I thought I had better document what sort of festive period I have had. Christmas Day was pleasant, spent with two of my offspring we had good food, good wine and board games. Boxing Day was a different story. Years of going to football matches whilst my children spent the day with their father, turkey curry and pleasing ourselves. I started crying lunchtime and didn't really stop until I woke Monday 30th. I just kept missing Tall.
As the title says today is New Year's Eve. I've been to give a blood donation, only the second time this year, the last one being 2nd January. I felt a bit guilty, but then remembered that many people don't even bother and I've had a bit of a difficult year, never mind that it takes me an hour each way on public transport for something that takes ten minutes max.
As I was walking from the bus stop I remembered last year's "celebrations". Tall and I clinging to each other, me in tears as we both knew it was to be our last. People talk of firsts and they are right they are often very difficult, yet ironically I do not fear this evening, my first without him as it cannot be as awful as last year.
It is also the end of a decade, a decade that began with a cancer diagnosis that ultimately ended Tall's life, even if it was as a result of the treatment. The grief for Tall still weighs heavy on my heart, but I have to grab hold of the new decade and make it into something that is memorable for different reasons. The cancer decade is over, the teens have gone and the twenties approach.
Happy New Year and I hope the twenties are kind to us all.
Tuesday 31 December 2019
Wednesday 18 December 2019
Tuesday 17 December 2019
Monday 16 December 2019
Sunday 15 December 2019
Saturday 14 December 2019
Friday 13 December 2019
Thursday 12 December 2019
Wednesday 11 December 2019
Tuesday 10 December 2019
December 10th
By yesterday afternoon all I wanted to do was have a temper tantrum. A proper terrible twos stamp, scream, cry and lie on the floor with limbs flailing tantrum. I posted this on FB and I was surprised by how many people said "Do It" even if they added a lol. I posted my surprise that anyone would approve and a friend from school who has had enough grief of her own replied thus:
Think about why toddlers scream and stamp. They feel sad and frustrated, not understanding what’s happening to them. I reckon they just have tantrums because they’re people, not because they’re children. They haven’t yet learned to pretend they’re ok. So as adults, when we’re grieving, don’t we deserve an outlet?
It sums things up precisely, I am sad and frustrated and I don't know what is happening. So I might not have screamed (I do have neighbours) but I did lie on the floor and bang my fists and kick and cry, and today I feel a little better.
Billy's idea of a ball pit.
Think about why toddlers scream and stamp. They feel sad and frustrated, not understanding what’s happening to them. I reckon they just have tantrums because they’re people, not because they’re children. They haven’t yet learned to pretend they’re ok. So as adults, when we’re grieving, don’t we deserve an outlet?
It sums things up precisely, I am sad and frustrated and I don't know what is happening. So I might not have screamed (I do have neighbours) but I did lie on the floor and bang my fists and kick and cry, and today I feel a little better.
Billy's idea of a ball pit.
Monday 9 December 2019
December 9th
After a bad night, sleep broken by dreams that had me in tears, I am tired. The "happy families" in all the television adverts are starting to get to me, and I am very aware of my loneliness right now. Still, there's nothing I can do about it except ride the wave of continuing grief.
I said decorate the tree Billy, not climb it!
I said decorate the tree Billy, not climb it!
Sunday 8 December 2019
December 8th
As I sit here, feeling anxious, I wonder what I can do to change things. Yesterday I abandoned my trolley of shopping at the checkouts because the till I was already at told me I had to go to another as he was closing. I had been there before it was announced and the queues for the two tills still open stretched up the aisles. I couldn't face it, I just wanted to come home. Things are really bad mentally at the moment.
Billy is playing hide and seek with the X-moose.
I found six of them in the attic yesterday, one for each child and one for a very dear friend who died December 2002.
Billy is playing hide and seek with the X-moose.
I found six of them in the attic yesterday, one for each child and one for a very dear friend who died December 2002.
Saturday 7 December 2019
December 7th
The cloud seems hard to shift this time. Anger keeps bubbling to the surface, anger about everything from the dogs dirty paws to dropping flour on the floor. Anger that the last Christmas photo of me and Tall has him looking so very ill, why didn't I get someone to take a photo of us looking festive, happy and healthy.
With a festive soap dispenser, even Billy wants to wash his hands!
With a festive soap dispenser, even Billy wants to wash his hands!
Friday 6 December 2019
Thursday 5 December 2019
December 5th
The cloud is still sitting above my head. Struggling to see the point of it all. I have reached out to family and to friends, but they all seem to be busy with their own lives. Hopefully something will happen to chase the cloud away soon.
Get down from there Billy!!!
No need to look so snug!
Get down from there Billy!!!
No need to look so snug!
Wednesday 4 December 2019
December 4th
Before I share today's Advent Adventure with you, I first want to share my mood. This morning a cloud of sadness hangs over me, it started yesterday. I know exactly what triggered it and I also know that it will pass. That is something I have learnt over the last six and a half months, that I will have days when the tears seem endless and the pain of loss is sharp, but those days don't last forever. There will be days when a photo of a puppy with blue eyes and an almost quizzical expression will make me smile and not make me sad. Today I miss Tall.
Meanwhile Christmas preparations continue.
Billy insisted we start wrapping the presents.
Meanwhile Christmas preparations continue.
