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All is not as it seems

Small candle
Just as a light starts to shine, the darkness of grief descends once again

I had been warned that the second year of grieving could be worse than the first. I did not believe this as overall these last eleven months after the first anniversary of Michael’s death have been ok, and sometimes more than ok, with moments of real joy and sense of achievement and progress outweighing the dark moments.

But then I had not factored in the Christmas season, never my favourite before Michael died, so if I could confine it to Room 101 now I would. But it seems there’s no escaping the general atmosphere of jollity attached to December, believe me I’ve tried, it’s hard work.

It’s not that I’m a Scrooge but I have for quite a few years now had a feeling that all the excesses and seemingly hedonistic gift giving was so out of step with the reality of a huge proportion of the world’s population, it felt somewhat false and wrong.

But I digress…

I have been busy living and helping my children thrive rather than merely existing and in that process the grieving got pushed to one side, “don’t have time for that” I kind of said to myself.

As time has started to draw nearer to Michael’s second anniversary I have the inevitable hump of Christmas and New Year’s Eve (also Michael’s birthday, he would have been 58 this year) to get over. I am finding that with more time and a clearer mind to reflect, the grief monster has once again reared its head, grabbing me by the throat and pinned me to the wall with a very clear message: “you will grieve, you will feel this pain, because you cannot run away from it forever”.

So I find myself unable to function and not wanting to make decisions, wanting to simply wave some kind of magic wand to make this month disappear from the calendar, wanting to hide, as any form of human contact right now is a painful reminder of the man whom I loved, still love and who is no longer here.

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Unexpected, unsolicited, relentless…

I wrote this post on 29 January 2017, but never published it, it was too raw, too difficult for me to read back, let alone to allow it to be read by people out there in the ether of the online world.  I have done a lot of personal healing and growing since this very bleak day earlier this year, so now I feel I am ready to let it go and allow others to see the raw emotions that made me write it in the first place.

It was spring and something changed; I had survived my first winter in a foreign land. Cold like I’d never experienced in my life, the kind that gets inside your bones and sinews and no matter what you do it never leaves you. The culture shock! I spoke the language but somehow couldn’t communicate with people, words seemed to have a different meaning to the one assigned to them in the dictionary. Sarcasm, irony and mockery were the order of the day but it made understanding people’s intentions nigh on impossible, were they being friendly or trying to take advantage of me? I was working so hard just to keep the wolf away, money was tight (sometimes not enough to feed myself) and yet I knew that if I could hang on for a little longer I would make it a success. I hadn’t migrated nearly five thousand miles searching for a better life just to flounder at the first hurdle.

We met one Sunday morning, I had travelled from up north to London; for the first time since arriving in this country I had the opportunity to see the big city and marvel at its amazing buildings new and old and bear witness to what every migrant must feel when faced with its famous streets, that indeed they are paved in gold! Oh the opportunities!

My friend, your friend, our friend, had arranged a meet up for breakfast at your local cafe, where we were to meet you and his sister.  I assumed you and our friend’s sister were a couple, so was taken aback when your attention seemed to be solely directed at me and my daughter, but hey I was in a foreign land and when in Rome do as the romans. So I reciprocated by directing all my attention, out of politeness, to you, ignoring our mutual friend and his sister. That didn’t go down very well with our friend, so instead of building bridges I had burnt one. Of course I didn’t realise at the time that our friend’s interest in me was more than for friendship, I was naive.

Unexpected, unsolicited, relentless… you made your way into my life and took a keen interest in everything I did, planned and dreamt of. I had no idea what your intentions were and had far too much turmoil in my personal life to really pay attention, so I just dismissed your efforts. I didn’t know where admiration ended and mockery started, so I remained distant. But you didn’t give up, nowadays your behaviour would be considered stalking, back then it was just sweet, I was naive.

I was not looking for a relationship, I was already in one which I wanted desperately to end. So no jumping out of the pan and straight into the fire, I said to myself. But you wouldn’t give up, it was so hard for me not to give in. And when I did, your love was beautiful, gentle, tender, all-consuming, loyal; I was not used to it, until that point in my life love had been hurtful, deceiving, betraying. Your kind of love made me feel scared because it was so different, unexpected, unsolicited, relentless.

