaneously letting it out. If I suppress it, consciously or otherwise, it makes me feel "not right" (relatively speaking), out of balance (again, relatively speaking) and it doesn't help. Far from it, it hinders. Or worse.

If I work too long on my scrap-booking and memory books (part of my grief-work) thereby dedicating too much time into remembering what I have lost ... accompanied with the outpouring of grief, it wears me out and results in my days becoming devoid of colour ... so that I am left with only darkness. There is a tipping point ... and unfortunately I don't know where that tipping point is until I have passed it. At least I am aware of this now, and take steps to rectify it. I literally tell myself that I need to have a break and don't return to that activity until intuition leads me back there.

And the home/work balance? After leaving the office one evening at almost 21h00, I ensured that I left on time the rest of the week, even pushing back on a couple of requests (usually very hard for me to do) and took a lunch break on two days, as opposed to shovelling food in my mouth with one hand ... the other on the keyboard or mouse, which is my usual practice.

Hey, it's a start.

Only another 11 months to get the hang of this.

Which amounts to something like 260 minutes over the course of a year. It's not a lot to ask of myself.

But will I do it?

It is essential that I do ... because I can clearly see the pattern that emanated from not being aware of this last year. I didn't give any thought to balance whatsoever ... not that I'm berating myself - let's be honest, it was hard enough accepting he was dead and existing with that weighing heavy on my heart for the duration ... but I can see how I was running from it by working stupid hours, not addressing workload issues, culminating in my grief having its way. And when that happened, I lost grip on the little control left in my life. Grief translated itself into illness, leading to time off work which caused me more worry and stress, followed by blindly throwing myself into work, frantically catching up, attempting to make amends through taking on even more stuff. And so it went on. Round and round and round in circles. Weekends were mainly wasted because I had to rest and sleep or cry, because there was no energy left over to do anything else.

Just like water, grief finds a way ... its force is as powerful, if not more ... it is as heavy as molten lead, as heavy as an ocean full of water, as heavy as a desert full of sand. It is this that sits on one side of the scales ... I have to fill the other with work, light, laughter, friendships, home improvements, moving through this whilst channelling energy into positive activities.

It's a fine balancing act ... without my safety net.

Classical Music for the Bereaved

2011-01-23T23:49:00.082Z

Music for the Bereaved, as suggested by Ann Rachlin

to soothe, comfort and allow tears:

Symphony No.2 Third Movement

Massenet - Meditation from Thais *

Chopin - Prelude no. 4 in E Minorto

relieve sadness, relieve insomnia:

Barber - Adagio for Strings *

to accompany us when alone, to think:

Canteloube - Songs of the Auvergne

Brahms - Violin Concerto in D Major, Second Movement

Rodrigo - Concierto de Aranjuez for Guitar and Orchestra, Second Movement *

Dvorak - Serenade for Strings - Symphony No.9 in E minor, Second Movement

Music to give us strength:

Beethoven No.6 in F, Op 68 (pastoral)

Tchaikovsky - String Quartet No.1 in D, Op 11, Second Movementto *

encourage change:

Borodin - String Quartet No.2 in D major, Third Movement *

Music to support a change of direction and to encourage when there are problems to solve:

Schubert - String Quartet No.13 in A minor (Rosamunde) Second Movement

Concerto for Organ No.13 (The Cuckoo and The Nightingale)

Bruch - Violin Concerto No.1 in G Minor, op 26 *

music for the "new normal", enriched with memories, yet having actively and fully grieved, experience of grief, acceptance of new normal:

Mascagni - Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana *

Rimsky-Korsakov - Symphonic Suite (Sheherazade) *

Rachmaninoff - Piano Concerto No.2 *

Khatchaturian - Adagio of Spartacus and Phyria *

If you do try using this music to help you, please let me know if it worked, or even what your favourite pieces are.

(I haven't included the full list that she recommends due to not finding everything on YouTube.)

My favourites are asterisked.*

Grounded

2011-01-18T16:27:00.009Z

I know that one person's grief is not worse than another's ... when a spouse dies.

I know that the shock of losing a husband or wife has the ability to affect us physically. From weight gain to heart problems. From weight loss to becoming diabetic.

I know that we have all experienced the freefall into that deep dark place ... and then crawled back out of it. Time and time again.

I know that grief is more tiring than anything else I have ever experienced.

I don't express the saying, "there's a thin line between sanity and insanity" as a platitude any more. I now express it as a truth, as a given.

I know that this pain, this loss, has put everything in my life firmly into perspective. But it wasn't a lesson that I learned with the luxury of a mentor. It was more like being thrown into a freezing ocean ... without a lifebelt ... and finding myself marooned and broken, somewhere in a land that was alien to me. And being terrified. Bullied into realization.

But imagine this.

Imagine having to endure all that you have so far, the relentless battle that you win ... and sometimes lose on a daily basis, knowing that the war against this monster that we call grief is far from over.

Imagine this ... as well as ...

... being blamed for your husband dying. Being called a witch. Being considered as "bad luck".

Imagine washing your dead husband's body and then being forced to drink the water.

Imagine your brother-in-law taking all your possessions, even your home.

Imagine being raped by your brother-in-law because it is thought that you need to be "cleansed" of the sin of causing the death of your husband. No matter how he died, even if he was killed in an accident.

Imagine your children no longer being able to go to school. And not being able to feed them.

Imagine your daughter being forced into the sex trade at an unimaginable age.

Imagine losing your children.

I tried to. But I really couldn't quite imagine it. A bit like I couldn't imagine what it would feel like should the unthinkable happen. Before.

And for some widows ... what we cannot quite imagine ... is their nightmare reality.

Yesterday, I spent time with Patsy Robertson and Kate Young from Widow's Rights International to think about ways in which I can help them raise awareness and funds. Simply put, to help them fight for widows' basic human rights.

And I'll be brutally honest, I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I'm doing it because it's grounding and humbling and it's the right thing to do. Empathy? If I've swapped my husband for empathy, albeit unwillingly, I may as well put it to good use.

I need to be grounded ... every now and again. This pain threatens to overtake my life. Smother it.

If I can let a tiny shard of light into their darkness, it will allow the reflection of that white into my own black.

I need to be grounded.

The pain would not be worse if I were in their position, but my life would.

Imagine that ... I find it hard to.

still listening and learning

2011-01-16T02:45:00.010Z

In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.

~F. Scott Fitzgerald

It sure is. That's why the bereaved are always awake at that time. And Cliff died at exactly three o'clock in the morning. So began the first really dark night of my life. I have endured many more since ...

This past week has been one of reflection, remembering and learning for me. It's now been two years and one week, and I've taken this time to think about him so much. To grieve as I knew I would after believing that he'd been gone for two years. I've spent this week remembering him. His words. It has been a week of cine-movies running through the corners of my mind. Listening to all his words. Again, like an action replay.

I've put together the first album ... all the photos of him from before we were together, in chronological order, making notes of the year and who he is with. At the back of the album are pictures of people who were his closest friends. A photo of the hospital where he was born in Malta, his swimming certificate from 1964. There are gaps awaiting other items when I find them.

I was going to write notes ... using his words, beside the relevant photos/time period in the book. But I soon realized that there would not be enough space. So I created a document in word, set up columns and a small font size ... and just started tapping away on my laptop.

I had to stop every now and again to have a big cry because I remembered seeing how painful it was for him to recall some memories. I remembered how I'd glimpsed the little three year old boy who was still part of the man I was in love with. The little boy who had no understanding why the people who fostered him beat him.

I was astonished at how I remembered so many of his words. And verbatim. In my mind's eye, I could see him as he spoke the words. So many words. So many memories of his ... which are now copied and pasted directly to me. And he used to accuse me of not listening. But I did. I remember it all, and more is coming to me. So much that it felt like I was being bombarded with his words. His story. Even though I was writing about his earliest years, more bytes were coming to me, from the times that we were together, bringing more and more epiphanous moments as well as an unbelievable amount of tears.

I've filled up two sides of A4 - 3 columns - font size 8 ... and I've only written about the first 3 years of his life.

It's exhausted me, but comforted me. It has also broken me. I've grieved on a deeper level than I ever have before. I've cried for the three year old and I've cried for the man. I'll stick the pages in by the photos, but I don't think I can share them with anyone else. I know that there are words that would hurt others. The truth often does, but I'm not doing this to hurt anyone. Far from it. I feel as though I want his daughter to read them after I have died, but not before. And I don't know why.

But I know why he was always telling me to listen. Because so much has come back to me about the man he was. Much of what he told me explains how the man - the essence of his heart and soul - was formed. And he was mine. He shared it all with me. He gave me those extra years, the years that I didn't share with him. The ones that were denied us. He shared it all - something he had never done before. It was important - he told me it was.

Completing this has opened up something in me. Like a port-hole. And let more darkness in. But along with the darkness has come more understanding, more learning ... and above all, his love and an absolute reminder that he knew me far better than I will ever know myself.

This week has been an explosion of lightbulb moments. And darkness. And feeling his love and care once more. I could feel him near again.