Billy insisted we start wrapping the presents.
Tuesday 3 December 2019
Monday 2 December 2019
Sunday 1 December 2019
Advent Adventures 2019
Most of you aren't followers on Instagram, so I thought I would share Billy Red Boots' Advent Adventures here too. Billy Red Boots belongs to my granddaughter, he arrived last year after a visit to see Santa.
Now Billy Red Boots likes to be involved in anything I am doing that is Christmas related. He loves Christmas, so much so, that he often gets himself into mischief.
This morning he decided he just had to "help" cut paper for the paper chains. Luckily he didn't lose any fingers in the guillotine!
Now Billy Red Boots likes to be involved in anything I am doing that is Christmas related. He loves Christmas, so much so, that he often gets himself into mischief.
This morning he decided he just had to "help" cut paper for the paper chains. Luckily he didn't lose any fingers in the guillotine!
Friday 29 November 2019
Treacle toes.
Just call me Treacle Toes. As the weather turns and the days get shorter I look back at summer and realise I missed it. I have no memory of sunny days, of barbecues or days at the seaside. My summer was very much doom and gloom, not surprising given the circumstances. I try and work out what I have been doing the last six months and I realise my feet have been in treacle. I might have bought and wrapped all my Christmas presents, but I haven't dealt with the things that are related to Tall. It is only today that I contacted the Baggies to find out where the photographs taken on his last visit might be found. I should have contacted them straight away, but the mere mention of the name had me in tears. It still makes me cry, but I am at least able to function through those tears now.
There are still so many things that I need to sort out, everyone says to take my time, and in some ways they are right, I have to be careful I don't throw the baby out with the bath water. There are things around me that at the moment upset me greatly, opening the wardrobe to his football shirts and aftershave being just some of them. I am considering getting a special memory box, something I know others have used for their loved one. I can fill it will all the things that mean so much, the things I cannot bring myself to throw away like a scrap of paper with his handwriting on or the card wallet he used. When it is my children's turn to clear away my things they can simply take it straight to the tip.
Alas even getting a box seems to be something I keep putting off. I guess that sums up why I am Treacle Toes, I am still trying to put off accepting, truly deep down accepting, that Tall will never, ever, be around to wear his Baggies top or spray himself in Joop.
There are still so many things that I need to sort out, everyone says to take my time, and in some ways they are right, I have to be careful I don't throw the baby out with the bath water. There are things around me that at the moment upset me greatly, opening the wardrobe to his football shirts and aftershave being just some of them. I am considering getting a special memory box, something I know others have used for their loved one. I can fill it will all the things that mean so much, the things I cannot bring myself to throw away like a scrap of paper with his handwriting on or the card wallet he used. When it is my children's turn to clear away my things they can simply take it straight to the tip.
Alas even getting a box seems to be something I keep putting off. I guess that sums up why I am Treacle Toes, I am still trying to put off accepting, truly deep down accepting, that Tall will never, ever, be around to wear his Baggies top or spray himself in Joop.
Sunday 24 November 2019
What is my life for?
Anyone who has seen my FB post will know that I am currently struggling without Tall. Life without him is so empty and my existence seems pointless. There is a sense in which I don't want to live without him, I don't want time to heal the wound, to be able to move on. No doubt this sense of not wanting to live will pass, there will be people who on reading of my state of mind are furious with my lack of wanting to live. I have to state that I have absolutely no thoughts of taking my own life, I'm not suicidal. I'm not going to walk out in front of a bus or jump from a bridge. What I am doing is ignoring all the advice from "experts" about what to eat and what to drink, it's lucky that cigarettes are so expensive now or I would probably have started smoking again. I'm on a mission of self-destruction. I know it is wrong of me, but I can't stop myself. I can't even pretend that Tall would be disapproving, he too in the past had been on the same mission, he wasn't someone who over ate, but he was certainly smoking and drinking far too much when I met him.
I have been trying to work out why I am struggling so badly again. It isn't Christmas as people think, I knew that last Christmas was going to be just that, our last Christmas and Tall had known it too. I am actually looking forward to the lights and tinsel. I have wondered if it is because he has been in my dreams recently, there as someone I am talking to, asking advice from and it feels real. Then when I wake I remember he isn't here. I see the empty pillow and the tears begin. There is a sense that I have been locking away my grief, I keep busy and "celebrate" all the things I can do like wear perfume again and close the windows. But the truth is I would happily never wear perfume again and live with all the windows and doors open if I could have him back.
I know that with time my grief will change, it has changed. I know that I will find my way through it, just as so many have before me. I guess as someone who likes to be in control of her own life, not having a time frame is at best frustrating, and set backs like this weekend make me feel a failure. I have to try and remember that feeling so lost just proves how much I loved him, we never failed in how much we loved each other.
I have been trying to work out why I am struggling so badly again. It isn't Christmas as people think, I knew that last Christmas was going to be just that, our last Christmas and Tall had known it too. I am actually looking forward to the lights and tinsel. I have wondered if it is because he has been in my dreams recently, there as someone I am talking to, asking advice from and it feels real. Then when I wake I remember he isn't here. I see the empty pillow and the tears begin. There is a sense that I have been locking away my grief, I keep busy and "celebrate" all the things I can do like wear perfume again and close the windows. But the truth is I would happily never wear perfume again and live with all the windows and doors open if I could have him back.