You showed me how to be kind to myself, how to accept the kindness of others, you brought calm to my soul and held my heart safely in your hands. You made me happy. You made my world complete. You made me a better person and because of your love I was able to love you back in the same beautiful, gentle, tender, all-costuming and loyal way you loved me.

And so we started our lives together, enjoying each other’s quirks, making each other stronger, making plans, falling in love.  You were in a hurry, you said, you were not getting any younger and until you found me you never thought you were going to marry or have a family; you were so happy to be a father to my daughter and proclaimed that I was the best mother you had ever met. Marriage, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us apart, we promised; followed swiftly by two beautiful children and making our forever home together, I still hungry for adventure, you content with allowing me space to follow my dreams, because as you said, yours had come true the day we met.

And so fifteen years of domesticity, every day hum drum, paying the bills, bringing up the children, “who is doing the shopping this week?”, “shall I cook tonight?”, “it’s in the calendar, so it’s happening”, just trying our best to keep the love alive.

And then everything changed, dammed blasted alien took hold of you, unexpected, unsolicited, relentless, invading your body and your soul. It attempted to destroy everything we had worked so hard to build together. It really did try its hardest to get in between us, and I had to put all my strength into reminding you of our sweet, tender, all-consuming love; our promise was tested, oh we were tested! And just as we thought there could be no more tests, we had shown our promise to be as strong as iron, the same invading alien took hold of my body. It devastated you, as you knew the alien was robbing you of your life and your strength at the very moment when I needed to be cared for, yet you couldn’t be there for me. Your body was ravaged, where once stood a strong, athletic, powerful man, the alien consumed you, leaving a paralysed mumbling wreck, taking you away from me, from your children, from your friends, to a land where we are not allowed to visit

And now you’re no longer here, I try so hard to hold on to the memories; eighteen years and yet all I can see is how everything changed.

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Lurch

I lurch from certainty to doubt
From all consuming passion
to trying to work out
Is this real?
Or is my head in the clouds?

I didn’t choose bravery 

I belong to two private online forums, one for people diagnosed with cancer in their 20s, 30s and 40s, Shine Cancer Support, the other for people aged under 50 who are grieving the death of their partner, WAY Widowed and Young.

I’m yet to find one online forum combining both criteria, young cancer patient and young widow; I’m sure I’m not the only one going through the same circumstances but perhaps it would be too sad to find myself in an even smaller minority. [UPDATE September 2017]  I have since discovered that at least seven other young widows are going or have undergone cancer treatment, either whilst caring for their dying husband or since windowing…an exclusive club indeed.

In these forums we share our experiences in a safe, supportive environment with other people who are going through similar circumstances in their lives, without prejudices or fear of recrimination. It is remarkable how similar some of the discussions are in both forums. One that comes up often, and which seems to leave a lot of us riling, is people in general telling us how brave we are for carrying on with our lives, for still being able to function and I guess for not “having lost the plot”.

I want to dispel a myth, I didn’t choose bravery. The circumstances of my life just happened, there was no plan, heck who would plan such a life? Anyway, there was a time when I did have a neat little plan, an expectation which did not turn out as I’d thought.

But I digress, back to bravery.

No I am not brave.

Brave are the refugees fleeing war-torn countries, risking life and limb in the hope they will carve out a better life for their families in a far away land. Brave are the doctors and nurses who risk their health to care for sick people wherever their vocation takes them. Brave are those who speak out against injustice whichever form it takes.

I am sure there are many more worthy examples of bravery that you can think of.

No, I am not brave.

I continue with life as best I can. It is not perfect, and if ever you see me and have the compulsion to say “you are doing so well!”, please know it is just a facade, an illusion, the mask that I must wear everyday to make sure I am not left behind, because life still goes on. This is the performance I have become accustomed to so that I can make it through each day. As the saying goes, fake it ’till you make it.

This does not mean I never take the mask off or that I don’t stop performing, oh I do, everyday! And when I do, those around me get to see how brave really I am not. But I have had to plough through because there is no choice, because the world does not stop, because not carrying on would be cowardice, and that’s definitely a label I am not willing to carry.