Unlike most, I luckily knew what I had before it was gone. But it has broken me this week to realize that, in remembering so many things that he said to me, that he had been preparing me for this for years. He'd never expected to make it past 50, and he was right, as he died two months before his 53rd birthday. He wanted to, but he knew he wouldn't. He told me that he didn't care before he was with me, but that he wanted to live for me now that he had me. He knew and listened to his body and read the signs. And he was very "fay". He really was. He told me he would die of a stroke, and he told me he wouldn't make old bones. The hairs would stand up on his arms when we talked about stuff. He only said it once because of the way I reacted. I couldn't bear to hear it. He knew me, like I said. He knew how much I could take. So he made sure that he prepared me for this horror as best as he could.

I listened. I memorized. Back then.

I hear him. I understand. Now.

And my heart is breaking because it is so full of love and emotion for him, it feels as though it will burst because it has no more capacity. But something tells me that it will expand to allow more understanding, listening and learning. Lessons for the journey I am on now. Words he insisted I listen to ... because they would carry me through this when he no longer could be beside me ... protect me.

It has also convinced me, that my initial outrage after his death, when people suggested that I was young enough to find love again was justified. For I will never find love again like his, even if I spent every waking moment of my life dedicated to hunting it down. He was my one. I was his one. I'm not saying I won't enjoy a relationship, but I shan't be looking for love. Make of that as you will because I'm not going to waste any time analyzing myself on that one.

He knew me. He loved me. Enough to tell me things that would get me through this, even in the darkness at 3 a.m. He gave me words to comfort me in my darkest nights. Words that turned into balm to soothe me so I can eventually sleep. Words that he knew I wouldn't truly hear until he'd left me.

And then guilt attacked me. The demon raised his ugly head and accused me ... why didn't I "get it" back then? Why couldn't I have been stronger when he was alive? Been a better wife. Did I really know what I had back then? Yes I did. But what I have lost - well I am discovering more and more of that. And I knew that he understood me better than any other ... but just not how well. Did I know how much he loved me? Without doubt ... but I didn't know that he'd given me enough love to last me this journey.

And he told the demon: I loved her for the way she was. For her naivety. I wanted her to live in her lala-land for as long as she could. This was the way I wanted it. She was my wife. My responsibility. My decision. It's the way we were. It's why it worked. I would not have had it any other way.

And for once I heard him the first time.

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

a scrapbook for his other girl

2011-01-14T02:37:00.016Z

I bought some photo albums this week and had intended to spend today filling the first one up with pictures. The first album I wanted to complete was one of all the pictures I have of Cliff before we were together. I met Cliff when I was almost 18, so this album would include images of him - a chronological record - from his birth up to his late to mid-thirties. I was going to include some of his childhood treasures (or pictures of larger items such as his Chemistry Set and toy soldiers), accompanied by written notes (but using his words) of various experiences that he told me about, some of which were funny, sad or downright terrifying. Naturally, my own memories of him from the age of 26 would also be included, along with notes about his favourite food, drink, interests, names of friends, the music he liked etc. This book will be the easiest to fill on a practical and emotional level and would be a good start.

I already made up albums/scrapbooks for our wedding and our trip to the Dominican Republic, but still need to do the same for all of our other adventures and shall probably tackle them next. I have kept mementos, including airline stubs, receipts, brochures etc as well as photos, and they are fortunately all kept together, so this will be fairly easy to do on a practical level.

The second big scrapbook/album would be "our story" ... photos over a period of 15 years, his interests, favourite movies, a CD of his favourite music (that I compiled for him a year before he died), meals that we cooked together, his cocktail recipes, where we lived, words faithfully captured verbatim, a lottery ticket with the results written on it by him, the plans he drew up for renovating our home, letters, cards, his favourite soap, photos of his art that he particularly liked and bought, his idiosyncrasies - stuff that he hated (itchy shirts, injections being needle-phobic, crusts on sandwiches), what he collected (glass, coins, silverware etc), concert and cinema tickets, where we drank, the people in our lives, and innumerable keepsakes (either on paper or photographed for the scrapbook).

This book is going to be a record of our time together, of everything that he did for me and taught me, how hard he worked, how much he looked after me, how much we loved each other and will serve as a security blanket, should I ever worry that I will forget anything ... I know that I shan't ... but, you know, just in case. It will record our dreams, disappointments and happiest days. So many memories, some tender, some hilarious, some enlightening, some heart-breaking. Frightening even. The songs I would sing to him. Routine daily stuff. The funny things we would say to each other. Crazy stuff.

It will be an emotional roller-coaster putting this book together and it will take a long time because the paraphernalia that I want to include in it is spread all over the house, even in the attic. I think it will be cathartic, painful at times but ultimately, it will bring me comfort. Completing it will mean that I will have the luxury of taking nostalgic trips through precious memories when I want to, not because all of these items are scattered throughout our home, sometimes stabbing me through the heart with pangs of loss. It will also bring me peace, because recently, I have been getting really irritated at people telling "stories" about him inaccurately.

So, that's the plan. My first practical mission. I kept looking at the pile of photos, kept peeking at those empty albums. I could envisage the end result. But I just could not motivate myself. I desperately wanted to make a "book" up, but not the ones I had planned.

I was puzzled. Why the hell had I thought in such depth, why had I bought the albums, brought down countless photos from upstairs, located the safe key so I could retrieve our most precious photos from it? Only to feel as though I was missing something.

I kept thinking about his daughter. It occurred to me that one day (when I die) she will be given these memory books and will therefore be able to read his story. The truth. She will know what mattered to him, see a set of ethics that he believed in and followed. The whole picture. Get many if not all of the questions she doubtless has, answered in her mind. My mind kept playing cine-movies of him talking to me about her, explaining decisions he made, watching him get so heart-breakingly upset because he hadn't seen her for too long, or because he couldn't explain things to her for reasons that are too complex ... secrets that are too deep not to remain safely buried where they are.

And it came to me. I would make his daughter a scrapbook.

And I did. Using http://www.mixbook.com/, a book of love was created and named: A Father's Love ... and his words.

An excerpt is included above. It's written for her, so I chose pages that don't disclose words that are really only intended for her ears and heart.

I filled it up with photos of him at different ages, randomly. Only selecting pictures I thought she would like. And on each page I typed in the actual words that he said to me - of his love for her. In his words. Words of love. It is such a comfort to be able to remember, word for word, so many things that he told me. It has brought me such peace to create this testament of his love for her because he worried and wondered if she truly knew that he loved her. After he died, I vowed that I would make sure that she knew. And believed it in her heart. Closure. For him. For her. For me - borne out of my love for him, and a need to do this for him.

I hope it brings her peace, healing and comfort. Then I will have done the last thing I could do for him ... out of love, and as his wife. I care about what he cared about because I love him. Because his feelings are still more important than anything else in this world, even today.

Took my breath away

2011-01-12T23:20:00.003Z

Beautiful - this video heals and breaks your heart at the same time.

Take 12 minutes to just sit, to just be.

Watch and listen.

It will speak to you.

It did me.

Seven Choices - reflections upon reading the book

2011-01-11T04:15:00.015Z

My gentle widow-sister Suzann sent me this book on the second anniversary of Cliff's death, and I have to say that this gift was perfectly timed, for it allowed me to reflect on the stages that I have been through (and still re-visit ... as we know grief is not a linear experience), it confirmed that projects I've been planning and wanting to fulfill were actually positive, cathartic and helpful ideas. Healing even. And it gave me further suggestions to help myself to heal more (by that I mean attain balance and happiness in my life again ... not recover/get over it/get better ... because we are painfully aware that losing our spouse is not something that we can "get over"). IMHO, this gift was also perfectly timed because eighteen months or two years ago, I wouldn't have been capable of reading it ... I remember only being able to concentrate on short paragraphs at a time (which was why "Companion Through The Darkness" was invaluable to me soon after losing Cliff).

The author never patronizes, rather she draws upon her own experience, sharing with honesty, interspersed with verbatim from other bereaved people to give real examples of what we may feel, think or behave like during each "stage". There are poems and inspirational quotes throughout. Additionally she explains the psychology behind some of our fears and reactions, along with statistics from academic studies, and she is careful to remind us that every one's grief experience and timeline is unique, then explores reasons why some people "get stuck" at one point of their grief, and how the nature of the loss (e.g. violent death, suicide, sudden death) can impact and complicate our grief.

There are sections at the end of the book on:

"helping children and teenagers"

"useful resources" - music, books, movies, art, photography, organizations, writing, dance, etc.

and a bibliography.

I found the format of listing the following at the close of each "choice" or chapter/stage particularly useful:

"what we need from family and friends"

"what is normal"

"what can I do?"

"what is my active choice?"