I know that with time my grief will change, it has changed. I know that I will find my way through it, just as so many have before me. I guess as someone who likes to be in control of her own life, not having a time frame is at best frustrating, and set backs like this weekend make me feel a failure. I have to try and remember that feeling so lost just proves how much I loved him, we never failed in how much we loved each other.
Wednesday 13 November 2019
Six months
It was around this time last year that Tall realised he wasn't ever going to get any better health wise, in fact he was only going to get worse. The cold weather was bringing on very severe bouts of COPD and some days he could hardly breathe. He knew he had to start getting his affairs in order, and we started to discuss what would happen to me when he was gone.
Tall was optimistic about my future. He had so much faith in my ability to cope and would often say how as a strong person I would cope without him. He made plans for me. He would tell me that I needed to continue with the buying and selling, that there were people who would help me. He would tell me I needed to find love again, he couldn't bear the thought of me being alone, he said I had so much to give to someone and that they would be lucky to have me. In his head before he died he had my future mapped out and that gave him comfort, I'm glad that he died in peace.
Tall couldn't have known that the people he was convinced would help me would disappoint and betray him. We couldn't predict how I would be feeling six months on from his death, still lost without a guiding hand. Overly anxious about leaving Toni for more than a few hours at a time, trapped.
I read something recently that struck a chord, "now is the time to find out who you are." I went from unwanted daughter (who caused the marriage break-up) to wife and mom, to single mom of five, to soulmate and still mom to five, four, three, two, one, zero. By the time the last one had moved out I was soulmate and carer. Now I am a widow, but I am also me. But who am I? I am still mom and also anneanne (Turkish for grandmother), but those roles are infrequent, which isn't a bad thing, it means my offspring are making their own way in the world. So after six months of being the widow it is time I started to try and find out who the Good Cheer Pixie is deep down. She wants to be something that is impossible of course, Tall's sidekick, so it could be a long road of discovery. I hope that people are willing to offer me helpful advice along the way.
Thursday 7 November 2019
Best Friend
After the anger of Monday I spent Tuesday crying. From the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep I cried pretty much constantly. I cried because I have lost my moral compass, Tall would guide me when I struggled with what to do or say to my children, he would reassure me that my mother was wrong and talk me down from self hatred. So many people take for granted that second opinion, the benefit of another person's point of view, whether it is from a parent or a partner. It is so hard when you have no one, and I do mean no one, to turn to. Every decision is mine alone. Recently Emma Watson (Hermione in Harry Potter) said in the press that she is "self partnered". I admire and applaud her ability to be single and happy, but I can't imagine she never asks anyone else for their point of view. I don't mind being self-partnered, but I hate being the only person on my planet.
Yesterday I attended what I thought was the first of six bereavement counselling sessions, provided by Relate. It turned out I was wrong, it was merely a pre-assessment meeting. As you can imagine, given that that was practically the first thing that was said to me, the session didn't start to well as I sarcastically said through my tears that as I had waited six months already, what was another six. Still, we talked for nearly an hour, so that it could be worked out where I could be helped. I talked about how wonderful our relationship had been. How caring and loving Tall had been. About how much fun he was before he became really ill and about how given he was the life and soul of any party, that being stuck in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank was too much for him to bear. I cried a lot and I laughed too as I talked about the black humour we had used to get us through.
Today I feel almost numb. The world continues to turn whilst I just sit and stare out of the window, wondering why everyone else is getting on with life without Tall. This is hard to put down in words, but it feels like everyone should acknowledge his loss much more than they do. It is possible they just don't say it to me in case they upset me, or it is simply that people don't miss him at all.
The counsellor's parting words to me were that I was to treat myself as I would treat my best friend. Be kind to myself, give myself time and stop with the self-hatred, even if it is so deeply ingrained, it is my default setting.
My best friend Tall always used to say the same thing.
Yesterday I attended what I thought was the first of six bereavement counselling sessions, provided by Relate. It turned out I was wrong, it was merely a pre-assessment meeting. As you can imagine, given that that was practically the first thing that was said to me, the session didn't start to well as I sarcastically said through my tears that as I had waited six months already, what was another six. Still, we talked for nearly an hour, so that it could be worked out where I could be helped. I talked about how wonderful our relationship had been. How caring and loving Tall had been. About how much fun he was before he became really ill and about how given he was the life and soul of any party, that being stuck in a wheelchair with an oxygen tank was too much for him to bear. I cried a lot and I laughed too as I talked about the black humour we had used to get us through.
Today I feel almost numb. The world continues to turn whilst I just sit and stare out of the window, wondering why everyone else is getting on with life without Tall. This is hard to put down in words, but it feels like everyone should acknowledge his loss much more than they do. It is possible they just don't say it to me in case they upset me, or it is simply that people don't miss him at all.
The counsellor's parting words to me were that I was to treat myself as I would treat my best friend. Be kind to myself, give myself time and stop with the self-hatred, even if it is so deeply ingrained, it is my default setting.
My best friend Tall always used to say the same thing.
Monday 4 November 2019
Anger
Finally after almost six months I have been offered grief counselling. My appointment is Wednesday and I am both keen and apprehensive at the same time. My emotions are generally all over the place again at the moment, and can change hourly.