The seven stages and choices that accompany them are:

Impact: Experiencing the unthinkable - To experience and express my grief fully (again and again)

Second Crisis: Stumbling in the Dark - To endure with patience

Observation: Linking Past to Present - To look honestly

The Turn: Turning into the Wind - To re-plan and change my life to include but not be dominated by the loss

Reconstruction: Picking up the Pieces - To take specific actions

Working Through: Finding Solid Ground - To engage in the conflicts

Integration: Daylight - To be willing to make and remake choices

I am without doubt at the "Observation" stage but have started dipping my toe in "The Turn" too. I've made some progress in my heart and mind, having approached or reacted to my loss on a primal level, spiritually and intellectually. I've expressed myself, reached out to others who are bereaved, got my career back on track, worked out my new "budget", bought a car and travelled (Australia, Singapore, Europe, USA). Learned and grown, found coping mechanisms and grieved so deeply that I thought I would never crawl out of that deep, dark place. Discovered that some friends are fair-weather, how important blood is, that I can still hear Cliff's voice and follow his advice, that I've also lost my fear of everything ... apart from spiders and driving on ice. One of the most important lessons I learned was that I had to embrace the pain, to fight it is futile and harder work. And grief is more tiring than anything else on this earth. That those who haven't been burned by its flames say the most fucking stupid things, but that after a while you just laugh (and sometimes in their faces). I've almost managed to swallow that bitterest of pills - asking for help. And accepting it. I have learned that there are always deeper darker depths to which you can sink. That I will survive this. That grief is physical as well as emotional - and I have the diabetes meds to prove it. That the line between sanity and insanity truly is as thin and fragile as the stuff that spiders spin their webs with. That the crap that people moan about and obsess themselves with is jack-shit and meaningless. That love is stronger than death. That love is eternal. To be kind to myself. After a year I even had sex again ... to prove that I could. Then discovered that I couldn't expel him from my body in doing so ... because he is firmly attached to my heart and soul. And always will be. I've acted irrationally, and participated in adrenaline-soaked activities ... just to feel alive ... sometimes to dare death ... and laughed contemptuously whilst doing so.

But one huge thing remains - my home, my routine. I'm "normal" at work, and socialize at weekends, visiting a couple of close friends. At home it is as though nothing has changed. Everything has remained as it was that day. Santa's still displayed from two seasons ago. A mug and dish and sweet wrappers left by him in the bedroom. I use his toothbrush on business travel and all this clothes are still folded ... waiting to be put back in his wardrobe. His tools are still laying as he left them ... and god help anyone that touches those. As I walk around my home, cruel reminders taunt me. In this respect, I have stood still for two years. Two fucking years. Waiting for him to come back, because he never let me down, not once. I've rejoined humanity ... but only at work, only on my irrational and widow-brained terms.

I now need to start "doing". Otherwise I will "get stuck". I need to organize all those sentimental photos, pieces of paper, concert tickets and precious memories into albums and scrapbooks, so that I am assured they are there for me to look through. But when I want to. Not because they are there haunting and hurting me. Then his clothes. His tools. Get the house finished and be mature about it ... rather than letting myself succumb to illness each time someone is due to help, so that it can be delayed. Then my home will be a little more like my heart - full of him still, but on the whole, "controlled" ... allowing myself time and space to grieve when I must.

Then I will have choices. Options. I can commit to plans. Entertain. Live again ... instead of living in this time warp of January 2009. Have the home that he worked so so hard to give me, instead of living in a shrine. He'd have hated that.

Live.

I choose life.

Scary, but exhilarating.

I'm under no illusion. Making active choices and carrying them through takes courage and it will be painful. But my beautiful strong husband did that too many times in his life, even as a small child. And for me not to would be wrong. He'd understand if I didn't. But he'd be disappointed.

Thank you Suzann, from the bottom of my heart.

Yesterday

2011-01-10T14:22:00.003Z

Yesterday was hell.

First I felt so angry, full of bitterness about people who have abused my trust.

Stolen from me.

It hurts that they are not the people I thought they were.

That their attitude changed almost as soon as Cliff died.

That they are not men.

In fact, they don't even know what the definition of a man is.

I do.

I married one.

I have known for a long time that I have to let go of these feelings otherwise they will destroy me.

And I think I did yesterday.

For a while anyhow.

The problem was that when I let go of the negativity, the void allowed grief in once more.

I think that buying the photo albums, looking through pictures and mementos, such as our brochure from the Moulin Rouge - kept from our 1st Anniversary in Paris, and all the thinking and planning I've been doing over the weekend, on top of just getting through Christmas, NYE, his second anniversary, and being hormonal ... led to a huge outpouring. A realization of what I have lost. Forever.

But, as Cliff used to say to me, "Live and learn, Boo." I now know that I have to go through this pain to come out the other side.

And come out the other side I have. Today I'm lighter. Tired but lighter of heart.

Messages, Empathy, Looking Forward, and a "Sister's" gift

2011-01-08T22:03:00.022Z

I survived the two year anniversary. By that I mean I am breathing. I'm still amazed that losing Cliff hasn't killed me. During the first year, I assumed that I would not survive, and I couldn't have cared less. In fact, I hoped for release. The second anniversary brought a tsunami of longing and pain so colossal that I again wondered if it would destroy me. Mentally or physically. I had to grieve so deeply and accept the pain with open arms, just as I had embraced his love. I went to that deep, dark place and cried, mourning him on a primal level again ... making those sounds with a voice that I did not recognize as my own. It's a different cry, the cry of mourning. It sounds different, it feels different ... it's ... primal. Then, just as the force of the tsunami started to dissipate ... just as I felt defeated ... exhausted ... I screamed out loud, "I MISS YOU" and turned on the TV to check the time (no idea why). And stood there amazed, mouth agape, staring at Buzz Lightyear reminding me to aim for "infinity and beyond". I smiled and said to Cliff, "I hear you." Now I'm not ga-ga enough to think that Cliff arranged for that clip to be aired, however, it was strange that I happened to have that particular channel on ... and also that I turned the TV on at the precise moment that the 5 second clip was being televised. I got the message ... that I've grieved in this way long enough. By that I mean, I've stood still for two years. Yes, I've made headway. I've grown. I've understood. I've learned. But everything I've accomplished has been on an intellectual or spiritual level. I knew in that moment, that I now have to start moving ... I've got to take those Santa's down, clear away his mug and dish that remain by his bedside. I've got to physically take those steps so that my home "catches up" with my mindset. Otherwise I will get stuck where I am. Crystal clear clarity. Then, upon feeling a need to connect to this world again, I checked Facebook and Megan had sent me a poem. As I read it, I felt a feeling of calm ... reminding me that although Cliff was dead, that he was still in existence, that I would see him again one day ... just not in the form that we had last been together.

Talk about messages.

My best girlfriend, Vicki phoned me last night to tell me that on January 6th she had woken up ... and thought to herself, "I can't do today," meaning she couldn't get dressed, go to college, or do anything that was routine for that day. She shared that she thought she had absorbed some of my pain and loss, and that for that day alone, it had manifested itself as a flu bug ... except that flu bugs don't last for only one day as hers did.

I laughed wryly and told her that I had reacted the self same way. That I too had fallen ill with the same bug, except that mine lasted for two days - the 5th and the 6th. That I'd had a painful throat, temperature, cough, cold ... even my eyes and ears were affected. But by Friday lunchtime, I had magically recovered.

She should have been firing on all cylinders having been given a clean bill of health after her mammogram the day before. Wild horses wouldn't keep her from attending her Interior Design Course - ill or not - usually.

Talk about empathy.

Another friend (from school) Kathy, phoned me from Sweden to see how I was faring on the second anniversary. She had re-read the Eulogy before calling and wanted to know when I was planning on visiting her. I told her that I wasn't because I'd hoped that we could travel to Africa together instead. For me, Kathy is the obvious person to visit Africa with, having been born and brought up on her family farm in Kenya. I suggested that we could go to South Africa and plan the trip so that we could meet up with both of our sisters (as mine goes there annually and her sister lives there), before going on to see her family in Kitale. She quickly agreed with one proviso. That we cross the border into Uganda to see the gorillas. I tell you, I couldn't hang that phone up fast enough so that I could surf and source possible places to stay ... and I may have found the perfect resort.

Talk about something to look forward to.

And upon returning to work on Friday, I received a gift from Suzann in the post. A book. I read it in two sittings. I found solace in the fact that I recognized my own feelings, thoughts and actions within its pages ... at times being surprised that some of the advice therein (at my stage) was stuff that I had only decided to do this week (such as making scrapbooks and photo albums) and that I often listen to Adagio for Strings (don't crucify me for loving this version), not just because I love it, but because I need to hear it as it expresses how I feel where words fail me. But most importantly, it compounded my intuition ... that I have to start making practical progress. It reminded me that one always has a choice. And I sure as hell am not going to be a widow stuck in this half-alive/half-dead state forever. How can I justify that? It was "right" for me to stand still for two years, but I know that I would not be honouring him if I stay here longer. It will be hard. I will fall over. But I'm going to do this. I'm going to take the harder more courageous path. For him. And for the first time in two years ... for me too.

Talk about a gift. (and perfectly timed)

a glimpse at the boy and the man

2011-01-06T20:03:00.012Z

"Your absense has gone through me

Like thread through a needle

Everything I do is stitched with its colour"

“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

"As I gazed into your eyes - something inside me forever changed...You laid there by my side and gave me a smile that tore down the walls surounding my Heart..I found what I'd been looking for all along..that magic feeling I could never have before..I felt you there.. beside me.. taking my hand in yours..When the tears faded away and I came to my senses - You gave me a promise I'd been dying to hear since the moment we met..You Told me that we'll always be together...Time and space ceased to be.. Our threads of fate became one..All the pain, doubt and fear in the world would not keep us apart..Not anymore..If I'd have died right then and there in your arms, it wouldn't matter.. It still would have been the happiest moment of my life.. Death is only death.. and you.. are so much more..But then something happened.. The dream ended.. I was forced to open my eyes only to realize.. that I had lost you once again..I had returned back to reality - along with the sad shards of my broken Heart.. The torment of nothingness inside me caused grief unlike any other.. And still.. I wouldn't trade that one moment of true happiness.. for anything.. even if it was just a dream..Though just a pleasant illusion - the time we shared together felt real enough to me.. And that's why I love the nightly darkness so..For I can't wait to close my eyes.. fall asleep once more.. and find you there again.."

"If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden."

Two Years

2011-01-06T02:15:00.004Z

It's been two years since my husband died.

Two years.

The world has moved on two years.

But I have stood still.

For two years.

For the best part of that time, I wasn't even sure if he was dead.

But he is. I even have proof.

I knew him for half of my life and lived with him for a third of it.

He was the kindest, sweetest man I ever knew. He would have done anything for me, and he did.

He taught me so much, and I am still learning from him.

I've been loving him too long ... to stop now.

Highway, Highway - Joe Cocker

The circle turns and the seasons change.

Dogs grow old and in the summer it still rains.

But I never thought you and I would ever be apart.

Babies cry at their mothers breast

and Sunday morning is still a day to be blessed

but what can I tell my broken heart?

Highway, highway

Where you go I don't know

Maybe closer to my dreams, maybe far away

Take me today

Highway, Highway

Give me wings to fly

It's going to be hard letting go of you

and living separate lives

The stars aren't diamonds and the moon's not blue

There's no gold at the end of the rainbow

There's no dream to hold on to, without you

The only thing that's real is this lonely road tonight

Maybe a change would be good for me

Who knows where this road might lead

Highway, Highway

Where you go I don't know

Maybe closer to my dreams, maybe far away

Take me today

Highway, Highway

Give me wings to fly

It's going to be hard letting go of you

and living separate lives

It's going to be hard letting go of you

and living separate lives.

(and here is Joe Cocker singing it).

Beautiful words

2011-01-05T18:47:00.008Z

There is no such thing as coincidences on this journey. My lovely and thoughtful friend Lizi gave me this book yesterday. It is no exaggeration to say that its words were the balm that soothed me as I struggled to fall asleep last night. Gibran's words on love and death are inspirational and comforting. He was an extremely talented Lebanese artist and writer who had his share of loss and grief.

My own family history has a strong connection to Gibran's part of the world, my parents spoke of visiting Lebanon on various occasions, with such happiness. I was born in Bahrain (my parents lived there for 15 years) and I can still hear my father speaking fondly about the men he befriended whilst there. Indeed, my first words were Arabic.

As I thanked Lizi for her gift, I shared that I had just - only the night before - found a new blog (http://www.susiehemingway.com/) who writes from her heart about her husband who tragically lost his fight against Multiple Myeloma last year. I was struck by how similar a couple of images she had uploaded onto her blog were to the picture adorning the cover of the book I'd been gifted with, and that one of Gibran's poems was read at her husband's funeral.

And it is no exaggeration to say that Susie's words, along with Gibran's, afforded me more comfort and balm. They touched me and reached out to me in a way that one can't explain, but that widow/ers "get".

Today, the second anniversary of Cliff having a stroke, I had hoped to prove to myself that I could work through it, however my body had other ideas. I awoke this morning to find that my cold had developed into something worse. Throat on fire - causing my voice to sound, somewhat disturbingly, like a man's. Hacking cough. Eyes, ears and nose all affected. So, I called my boss and went back to bed, sleeping away the day.

When I woke up again, I felt so painfully alone and logged onto Facebook and my blog. I read the comforting comments left for me, I saw a couple of people were reading my blog ... and that made me think, "I am not alone." I'm not. Not really. For he is always with me - in my heart - connected to my soul - or other worldly-wise.

My beautiful strong husband, who died so bravely. My baba, whose only thoughts and last words were for me, not himself, even as he was dying.

How lucky I am to have known the love that I have and from such a man.

Tomorrow, I hope I shall be well enough to return to work. Tonight, I hope that I will dream of him.

Inshallah.

This time two years ago

2011-01-04T23:59:00.006Z

This time two years ago we spent our last night together in bed. We were both restless, and kept waking up. We held each other all night, which was rare because generally upon falling asleep, as most couples do, we would sleep cuddled up, in our case, usually with his right arm slung over me. But that last night, we literally took it in turns to hold each other. All night long. I can remember looking at the back of him ... his broad shoulders, his neck, the way his hair rested on his neck. I lay there for a few minutes just letting my eyes drink him in. I remember the urge to just hold him tight and never let him go. Fear of losing him flitting across my mind for a moment.

As if we knew.

We were close enough to.

Him and me.

I would exchange the rest of my life, just for a taste of him, once again.

The following day, January 5th 2009 at 15h00, Cliff suffered a fatal stroke. And 12 hours later, he died. My world ended ... literally ... for he was my world.

From March 16th 1956, he was born in Mtarfa (Malta) at this hospital

and in the blink of an eye, on January 6th 2009, at 03h00 ... this magical man took his last breath.

From that to this:

In the blink of an eye.

Even if we'd had 60 years together ... it would never have been long enough.

New Year's Eve and New Year's Day

2011-01-02T21:23:00.025Z

I watched "A Christmas Vacation" - the Chevy Chase version, that Cliff and I watched faithfully every holidays. I sat alone in my PJ's, and it was there on the TV screen. But those sniggers and guffaws that used to accompany different scenes just didn't happen without him. It made me immeasurably sad to think that this would have been the year that our roof looked like this.

I got to Cliff's family at 22h00, had a swift drink and then found myself ushered into a cab by his nephew (Louis) to meet John (Cliff's youngest brother) at the "old men's club" as I call it ... it's a pub that his Dad and entire family have used over the years. I think we only went in there once or twice to meet them over the years, and if I am completely honest, it would never have figured in any of our NYE plans ... so for that reason alone, it was THE perfect venue to see NYE in. The landlord joined us for a smoke on the patio, and started talking about Cliff ... and I mentioned that I was his wife. He went so quiet - serious, and just looked in my eyes and shook my hand, holding on to it for a few seconds. He would not let me pay for another drink all night and made a point of kissing me on the cheek just after 00h00. John held me tight, squeezing me twice, and hard - for a minute and asked me if I was okay. I was. It just felt surreal, like any night, nothing special. Or perhaps I was all cried out, after a boo-a-thon of 48 hours.

And it was the right decision. I knew that the Pirate Club Party in London would have been too overwhelming. I'd have started looking for him, and more than likely my mind would have started playing tricks with my eyes. It would have got messy. Too similar to the Ministry of Sound's Millennium party (2001).

Louis told me that if I wanted to go anywhere else at all, to see our friends at various bars/clubs in the area, that he'd go with me ... but my intuition was telling me to stay put. So we did.

My mind was showing a private viewing of cine-movies, randomly:

Our NYE in the Dominican Republic (1999). Me dressed up in his favourite long black dress. The fireworks. The delectable Chilean bubbles we had with dinner. The novelty "tiara" I wore, supplied by the resort.

NYD - Dominican Republic - hair of the dog

Our first NYE together in 1994, spent with his family at an old acquaintances' ... where I got very mashed and being very loved up ... kept asking him to take me home ... and giggling and rolling around on the floor in my long elegant dress like a child, when he did ... being wrapped up in his arms and sinking. Sinking so deep that I would never own my heart again.

The NYE when we celebrated with Gary at his friend's party, having almost recovered from bird flu - which had wiped us out on Xmas morning.

NYE 2000 - which we saw in with many friends - old and new - in our large apartment overlooking the harbour, having mingled with the crowds at the bar below and the Escape Club. In the early hours of NYD 2001, it was just us three (Cliff, me and Hammer) ... still going strong, I was dancing to the music which was banging, and then we heard a couple arguing outside ... she screamed at her boyfriend, "you bastard, you've ruined my first Millennium" and Cliff hung out the window and shouted down, "what are you, a witch?". And being a bit confused at why couples argued ... because we didn't, not really. We only had about 3 or 4 serious explosions in 15 years.

The photo below shows me at my most childish, having been deprived of his undivided attention for too long during the evening ... and when I got it, a couple of friends tried to join in with the embrace and conversation ... hence my face. Never mind my face. Look at his. That's the face of the only person in the world who ever completely knew and understood me. Yes, even more than my mother. Or. Anyone.