My son and his ex-girlfriend (they are still on good terms) were up for a christening over the weekend. I needed a few things so Saturday afternoon they drove me to the shops. All seemed to be going well until I came to buy milk. They had large bottles and small bottles, but none of the size I usually buy. I picked up a small one and casually said I'd have to buy more in a couple of days. A. said why not get the big one and I replied there was no point as it would go off before I could finish it and I burst into tears. "It's just me now. I'm such a sad sack" I blubbered. A. is a wonderful woman (I wanted to say girl, but of course that's not appropriate in this day and age) and was and is incredibly supportive. She tried her best to console me, but I was stuck in that mood the rest of the day.
Yesterday was better and I only shed a couple of tears about Tall. This morning I awoke in a pit of self-pity and loathing. It is difficult to explain why, I never really understand myself where such self-loathing comes from. It took me two hours to talk myself out of it and manage to get out of bed. Had Tall been here, he would have managed it in less than fifteen minutes. Which leads me to anger. Some days I am so angry with him. Angry that he has left me to cope with everything. Angry at the trees he (we) planted because I have to deal with the pruning and leaf litter. Angry with the greenhouse he insisted in buying before he died, he wanted to leave me with something I would enjoy, and now all it does is anger me because it isn't him. Angry about almost everything in house and garden that he instigated. I don't want to be angry, but I just can't stop it.
I am hoping that the counselling will help, that I will be able to continue to move forward. I will always miss him, Tall was my soulmate and I have lost a piece of myself. I will never be able to get that piece back, I just want to be able to live without it, without anger and constant tears.
My son and his ex-girlfriend (they are still on good terms) were up for a christening over the weekend. I needed a few things so Saturday afternoon they drove me to the shops. All seemed to be going well until I came to buy milk. They had large bottles and small bottles, but none of the size I usually buy. I picked up a small one and casually said I'd have to buy more in a couple of days. A. said why not get the big one and I replied there was no point as it would go off before I could finish it and I burst into tears. "It's just me now. I'm such a sad sack" I blubbered. A. is a wonderful woman (I wanted to say girl, but of course that's not appropriate in this day and age) and was and is incredibly supportive. She tried her best to console me, but I was stuck in that mood the rest of the day.
Yesterday was better and I only shed a couple of tears about Tall. This morning I awoke in a pit of self-pity and loathing. It is difficult to explain why, I never really understand myself where such self-loathing comes from. It took me two hours to talk myself out of it and manage to get out of bed. Had Tall been here, he would have managed it in less than fifteen minutes. Which leads me to anger. Some days I am so angry with him. Angry that he has left me to cope with everything. Angry at the trees he (we) planted because I have to deal with the pruning and leaf litter. Angry with the greenhouse he insisted in buying before he died, he wanted to leave me with something I would enjoy, and now all it does is anger me because it isn't him. Angry about almost everything in house and garden that he instigated. I don't want to be angry, but I just can't stop it.
I am hoping that the counselling will help, that I will be able to continue to move forward. I will always miss him, Tall was my soulmate and I have lost a piece of myself. I will never be able to get that piece back, I just want to be able to live without it, without anger and constant tears.
Friday 25 October 2019
Damsel in distress
This blog is a place to rant and rave, a place to vent. If anything I say offends or upsets, I can only apologise in advance, it isn't my intention to hurt anyone's feelings.
After years of feminist rhetoric I am supposed to say "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle", but the fact is that right now I need a man. If the truth be told I actually need someone, anyone or anything that can help me with the practicalities around the house. I can paint a wall, and at a push a door, but skirting boards are beyond me. The hallway has patches that need filling (thanks Tall) but I don't do ladders above a certain height, and definitely not ladders on stairs. The tap in the kitchen is dripping, but I don't know what washer I need, and I'm too scared to take it apart to try and find out. The list goes on. Helpful people say "get a man in", (everyone assumes it is a handyman), without thinking how difficult it might be for a lone female to invite a strange man into the house.
Then there is the mattress. Our mattress needs its seasonal flip. I just about managed to top-to-tail it in June, but the flip isn't something I can do alone. "Get your kids to help you." Well I could, if they actually lived closer / were physically able to and I wasn't embarrassed by the state of the mattress. You see Tall was a stubborn man and refused to sleep on a waterproof protector. He was also ill. His low immune system left him vulnerable to stomach bugs, so along with his lymphocytic colitis, a side effect of his first SCT, there were times when he was caught short in his sleep. I did what I could to spot clean the small areas where the normal protector fell short, but the mattress was still marked. Sometimes despite him thinking his fistula had stopped bleeding, it would start again in the night. Tall's low platelets left him pouring sometimes, but they weren't low enough for the hospital to bother doing anything. Again I spot cleaned, but blood is a tricky foe. "Get a new mattress!!" Well I will one day, but for now I am comforted by being able to sleep on the bed Tall died in. I like to see the dip where he lay, and sometimes I lie in the hollow just so I can feel close to him. Yes one day I will buy a new mattress, but not today.
I am a damsel in distress on many levels.