The New Year's Day that we got engaged ... and I felt like I was living the dream because I was. I loved watching him that day, so full of happiness, excitement, pride and love. He didn't stop moving. I remember he disappeared for 5 minutes and reappeared with 6 bottles of bubbles and proceeded to pour everyone in the bar a glass. He kept back one bottle which he was swigging from and topping up my glass with. We went to a club en masse. I kept looking at my diamond, which was flashing in the club lights. And looking at him and smiling. I was so happy just looking at him. Being near him and being safe, so completely safe. The same ring I took off last year, along with my wedding ring ... then started wearing again - but on my middle finger.

The NYE, a few days after our dog died, when Cliff fixed 9 mo-fo fireworks together - to represent the nine years that our rottweiler lived (and enjoyed countless firework displays with us) - and set them off at midnight. And ignoring the front door, the phone, the texts. So that we could pay tribute to him together, alone. Holding each other and watching the fireworks through a veil of tears. Whispering, "Happy New Year Ham-Ham".

Our last NYE in 2008 which we spent entirely alone. A first. But I'm glad now. He'd suggested driving up to town (London) to watch the fireworks along the Thames, but I was nervous about the drive due to the car playing up ... so we stayed in. I wish now that I hadn't deprived him of that now, so sorely. We got dressed, I slapped on makeup, put the fireworks on our big TV screen, scrubbed up the lounge, Cliff made some delicious cocktails, and I ensured our glasses were primed ready to toast the new year in together. And he produced the last firework, a surprise - hidden out of view. I can still see it in the sky, still feel the explosions thudding through my heart. The huge hug and "HNY darling" on the threshold of the back door, then watching some cynical "I hate NYE" programme on TV. It was like we almost knew it was the last one. Quiet. Gentle. Tender. Cuddling lots.

Our first NYE in our home here. A few friends driving up from the coast to see the old year out with us. Music, a beautiful tree, drinks, Hammer loving it. Feeling so complete and happy. Superb fireworks courtesy of my beautiful magical man. I was a smug married.

The NYE when our niece (Esther) turned 21 and we joined his family on the coast to celebrate her birthday as well as the new year. Fireworks for Es and sleeping over.

Another NYE spent in Holland with his sister, niece and brother-in-law ... and dancing with Esther to celebrate her 16th birthday. Fireworks, getting quite squiffy and Cliff getting emotional. Es and I cuddling him ... and the three of us snuggled on the sofa very late. A feeling of protectiveness emanating from us both, and washing over him.

Another couple of NYE's here at home spent joyfully, always happy, safe and warm. Laughter. Close. Hope. The promise of another year together. His charisma and presence filling our home.

We were the best hosts. We selected a mix of music to accommodate everyone's tastes. Ensured they were fed and watered. Prepared food that everyone could "graze" on. Bought in their favourite branded drinks, mixers and filled up the ice buckets. Laughter and more laughter, shared memories. We excelled at hosting parties or nights "in" chez nous if I say so myself, but I know I'm not delusional at all - I was told this by our friends, time and time again. Our dog even revelled in it.

On NYE, I lit candles for Austin and Warren. I couldn't speak. There was no need as the words were swimming round in my heart.

I had imagined, earlier last year that I would have a tree over the holidays and bought this new ornament in Australia, to hang on the tree. I wasn't able to. But I didn't beat myself up about it. I did enjoy three other trees this year. But there was no way at all I was ready to have a tree at home. Not without him. It would have hurt me too much looking at it without him here.

I managed to avoid but two fireworks in the sky, whilst driving down on NYE. Thankfully. They have lost their lustre, yet maintain their ability to floor me in a nano-second.

I slept-over at Cliff's brother's, and felt empty the next morning, with an anxious feeling in my heart at having to return home alone. No matter. They insisted I stay another night, and I took the opportunity when they went out for a drink, to visit Roy and Shirley. I just needed - literally needed to see them, just as I need oxygen. It boosted me having a taste of my baba for a while.

Upon returning to family, I found them in good spirits, singing along (badly) to a home karaoke, and mixed myself a drink. Before leaving, John's girlfriend told me in a quiet moment, that she and John had played Springsteen early on New Year's Eve, and they had sat quietly on his couch, reading through the Eulogy that I wrote for Cliff. It touched me so much that they did that. And that she thought to tell me. A while later I found out that her first husband had died when their baby was 6 days old. I could barely speak. We stood there communicating with our eyes instead for a moment. So much was said though ... in the way that widows can without a word spoken aloud.

It began to hit me. The date had arrived. 1.1.11. He would not play an earthly part this year. Not breathe next to me in bed. Not hold me. Not this year. Not this decade. That stunned me. A decade? Never mind forever. Forever is such a big word and doesn't bear contemplation. I wondered how many more NYE's I'd have to tolerate before I would be released back into his care.

Then I attempted to get a grip. But it started to spiral down and down. I couldn't fight the music. Despite my repeated requests to play some more upbeat tunes, my pleas fell on deaf ears. It was a mix of music to slit your wrists to. I even tried sarcasm, saying that we may as well play non-stop fucking Leonard Cohen. On three occasions, I had to say in an almost panic-stricken / manic voice that I couldn't listen to the songs selected. But the third song actually got played, paused, played, rewound and replayed ... to explain that it was about someone dying. Seriously. I could feel my lip quivering, felt the tears burn me as they rose, felt that panic, my foot pumping up and down furiously whilst I focused on breathing and avoiding eye contact with anyone. Felt myself zone out. Disengage. Comforted myself with images of him flicking through my mind.

When this song was played, I didn't even ask for it to be turned off, opting instead to stay in the bathroom for the duration, trying to block it out.

I went quiet. I just wanted to come home. Just unbearably sad. Unspeakable pain engulfed me. My heart and soul crying out, almost screaming for him. The liberal amounts of vodka consumed meant that peeps started heading for bed. John left to head home. Louis started clearing up the mess we'd created and I suddenly realized it was three minutes to midnight, so I scrabbled around in my flight-bag for Cliff's third (and last) candle - for this season of sleepovers. I spoke to him softly while Louis was in the bathroom, telling him that I loved him and missed him. Said the words just as if he were there ... "Happy New Year darling", but also thanked him for everything he did, and for everything he taught me. Louis came back in to mop the floor while I washed up the glasses and ashtrays, and he put the radio on, the volume soft ... and on came this song. I smiled. I felt him. He always told me there is no such thing as coincidences. And there aren't. He was telling me he was with me and it was alright.

And today? I slept in, showered, ate brekkie, chatted and laughed with family before heading home via Vicki's. I just needed that injection of strength from seeing her, along with two cups of tea before leaving the coast, and was rewarded with a beautiful tip of a blood red sun sinking below the horizon. So fast. My breath was taken away by it just as he could and did. I said, "hello baby. I see you." All I could feel was love.

I've had tears since returning home. But I've also felt relief that the holidays are over for this year. I am proud of myself for facing it this year, and not reacting to NYE the way I did last year.

The next hurdle is January 4th, when Vicki has her mammogram to check that she is cancer-free. I won't allow myself to think about it until she's been. If I do, I shall vomit. Literally.

Then January the 5th at 15h00, it will be two years since Cliff had his stroke. Followed by a 12 hour period, on January 6th at 03h00 when he took his last breath.

It cannot. It will not. It can't be as bad as witnessing him take that last breath. The breath, that I knew on some primal level, was his very last. So sure in fact, that I held my own, and when I was proven right, I tried so hard to keep holding my own, so I could go with him. But my body became my worst enemy and would not allow me to do so.

Why? I don't know. I guess that until my time is up, I've got to battle on, make him proud of me and make the most of the good days and the laughter.

Happy New Year baba. I love you always. I miss you too much.

Ready or not - here comes 2011

2010-12-31T16:25:00.002Z

It's 16h30 here in the UK and I'm still sitting here in my PJs. I can't believe it's NYE. My second one without him.

I'm exhausted from crying solidly for the past two days and hoping that I've released enough pain to enable me to smile and particpate in the celebrations later today. I wish I was already in Australia because it'd already be over. But then I'd be nearer to the 6th January and the two year mark.

Bring on January 7th. And quick. That's when my body feels as though a fresh year has started. His death has overwritten the rules of time and the gregorian calendar. I've always been known to break rules. I was born for it.

Truth be told, I'd rather be with Deb and Kim this evening because they are having to withstand NYE as well as their wedding anniversary and the two year anniversary of Warren dying. I'm lighting candles for A and W and Cliff tonight. It just feels right. Besides Kim is flying and shan't be able to light one herself. This will ground me too ... remembering I'm not alone in this. There are so many - too many - of us.

After a long thought I decided not to attend the Pirate Club House music event in London. It would have been too much. It would have felt alien without him standing there talking to the men organizing it while I danced my butt off. I danced for him. And I don't feel strong enough to dance for him tonight. NOT YET.

Part of me wants to stay home alone but I'm terrified I'll react the same way I did a year ago. He'd not be happy with me. Today the silence in the house is deafening.

So I'm going to have a jacuzzi, drive down the coast and see in 2011 with his family.

Guess I ought to let them know ... along with a good friend of his. I need them tonight .... almost as much as I want and need him.

Here's to more peace and healing for us all next year. And here's to my beautiful strong husband. I miss you so much it's unspeakable.

Coming home

2010-12-29T17:26:00.002Z

I could feel it bubbling beneath the surface.

The wave building its colossal force.

From the moment I sat in the car to drive home.

I wondered if whilst I'd been away, Cliff and Hammer (our dog) had come home, painting the house with their magical Christmas decorations ... like bringing memories alive, vibrant ... and thus showing us three together, happy and having a magical time ... and that when they heard my car park on the drive, they'd have to remove the tree, the colours and become invisible once again. Then watch me break, unable to breath, let alone stand up once I shut the front door.

Grief will have its way. I could see those translucent faded water colours of Christmasses past through the waterfalls of tears that fell, only adding to the tsunami's volume.

My heart keeps breaking. Over and over again.

We used to love sitting in the dark, mesmerized by the lit Xmas tree, content together, feeling the magic, feeling love. Taking time to remember the simple things.

I sit in the darkness alone now and I can't find his light in the darkness. I know it's there but the darkness is crushing his light. I light candles to symbolize his light. But the brightest star pales next to him. Why can't I see it?

Catalysts

2010-12-28T02:18:00.007Z

How strange. Or perhaps not. Three things have been the catalysts, which have brought tears to the brim, and on one occasion, brought tears shamelessly over the brim, silently running down my face over the "season of sleepovers".

Here they are. They look fairly innocuous, don't they? Cute even. I guess what is strange, is the fact that all three of these catalysts were animated characters.

There is a very simple explanation ... all three of these characters have immense courage, they never give up, they keep their word, they do what is right, they overcome adversities (caused through no fault of their own) whilst remaining wonderful souls, and I would challenge anyone who claimed they were fortunate and privileged to find more than one (MAYBE two) people ... throughout their entire lifetime, who have such an enormous heart.

I found one. And I was loved passionately and truly by him for just over 15 years. I still can't believe he chose me. It still stops me in my tracks and stuns me ... that I was so so lucky, so privileged, that we had that "one true love in your lifetime thing". I was his one. He was my one. He told me more than he did any other person in this world. He shared more with me than he did any other. He gave himself wholly to me. And I did him. He told me how important it was that he told me everything ... that he had to, to guarantee we would remain soul-mates, that we would never part ... and he succeeded in his goal. I know he's dead. But we'll be together again, in the same "form" again ... when my fate decides, on a whim ... that it is the right time. Till then, I love him still, as I know he does me, our souls safely entwined. Always.

Only you.

A little fairy dust

2010-12-26T02:09:00.026Z

Tree three Boxing Day

Robert cooking our Christmas Dinner

Cliff's Xmas Eve Candle - representing the light he was and is in my life

Indoor Firework

Boxing Day - my godson's tatt - courtesy of Pink Floyd - true words

My beautiful god-daughter

"Hamba gahle ..."

My best g/f infecting me with magic

Xmas Eve - a welcoming sight at Cliff's brother's

Tree #1

Tree #2

My rock and confidante

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Right now I am sitting here in the quiet listening to my goddaughter breathing as she falls asleep and reflecting on how good it was to see Cliff's Dad, sister, brother and family. How quickly his closest friends replied to her messages of 'Merry Christmas' and how warmly. How she is so loved and so well ... and how her closest friends can indeed make the impossible happen - that she smiled, laughed and enjoyed the day, the food, the exchanging of gifts, and included Cliff in the celebrations without sinking into a deep dark place. What a massive step forward from last year when I thought I was losing my sanity. Thank you all so much for your love and laughter and thanks most of all to Cliff who taught me to never give up, to face my fears, to laugh through the hard times. It is true. To honour the dead is to have gratitude. It's not about grieving even if it is inescapable. I only fought the tears once today, watching Shrek. Don't ask. I'm just enjoying the magic while it lasts.

I hope the magic touches you too. Wishing you a peaceful holidays filled with light, love and heartfelt wishes that the memories of your holidays past sustain you through this one.

Sending the Lantern off with wishes for healing and courage for us all ... and to wish our soulmates a Merry Christmas and send our love to them

Out in the sticks

2010-12-24T11:21:00.005Z

I dropped Fred and Barney off at kennels this morning so that my season of sleepovers could begin, and went to head off home ... so that I could log on and work those last hours from there.

Uh-oh, the car was stuck in ice and snow.

The kennel owner fetched her Land Rover so she could tow me. I had to get the car manual to find out where the tow pin was, and where to fix it. While I was still reading the manual, she'd attached my car to hers. I wondered if there would come a day when I was as self-sufficient as she (a divorcee) was. Maybe. Maybe not. Cliff spoiled me so much, that I tend to look at myself as a useless Princess type of woman these days, and I hate myself for it.

The rope snapped a few times (she didn't have a proper tow-rope) and I got splattered in mud and snow when I tried to push it.

But it in the end, our efforts paid off. I made it onto good road, but most importantly, even though I kept thinking that if Cliff were here, he'd have pushed the car (on his own) and we'd have been delayed for less time than we were, instead of crying, I laughed and laughed and laughed. What a refreshing change of reaction. It actually felt good. The fact that I dealt with it, albeit with help, I did it!

Not only that, I didn't bat an eye when the car slid and slipped around further down the road, because in comparison, it was nothing.

While we were struggling to get my car back on road, a man drove past us. The kennel owner said in a loud voice, "I'm glad I'm on my own. I mean, I could get lucky and have a husband like that. NOT." I was howling with laughter, literally, even though she wasn't. I managed to howl with laughter even though I was wishing that Cliff were there.

Maybe I'm growing up a bit. Maybe.

I'll be logging off in half an hour ... no more work until January 4th. I need the break as I've worked so damn hard, but I'm a bit nervous about not working because it seems to define who I am these days. It keeps me sane and on the straight and narrow mostly.

So, in a little while, I'll be loading the car with gifts, my candles for Cliff and my overnight bag, onto the season of sleepovers. I'll be missing him deeply, but I know I shall also enjoy the company of family and friends. I will try to enjoy Christmas, for him.

Only you baba. Merry Christmas my beautiful husband. I shall wrap myself in the warmth and love of Christmasses past to get me through this one. For you.

The best gift I shall receive this Christmas

2010-12-21T09:34:00.002Z

I received this mail from an old friend's daughter the other day. It made my heart smile because I love to hear what other people's memories of Cliff are. It doesn't get any better than this.

Hello Boo, I've just been reading through your blog after seeing your post of it and I'm now a blubbering mess. I'm sorry I've not said it sooner but I'm sooo sorry for your loss, I know that it had been a long time since I had seen Cliff but there was a time in my life when both you and him were very important to me and helped me a lot through an extremely hard time. It's strange to think of him not being somewhere, I still remember him how I did when I was 15 - a huge giant of a man who could take on the world, I've never met 2 people who were a stronger more loving couple than you two and always wanted that for myself one day so I can't even begin to imagine how hard this past 2 years must have been for you and I just wanted to say I'm sorry he's gone and very sad that I will never get to see or speak to him again. Take care and I hope one day if ever I'm down your way again we could maybe meet for a coffee or something xxxxx

Wrapping Gifts

2010-12-20T17:05:00.003Z

I wrapped up all my gifts last night, and wrote out all my cards.

I used to love doing this Christmas stuff, but this year it felt more like work, a laborious time-consuming chore. If I'm brutally honest, it was painful.

That said, I'm glad I've done it. It'll be ok when I get down the coast and see family and friends.

But right now, being marooned, working at home again thanks to the icy roads, it's left a very bad taste in my mouth, or should I say, my heart?

When I finished, I went upstairs to run a bath and starting sobbing, speaking to Cliff, "it's not right. It's not right, there isn't one gift for you, not even a card."

We'd probably be buying our tree right now, and I'd be insisting on one that was too large, and he'd humour me. We'd be buying groceries in for the break. His gifts from me would go under the tree as soon as it was decorated. Mine from him would wait till Christmas Eve when he would go shopping ...

Still, I guess I've made progress on last year.

BUT. IT. HURTS. MORE. THIS. YEAR.

It's just sunk in to my frazzled and tired brain, that it's December 20th today ... which means ... it's Christmas this week. Yes really. I hadn't quite clicked how close it was.

And this year there will be no excitement at a minute past midnight (if that), when we settled by the tree, with a cocktail in hand, to exchange gifts. Both of us incredibly excited. No meats cooking. No decorations in the house ... erm, except the Santas that are still up from two years ago. And no, I still can't bear to take them down because he put them up. The picture above shows the one in the kitchen - this Santa climbs up and down the rope (well he would, except I disconnected the battery).

I opened two cards from my sister and niece, and all this Christmas confetti fell out - reindeer, xmas trees etc - when I ripped open the envelopes ... it was swirling around in the air, catching the light, and as I watched it land, I thought to myself cynically, "oh ok, the decorating's done for this year then").

I wanted to read Christmas cards that he'd given me over the years. I know exactly where they are, but I'm scared to start going through it all. I know it will rip my heart into smaller pieces.