After years of feminist rhetoric I am supposed to say "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle", but the fact is that right now I need a man. If the truth be told I actually need someone, anyone or anything that can help me with the practicalities around the house. I can paint a wall, and at a push a door, but skirting boards are beyond me. The hallway has patches that need filling (thanks Tall) but I don't do ladders above a certain height, and definitely not ladders on stairs. The tap in the kitchen is dripping, but I don't know what washer I need, and I'm too scared to take it apart to try and find out. The list goes on. Helpful people say "get a man in", (everyone assumes it is a handyman), without thinking how difficult it might be for a lone female to invite a strange man into the house.
Then there is the mattress. Our mattress needs its seasonal flip. I just about managed to top-to-tail it in June, but the flip isn't something I can do alone. "Get your kids to help you." Well I could, if they actually lived closer / were physically able to and I wasn't embarrassed by the state of the mattress. You see Tall was a stubborn man and refused to sleep on a waterproof protector. He was also ill. His low immune system left him vulnerable to stomach bugs, so along with his lymphocytic colitis, a side effect of his first SCT, there were times when he was caught short in his sleep. I did what I could to spot clean the small areas where the normal protector fell short, but the mattress was still marked. Sometimes despite him thinking his fistula had stopped bleeding, it would start again in the night. Tall's low platelets left him pouring sometimes, but they weren't low enough for the hospital to bother doing anything. Again I spot cleaned, but blood is a tricky foe. "Get a new mattress!!" Well I will one day, but for now I am comforted by being able to sleep on the bed Tall died in. I like to see the dip where he lay, and sometimes I lie in the hollow just so I can feel close to him. Yes one day I will buy a new mattress, but not today.
I am a damsel in distress on many levels.
Wednesday 23 October 2019
Bereavement Top Trumps
When Tall died people tried so hard to comfort me with their kind words and, what to me felt like, platitudes. I knew they meant well, that they were trying to help, so I stopped myself from screaming at them. Saying something is better than saying nothing in my book. One of the things that was said to me was that losing Tall was like a deep wound, that with time would heal, but the scar would always be there and like a war wound when the weather was cold or wet there would be twinges.
I have come to realise that the other problem with a wound is, that if it is knocked before being completely healed, it bleeds. On Sunday I sent a message to a friend saying I was thinking of her, as she had said her mother wasn't doing too well. She replied saying that she and her brother were currently sitting with the mother and that she hadn't got long. The memories can flooding back and when she messaged me later to say her mother had passed away the floodgates opened. So much grief.
Which brings me to the title of my post. I found myself yesterday wrongly playing a game of Bereavement Top Trumps in my head. I'm sure you all know the game of Top Trumps, but in case you don't, it's a card game where you have to name something printed on your card that is bigger / better in a certain category than your opponent's. I wrongly started to compare my friend losing her parent to me losing my soulmate. I bitterly became angry that she had her brother and her husband to help her through the paperwork and arrangements. I'm not proud of myself, I'm ashamed. I felt I had to share it though as it is another part of my journey, part of my grieving process. I'm sure I'm not alone, even if others don't admit to it.
Today I know that no two people are the same and so no two people suffering bereavements are the same. I cannot possibly know how someone who has lost a parent feels, I never had one to lose. For now the wound has stopped bleeding and is only niggling slightly.
I have come to realise that the other problem with a wound is, that if it is knocked before being completely healed, it bleeds. On Sunday I sent a message to a friend saying I was thinking of her, as she had said her mother wasn't doing too well. She replied saying that she and her brother were currently sitting with the mother and that she hadn't got long. The memories can flooding back and when she messaged me later to say her mother had passed away the floodgates opened. So much grief.
Which brings me to the title of my post. I found myself yesterday wrongly playing a game of Bereavement Top Trumps in my head. I'm sure you all know the game of Top Trumps, but in case you don't, it's a card game where you have to name something printed on your card that is bigger / better in a certain category than your opponent's. I wrongly started to compare my friend losing her parent to me losing my soulmate. I bitterly became angry that she had her brother and her husband to help her through the paperwork and arrangements. I'm not proud of myself, I'm ashamed. I felt I had to share it though as it is another part of my journey, part of my grieving process. I'm sure I'm not alone, even if others don't admit to it.
Today I know that no two people are the same and so no two people suffering bereavements are the same. I cannot possibly know how someone who has lost a parent feels, I never had one to lose. For now the wound has stopped bleeding and is only niggling slightly.
Sunday 13 October 2019
Five months on.
My darling Tall, is it really five months since you lay there smiling at me? Time seems to be twisted like a mobius strip by grief, weeks can feel like a month, a month feels like only yesterday and sometimes I feel I have walked miles only to find myself back where I started.
After five months I find that I still weep for you, the tears are flowing freely as I type this letter. Yet, I am starting to do things by myself, for myself. On Friday I went to the hairdresser's for the first time since you died. I know that most people won't understand how difficult it was, may be if I were to tell them that Ade was also your hairdresser, that we would often go together and take it in turns to sit on the large red sofa watching the other being attended to. I have to admit that I did shed a tear sitting there waiting on Friday, I could see you sitting in Ade's chair, chatting away as he cut your curly locks.
I have moved a few items of furniture around, with help, and started to clear things that I will never use. I am beginning to make my own decisions. I know you would be pleased, even when I tell you that I had to kick the builder into touch. The inappropriate texts began again and even when I made it clear they weren't welcome, they continued. For a few days I felt guilty, that I should have stopped it earlier, that I must have said or done something that gave MP the idea that I was interested in him. Then I realised it wasn't me, and I remembered a phone call that you had had in the garden, when someone else had told you that MP had been sending texts to his sister. That you hadn't believed it. That you had called MP and told him what had been said, and that you didn't believe it. At that moment I became angry, not for myself, but because MP had betrayed you and your trust in him. How can I ever trust him again? So now I am in limbo, so many jobs around the house that you had asked MP to deal with, and me not trusting that I can find someone who I can trust. I will get there and even if I don't, the house won't fall down, it just won't be a show house.
I am beginning to see a chink of light and that in a way scares me. What if people think I didn't love you as much as I claim? I know how much you meant to me, I know that you knew how much I loved you, it was the last thing you heard. I will always love you and I know I can never find a love so special ever again. I can only hope that outsiders understand that even if I start to live for myself, it doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be living for us.
My endless love
Good Cheer Pixie x x x
After five months I find that I still weep for you, the tears are flowing freely as I type this letter. Yet, I am starting to do things by myself, for myself. On Friday I went to the hairdresser's for the first time since you died. I know that most people won't understand how difficult it was, may be if I were to tell them that Ade was also your hairdresser, that we would often go together and take it in turns to sit on the large red sofa watching the other being attended to. I have to admit that I did shed a tear sitting there waiting on Friday, I could see you sitting in Ade's chair, chatting away as he cut your curly locks.
I have moved a few items of furniture around, with help, and started to clear things that I will never use. I am beginning to make my own decisions. I know you would be pleased, even when I tell you that I had to kick the builder into touch. The inappropriate texts began again and even when I made it clear they weren't welcome, they continued. For a few days I felt guilty, that I should have stopped it earlier, that I must have said or done something that gave MP the idea that I was interested in him. Then I realised it wasn't me, and I remembered a phone call that you had had in the garden, when someone else had told you that MP had been sending texts to his sister. That you hadn't believed it. That you had called MP and told him what had been said, and that you didn't believe it. At that moment I became angry, not for myself, but because MP had betrayed you and your trust in him. How can I ever trust him again? So now I am in limbo, so many jobs around the house that you had asked MP to deal with, and me not trusting that I can find someone who I can trust. I will get there and even if I don't, the house won't fall down, it just won't be a show house.
I am beginning to see a chink of light and that in a way scares me. What if people think I didn't love you as much as I claim? I know how much you meant to me, I know that you knew how much I loved you, it was the last thing you heard. I will always love you and I know I can never find a love so special ever again. I can only hope that outsiders understand that even if I start to live for myself, it doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be living for us.
My endless love
Good Cheer Pixie x x x
Friday 11 October 2019
My mental health day.
Yesterday was World Mental Health Day. We were encouraged by the campaign to talk about mental health and wear yellow as a sign of our support. We had celebrities from royalty to pop royalty, footballers and pundits all talking about their struggles despite being rich / famous / successful. Mental health issues affect people from all walks of life. We couldn't hear from those who were most affected, their voices are silenced. People like Ellie Soutter, a promising Team GB snowboarder who committed suicide on her eighteenth birthday.
People jumped on the proverbial bandwagon, sharing and liking posts on the subject of mental health. Today they will go back to sharing "funny" videos and photos. Today they will have forgotten that the struggle for some is real, that it is every day. Today frontline services, the ambulance services and police forces across the UK will be dealing with those who are on the verge of trying to take their own lives and in some cases, dealing with those who have succeed. Talk is cheap, what we need is action. We need to actually campaign for better mental health services, with trained professionals, not expect young police officers, who have no mental health training, to talk to someone who is about to set fire to themselves.
I know my bereavement isn't strictly a mental health issue, but I can speak from experience about how people like to appear to be saying all the right things, but out of sight is out of mind and those supportive messages from the first month have all but dried up. No one wants to see or hear me sobbing, even if it is only virtually.
I would like to share something with you all. A couple of weeks ago I started to sort out the cabinets in the dining room (a loose term). Lots of things were boxed and sent to the charity shop, some things were thrown away. I created space and then refilled it, but at the end I had a storage unit that I had been using as a shelf for my cookery books and various other piles of "stuff". The unit was an old 1970s blockboard covered in laminate sort. Worth nothing on eBay, but still usable, so I put it on Freecycle. Freecycle is a site where you can offer things for free or ask for something, the idea being that less stuff gets thrown away. Within an hour I had six people asking if they could have the unit, was it still available. The first person to ask was someone who had posted several wanted ads. I contacted her and told her she could have it. She turned up the following day and when she arrived I not only gave her the unit, but I also gave her a hand blender that she had asked for on Freecycle. Clearly surprised she kept asking if I was sure, didn't I need it. I said no, I had used it to make my husband's fortified milk shakes, but now he has died I don't need it. She said the usually things about being sorry, and then gave me a hug and said she was amazed at how strong I appeared. We chatted for a bit about her baby who was three months old, me saying the usual thing of enjoy him while you have him, time flies and before you know it he will be grown up and gone. After a good chin-wag she was off. I felt very righteous because of my generosity (I know it would have been the bin but for Freecycle). I gave away several other things, but I didn't get that sense of satisfaction from any of the other things. A week later I got a text from the young mum, asking how I was doing and then again this week. That young mum has restored my faith in humanity, when some people who we once called friends are busy ignoring me, she is asking how I am doing. I gave her an old piece of furniture and in exchange I have received something worth much much more, a glimpse of the Good Cheer Pixie.