So, instead, I put the snowglobe that he bought me three years ago on top of the TV. Now I have decorated. I sobbed when I shook it ... because he used to buy me these little things. Just because. Just because he thought of me when he was out and about, and he'd know I'd love something. Not because it cost a heap, but because it reminded me of being a kid.

I miss that. Having someone who thinks of you all the time. Maybe he still does. I know I do him.

Help for the Holidays

2010-12-19T15:41:00.014Z

Here are some useful articles, written by or recommended by, my favourite Counsellor, Marty <3

http://www.adec.org/AM/Template.cfm?Section=Resources_and_Links&Template=/CM/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=1422

http://www.wingsgrief.org/articles/griefDigest/tamingTheBlues.pdf

http://www.griefhealing.com/column-getting-through-the-holidays.htm

http://www.selfhealingexpressions.com/grief_rituals_holiday_memorial.shtml

http://www.beliefnet.com/Health/Health-Support/Grief-and-Loss/2000/12/Holidays-From-The-Heart.aspx?p=1

http://www.care-givers.com/DBArticles/pages/viewarticle.php?id=134

http://www.thegrievingheart.info/holidaytraditions.html

and some poems that you may identify with:

I will Light Candles this Christmas

by Howard Thurman

I will light Candles this Christmas;

Candles of joy despite all sadness,

Candles of hope where despair keeps watch,

Candles of courage for fears ever present,
Candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,

Candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,

Candles of love to inspire all my living,

Candles that will burn all the year long.

Christmas Memories

When snowflakes dance on winter winds

And colored lights shine Christmas cheer,
When children's laughter fills the air

And family gathers from far and near,

I try to celebrate with them

And not let my hurting show,

But the empty spaces within my heart,

At this season, seems to grow

'Till oftentimes it fills the days

And many nighttimes too,

With aching thoughts and memories

Of Christmases I spent with you.

Yes, memories do hurt, it's true

But I have this feeling too.
I'm so glad I hold these memories,

For with them I hold part of you.

So for now I'll wipe away the tears

And join with loved ones dear

To celebrate this Christmas time,

For I know that, in my heart, you're here.

One Little Candle

I lit a candle tonight, in honor of you

Remembering your life,

and all the times we'd been through.
Such a small little light the candle made

until I realized how much in darkness it lit the way.
All the tears I've cried in all my grief and pain

what a garden they grew,watered with human rain
I sometimes can't see beyond the moment,

in hopeless dispair

But then your memory sustains me,

in heartaches repair.
I can wait for the tomorrow,when my sorrows ease

Until then,I'll light this candle, and let my memories run free

Three Candles

2010-12-18T02:57:00.003Z

This year I am not locking myself away from the world and ignoring Christmas. I had to do that last year, because I still wasn't sure if he was dead or not. This year I know he's not coming back.

This year is going to be harder.

But, I'm pleased to say that I have actually bought gifts and cards, and opening the Christmas cards that are landing on my doormat are actually not hurting me this year. Last year, each one was like a stab to the heart. I couldn't open cards, read texts, wouldn't answer the phone or the door. I sat there, day after day, stunned, broken, confused and wondering if he would somehow magically come back for Christmas or the New Year.

I'm spending the holidays with Cliff's family and my friends ... and I am looking forward to having those sleepovers, being in good company, sharing good food, and most of all taking a rest from work (because it has been manic ... causing me to work till 11 at night on a few occasions recently).

I think it's distracted me from Christmas.

In a way, I am looking at it in terms of sleepovers and visiting people, sharing a turkey dinner ... I'm not really looking at it as Christmas. I just happen to be bearing gifts. But it's not really Christmas ... because my Christmas died with my beautiful husband.

So, over this season of sleepovers I am determined to laugh and have fun. He'd be disappointed in me otherwise.

And I will admit the holidays are here briefly, on three separate occasions ... when I light a candle on Christmas Eve, on Christmas Day and on New Year's Eve. I bought these last week, ready to take with me. But only briefly. And then the silent tears will fall. They will wash away Christmas and then the season of sleepovers can resume.

I stood by your bed - abridged by Boo

2010-12-04T13:42:00.008Z

I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.

I could see that you were crying,

You found it hard to sleep.

I whispered to you softly as you brushed away a tear,

"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast,

I watched you pour the tea,

You were thinking of the many times your hands reached out to me.

I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.

I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.

I gently put my hand on you, I smiled and said "it's me."

You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair.

I tried so hard to let you know that I was standing there.

It's possible for me to be so near you everyday.

To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."

You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew ...

In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is almost over...

I smile and watch you yawning and say "goodnight, I'll see you in the morning."

And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,

I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.

Be patient, live your journey out ... then come home to be with me

- Author Unknown

Just sitting beside me

2010-12-04T12:32:00.018Z

Sometimes I just sit and get lost staring at the globe on my blog. I wonder who the people are ... are they widow/ers? Do they find themselves nodding when they recognize their own actions or feelings in my words? Does reading my blog help them, or make them sadder? Are they regular visitors who leave comments, for I sometimes recognize names of places, the inhabitants of which I have met, and love today. Are they colleagues, friends, family or old school-friends? I try to imagine what these visitors go through, what their stories are ... and what adversities (other than grief) they are trying to overcome. I feel like diving into the map, meeting them, holding them, listening to them.

But most of all, I just feel this overwhelming gratitude that they are sitting beside me. That they care enough to visit and check in on me, that they return to follow my journey, and choose to walk beside me.

There are no words ... but to sit beside me, that means the world. It really does.

I can see clearly now

2010-12-04T10:39:00.010Z

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.

Grief is physical

2010-12-03T10:42:00.002Z

I was watching "Friends". The one where Monica and Richard are friends ... and she is teaching Richard how to cook lasagna, and he gets tomato on his shirt. She wipes it off his chest. And I can feel it.

His chest.

I literally gasp with the pain.

Oh god no, and I am doubled over with the sheer pain and loss overwhelming me.

Tom Selleck's chest is too similar to Cliff's. Cliff's was nicer, but still, it reminds me too much of what I am missing, of what I have lost, of how much I miss him.

Yellow Snow

2010-12-02T12:19:00.003Z

Elderly people were out walking in the snow.

I brought a smile to their faces, as I pleaded with Barney, "slow down Barney-Boo, please".

He didn't though, unless he stopped to make yellow snow.

I'm starting to enjoy the snow again, like I did when he was alive.

It really is beautiful (unless it's yellow).

It's snoo-snooing, baba. And I'm playing in it. Without you. But with you in my heart.

It's still snowing ... but I've chosen my attitude

2010-12-01T13:25:00.002Z

and you know what? It really is beautiful out there.

I just donned my coat, gloves, hat and Uggs and trundled up to the little shop to buy essentials. The snow is really deep, and crisp. The pavement (sidewalk) wasn't icy. The air did me good, as the office is shut, I've been stuck indoors for a couple of days almost.

It does make one feel a little marooned and cut off from the world, however, I can still work from home, which alleviates getting stressed about that ... and it's quite restful. I can't control the weather any more than I could control my husband dying or not ... it's humbling actually.

I've decided to take it as it comes. To enjoy it instead of getting worried about it. After all, what option do I have. May as well choose a positive attitude.

I think Barney may disappear in it in a couple of hours when we go for our walk. I'll try and take a photo.

It's snowing

2010-11-30T14:29:00.000Z

I hate the snow now.

It snowed the last morning Cliff was alive, and now ... every time it snows, those flakes just fill me with so much loss and pain.

I miss him beyond words. It is unspeakable.

Not to mention how vulnerable it makes me feel. I can't drive in it. I worry that if I walk in it I will fall and break an arm or a leg. Then what? How would I cope?

Life is so frightening now.

Firework

2010-11-28T17:36:00.001Z

thanks Jazzystar for sending me this song:

Firework - Katy Perry

he really was awesome, the brightest light in my world.

And he still is.

Tired of juggling

2010-11-28T16:23:00.003Z

This past working week, I have left the office at the following times:

19h00, 20h00, 21h00, 22h00, 15h30 respectively.

My boss asked me what I was still doing at work at 20h00 one evening, and I retorted cheekily with, "I could ask you the same question."

It just brings home how much Cliff supported me in such a fundamental way ... the reminders I had set in my phone, instead of having a "to do list" (because looking at all the chores at once is so overwhelming, I prefer to carve them up into more manageable chunks, i.e. one day at a time) were all bar one postponed till next week ... when hopefully, my working hours will be more earthly.

I had to drive home in temperatures of -5 degrees in my rear wheel drive on Friday night, and it terrified me. But I was a big girl and remembered Cliff's voice telling me, "don't worry about the person behind you ... if he wants to go faster, let him overtake." And that was the philosophy that I adopted for the journey. The full moon also urged me on ... I felt some comfort from it, hard to describe ... something to do with dragons and men that were fearless. I got home calmly and no tears were shed until I was safely inside my own front door.