People jumped on the proverbial bandwagon, sharing and liking posts on the subject of mental health. Today they will go back to sharing "funny" videos and photos. Today they will have forgotten that the struggle for some is real, that it is every day. Today frontline services, the ambulance services and police forces across the UK will be dealing with those who are on the verge of trying to take their own lives and in some cases, dealing with those who have succeed. Talk is cheap, what we need is action. We need to actually campaign for better mental health services, with trained professionals, not expect young police officers, who have no mental health training, to talk to someone who is about to set fire to themselves.
I know my bereavement isn't strictly a mental health issue, but I can speak from experience about how people like to appear to be saying all the right things, but out of sight is out of mind and those supportive messages from the first month have all but dried up. No one wants to see or hear me sobbing, even if it is only virtually.
I would like to share something with you all. A couple of weeks ago I started to sort out the cabinets in the dining room (a loose term). Lots of things were boxed and sent to the charity shop, some things were thrown away. I created space and then refilled it, but at the end I had a storage unit that I had been using as a shelf for my cookery books and various other piles of "stuff". The unit was an old 1970s blockboard covered in laminate sort. Worth nothing on eBay, but still usable, so I put it on Freecycle. Freecycle is a site where you can offer things for free or ask for something, the idea being that less stuff gets thrown away. Within an hour I had six people asking if they could have the unit, was it still available. The first person to ask was someone who had posted several wanted ads. I contacted her and told her she could have it. She turned up the following day and when she arrived I not only gave her the unit, but I also gave her a hand blender that she had asked for on Freecycle. Clearly surprised she kept asking if I was sure, didn't I need it. I said no, I had used it to make my husband's fortified milk shakes, but now he has died I don't need it. She said the usually things about being sorry, and then gave me a hug and said she was amazed at how strong I appeared. We chatted for a bit about her baby who was three months old, me saying the usual thing of enjoy him while you have him, time flies and before you know it he will be grown up and gone. After a good chin-wag she was off. I felt very righteous because of my generosity (I know it would have been the bin but for Freecycle). I gave away several other things, but I didn't get that sense of satisfaction from any of the other things. A week later I got a text from the young mum, asking how I was doing and then again this week. That young mum has restored my faith in humanity, when some people who we once called friends are busy ignoring me, she is asking how I am doing. I gave her an old piece of furniture and in exchange I have received something worth much much more, a glimpse of the Good Cheer Pixie.
Tuesday 1 October 2019
What have I been doing?
What a good question.
I look around me and the house is a mess. I look in the fridge and there's nothing to eat, I haven't been food shopping in over a week. To be quite frank, I don't know what I have been doing.
I seem to spend my days sitting on the floor going through piles of things I should have sorted years ago. The dustbin is permanently half full and yet the cupboards, shelves and loft are still full. I find small mementos like a tram ticket from Blackpool and spend thirty minutes sobbing. Cards with Tall's handwriting, photographs meant for a passport and plane tickets. All very cathartic I'm sure, but I don't seem to be making any progress. Busy doing nothing, I only sit down to relax in the evening, when I realise I have left it too late to make a proper meal and find myself eating another sandwich.
The kitchen tap has started to drip, the panic grows with every "plop". The rain we have been getting has the gutter around the bay window overflowing, it clearly needs cleaning, the noise of the water on the window cill (sill) outside is like nails on a blackboard to my tattered nerves. The conservatory roof is leaking too, damaging the furniture I just put in there so that I could have an office space instead of a laptop on my lap. My anxiety increases with every new problem.
Get someone to fix things? That would require me feeling safe. I know it it silly, but builders and the like make a mess. Even if it is just the packaging from the new part, they just leave it where it falls. I know it all sounds so silly.
I am cross with myself for allowing things to get so bad. Just when I thought I was making progress, life has turned round and bitten me again. I know it is a cliche, but I need to win the lottery. Not a massive win, just enough to pay for the house to be altered and fixed the way I want it, while I rent somewhere else. Then enough to buy the new furniture to furnish it. Pipe dreams as I don't ever remember to buy a ticket.
I look around me and the house is a mess. I look in the fridge and there's nothing to eat, I haven't been food shopping in over a week. To be quite frank, I don't know what I have been doing.
I seem to spend my days sitting on the floor going through piles of things I should have sorted years ago. The dustbin is permanently half full and yet the cupboards, shelves and loft are still full. I find small mementos like a tram ticket from Blackpool and spend thirty minutes sobbing. Cards with Tall's handwriting, photographs meant for a passport and plane tickets. All very cathartic I'm sure, but I don't seem to be making any progress. Busy doing nothing, I only sit down to relax in the evening, when I realise I have left it too late to make a proper meal and find myself eating another sandwich.
The kitchen tap has started to drip, the panic grows with every "plop". The rain we have been getting has the gutter around the bay window overflowing, it clearly needs cleaning, the noise of the water on the window cill (sill) outside is like nails on a blackboard to my tattered nerves. The conservatory roof is leaking too, damaging the furniture I just put in there so that I could have an office space instead of a laptop on my lap. My anxiety increases with every new problem.
Get someone to fix things? That would require me feeling safe. I know it it silly, but builders and the like make a mess. Even if it is just the packaging from the new part, they just leave it where it falls. I know it all sounds so silly.