It feels as though I've been juggling for so long. One man down. Something had to give, and this weekend it was my health. I got a sickness bug, and I swear it was due to being run down and exhausted. So, I dropped my balls. Cancelled all my commitments for the weekend, and stayed in my PJ's for the duration ... snoozing, watching TV, making plans (yes, can't stop myself) with realistic time lines this time ...

If I hadn't taken this time out, by Monday, I'd have been really ill. I know it's the right decision.

Yet, I still feel guilty.

Or, perhaps I am just worried ...

... that people won't understand. That they don't "get" that losing Cliff feels like yesterday to me. That they will misinterpret my appearance of coping as having "moved on", that they don't realize what it takes out of me to travel an hour, or clean my house, or ........

I'm not flaky. I just have my own limit. And I've reached it.

Yet, I still feel bad.

I had to cancel my brother-in-law coming to ascertain what he needs to do to finish off our home.

I didn't see my sister-in-law who was over from Holland

I haven't seen my other sister-in-law or my father-in-law since god knows when

I didn't visit my other brother-in-law either

I hope they know that it's not that I don't care, or that I don't want to.

Because I do.

But something had to give this weekend, otherwise everything would spiral out of control.

If I can keep work under control, this helps ... because my waking hours are mainly spent at work. If that goes awry, everything else is affected. I'm trying to stay stable health-wise, to not hit rock-bottom thinking about Christmas and the New Year ... for this year is going to be a lot harder. Simply because I understand that he is really dead now. I've made a plan for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day ... and will be with my Mayhew family, sleeping over at one brother-in-law's on Xmas Eve, visiting my sister-in-law Xmas Day morning en route to Xmas dinner with my best girlfriend. I thought about spending it with my family, but it's a much longer drive (three times longer) with a higher risk of driving through snow and ice ... and it means less time separated from my shitheads/dogs. AND, less time to get home should I feel the need to run home.

See? I'm even juggling plans, things that haven't happened yet. Weighing up pros and cons, guessing my emotions on the days ahead.

The Santa's from two years ago are still up in my home. I think I'll plug them in this year. It's a step forward. I'm aiming to put up a tree next year. Not ready for it yet.

It's exhausting doing this without him. The simplest things. Let alone the holidays.

I'm dog-tired.

I wish I was a dog ... then all I'd need to worry about was ... well, nothing.

Thank you, my beautiful strong husband, you gave me 15 years of that. Living in my lala-land, without a care in the world. How I wish for those halycon days.

Thanks

2010-11-25T03:42:00.000Z

What do I have to be thankful for?

The love I have
How much he loves me
that he chose me

my family and friends
my job and colleagues
my widow friends especially

Steve at BMW
my home

my heating and hot water
my neighbour climbing into the loft to turn the boiler back on
my neighbour cutting back the trees and bushes on my driveway without me even asking him to
that I don't have to keep driving thru that branch and hoping that it would snap off

my parents. I'd sooner have had them and lost them both by the time I was 32 than have different ones that were still alive. I know how perfectly wonderful they were

Cliff
Cliffy
did I mention my beautiful husband

that my eyesight hasn't been threatened by diabetes

my dogs

... although I wasn't thankful that my deaf dog Fred peed in my right Ugg boot while I spent half an hour in my jacuzzi

my jacuzzi
vodka

sending you light and love for Thanksgiving ... especially if you have an empty chair at your table today

Over ... till the next one

2010-11-23T00:22:00.002Z

It's hard to forget the date my beautiful Mom died, because she died from a stroke on November 22nd.

The same date that JFK died.

Albeit years apart.

I was 29 so that means she's been gone for 17 years.

Today I kept my head down and worked solidly and quietly (for me) from 08h00 till 18h00. Then went to Tesco ... had another cry before heading home ... and kept busy some more.

But you can't escape it, can you?

I didn't sleep at all last night and left home at 07h00 - it was still dark!! I don't normally wake up till 07h00. I'm tired physically yet my brain won't power down.

Off for a shower, then I might be a real hussy and take a vodka and book (and dogs) to bed.

I need a break from these bloody dates.

The only months that don't bring a significant date are:

April
June
August

that sucks!

I didn't really grieve for my Mom till I was with Cliff. Beforehand - in my previous relationship I couldn't let go, show weakness or lose it.

My beautiful strong husband healed me.

And today ... it sounds dreadful ... but it's true. I still miss others - mainly my parents, immensely. To lose anyone is devastating, especially family.

But losing everyone else, looking back, compared to this ... it seems like CHICKEN FEED in comparison. I know you shouldn't compare one loss against another. But it's hard not to today.

I love my Mom so so much. I was privileged to have her. I mean that. All my friends loved her too. We were all devastated - the whole family and many friends.

But he was my world, my heart, my soulmate. My compass and best friend. My lover. My future. All I ever wanted and dreamed of. My life. My raison d'être. I was with him every day.

Then not.

Really?

2010-11-22T02:20:00.002Z

How can it be?

Almost 2 years since I last touched the face I long to see?

It feels like yesterday ...

It feels like a millennium ago ...

It sometimes feels like perhaps I dreamed it all ...

Yet I can still feel him, dream of him, be so head over heels in love with him ...

still learn from him, listen to him, seek and hear his advice ...

still feel his love and strength

... yet feel completely alone

... still not really want to be here

... still feel the pain that I felt from the first second when we were wrenched apart

... yet find myself still standing most of the time, find myself shocked that I survived the end of my world?

How can it be?

How can it feel as though I have not moved forward in almost two years?

How can I let go ... of that which I love and adore and would die for?

Yet I convince myself I must, and I do ... little by little ...

but only for him. Every painful step, taken for him alone.

Only you.

A tin of biscuits and a kettle

2010-11-18T20:27:00.003Z

I've only been home an hour. It's bedtime already.

Because I had to sit in Tesco's car park for half an hour.

Because I was crying so hard I couldn't see to drive. I just had to let the wave of molten lead crawl over me, let it burn me until it was satisfied that it still had the power to bring me to my knees. Debilitate me on a whim. Wring my heart with a sadistic delight.

This morning my kettle broke. The kettle that he used to make me tea with every morning. I know it's just a thing. But it upset me so. So while I waited for my diabetes meds I had to choose a new one. Then I felt such an irritating itch on my neck and touched the necklace that holds his ashes near my heart and it came off. The clasp had broken so I calmly put it in my purse and realized how lucky I'd been not to lose it.

Picking up groceries, I couldn't avoid all the santas, Christmas food, decorations - each of them stabbing me in the heart. A death of a thousand cuts. Translucent faded water colours of him selecting meats, cheeses and goodies. I had to walk slowly, purposefully, as I couldn't remember what I needed. It took an age.

Torture.

Then I saw the tin of biscuits. You know. The "seasonal" ones. And I just had to get out of there. And fast. He'd always buy 3 tins straight after Xmas. Delicious and far cheaper. In 15 years he never once said "no" to me ... but he wouldn't pay the pre Xmas price tag and I'd look forward to this treat every December 27th.

Then I struggled to bring the shopping in. In the dark rain. The dogs helped. Not. Brought the bin back onto the drive. He always did that. Looked at the mail. Junk and ... an electricity meter card request. Cue more sobs.

I'm beyond exhausted. Work is coming at me at breakneck speed as are deadlines. I'm hormonal too. I'm run down. And I've got this tsunami coming at me. I can't fight it. This Xmas is going to hit me even harder than the first. For I know now that he's never going to buy those biscuits again. Last year I wasn't sure. This would have been the year that he covered the roof in white fairy lights. Think Chevy Chase. The reality is that his friend still hasn't returned to put on the last 20 roof tiles - a year on.

Tomorrow I have an eye test to ensure I'm not going blind from diabetes. I'm petrified. I don't mind dying but I don't want to go blind. Seriously. I'm not supposed to drive for a couple of hours after they put on the eye drops but what else can I do? I don't have a support network where I live.

I'm tired. I'm tired of this battle. Every single day. And for what?

I miss him. I want him. I need him. I love him.

Doing this alone is so tiring, so frightening at times.

On the edge

2010-11-16T21:33:00.000Z

My boiler decided to turn itself off during the night.

On the coldest night of the year so far.

So the shower turned cold as I applied shampoo.

Then we got stuck in a traffic jam for an hour.

I could feel myself starting to feel panicky and insecure.

It doesn't take a lot these days.

I fucking hate asking for help.

So I haven't.

So I'm really cold.

I tried turning on the heating and water but it wouldn't light, at which point I started crying.

Then i screamed at Cliff, went hysterical and shouted at him more.

Why the fuck did you leave me here? I fucking HATE you for leaving me.

How could I have said that to him?

I said I was sorry but I feel devastated for saying it. I didn't mean it baba. I an still inconsolable shedding big fat hot tears of heartbreak.

I don't want to ask for help.

I want my beautiful husband back.

He should be here to fix it

So I'm sitting here ... stubborn ... Wrapped in two blankets.

I can take stubborn to a new level.

When my washing machine broke it took me a month to aak for help. I rediscovered so many clothes. I bought new ones. I handwashed.

But in the end I had to give in

so. Tomorrow. I will ask.

Stupid bitch.

Stubborn.

I miss you baba.