I am cross with myself for allowing things to get so bad. Just when I thought I was making progress, life has turned round and bitten me again. I know it is a cliche, but I need to win the lottery. Not a massive win, just enough to pay for the house to be altered and fixed the way I want it, while I rent somewhere else. Then enough to buy the new furniture to furnish it. Pipe dreams as I don't ever remember to buy a ticket.
Monday 23 September 2019
Bolt from the blue
Life didn't seem too bad last week, that is until Friday.
On Wednesday I went to the running group and chatted to the same lady I has spoken to the week before. Certain members had obviously decided they wanted to make it more competitive, and overtook us, but we just looked at each other knowingly, once they had overtaken, they didn't actually make any ground on us.
On Thursday I shouted at two teenagers who thought it was acceptable to kick my back gate, just because Toni was barking at them. I had heard them screaming and chatting outside the gate before they kicked it, and it was easy for me to go out of the front door and meet them as they came round the bend.
Then on Friday the sadness hit. I clumsily reached out for help on FB, but the replies centered around my running, I hadn't even got the energy to reply to them.
I thought my run on Saturday would lift my mood, but by the evening I was sobbing continuously. My sense of loneliness engulfing me.
I had hoped that after a good sleep I would feel better on Sunday, but I felt worse. The paralysing panic of being alone made it difficult to function, at even a basic level. As if to mirror my mood, torrential rain began at 4 in the morning and continued into the rest of the day.
This morning I am about the same. I know I cannot let the panic that engulfed me take hold again today, but I feel physically ill. My whole body is heavy and my head "wooly" I'm struggling to string coherent thoughts together. I am in pain mentally and physically.
On Wednesday I went to the running group and chatted to the same lady I has spoken to the week before. Certain members had obviously decided they wanted to make it more competitive, and overtook us, but we just looked at each other knowingly, once they had overtaken, they didn't actually make any ground on us.
On Thursday I shouted at two teenagers who thought it was acceptable to kick my back gate, just because Toni was barking at them. I had heard them screaming and chatting outside the gate before they kicked it, and it was easy for me to go out of the front door and meet them as they came round the bend.
Then on Friday the sadness hit. I clumsily reached out for help on FB, but the replies centered around my running, I hadn't even got the energy to reply to them.
I thought my run on Saturday would lift my mood, but by the evening I was sobbing continuously. My sense of loneliness engulfing me.
I had hoped that after a good sleep I would feel better on Sunday, but I felt worse. The paralysing panic of being alone made it difficult to function, at even a basic level. As if to mirror my mood, torrential rain began at 4 in the morning and continued into the rest of the day.
This morning I am about the same. I know I cannot let the panic that engulfed me take hold again today, but I feel physically ill. My whole body is heavy and my head "wooly" I'm struggling to string coherent thoughts together. I am in pain mentally and physically.
Monday 16 September 2019
What a week.
I seem to be falling into a pattern of blogging weekly now the dust is starting to settle. What a week it has been. I have had my garden dug up front and back by men looking for a gas pipe. I have caused mayhem, albeit unintentionally, and had to be an A&E nurse as a consequence. On Wednesday I started my This Girl Runs 0 to 5km course. It went really well, possibly because the run leaders were taking it easy with us for the first session. I did complain to my friend afterwards that their idea of a brisk walk was a snail's pace. I have now completed the two homework sessions. 5 minutes BRISK walk, 6 x 90 seconds jog (run) and 5 minutes BRISK walk. The Couch to 5K app that we use for homework asks for goals before embarking on the course. They are as follows:
Friday 13th started out so well. Despite it being the four month-versary I started the day positively. Mid morning I had a message from my son's girlfriend saying my son had decided to drive straight up here after his night shift Christmas Day and they would be having dinner with me. I was so excited and pleased that I started to sort out the cabinets in the dining room, they are stuffed with things, some of which need to go. The table was soon full so I decided to empty one of the crates that Tall had brought with him fourteen years ago. At the bottom was a photograph in a frame. The glass had broken and underneath was Tall, him in his suit at his first wedding, forty-four years ago. My heart broke. Grief for his loss four months ago and grief for the years I never had. Grief that our paths hadn't crossed years ago. I quickly realised that I cannot change the past and mourning for what I never had is pointless. Still I cried the rest of the day, just writing about it now has tears rolling down my face.
Then there are days like Saturday. I was walking the dog when a message came through on FB. It was from someone who I know, who was friends with Tall when he was in hospital back in 2010. "Is he still with us?" Tears from me, then anger, then the sarcastic reply. "No. I'd have imagined you'd have known that if you had looked at his FB page!"
Enough said?
Good days, bad days. Days when his name and his photograph make me smile. Days when if I so much as catch a glimpse of his photo on the fridge I'm done for. There is comfort in the tears, for I fear when I don't cry that people will think I didn't care.
- get fit and feel healthier
- lose weight
- prepare for a race or charity event
- challenge myself and run regularly
- improve my health condition
- another reason
Friday 13th started out so well. Despite it being the four month-versary I started the day positively. Mid morning I had a message from my son's girlfriend saying my son had decided to drive straight up here after his night shift Christmas Day and they would be having dinner with me. I was so excited and pleased that I started to sort out the cabinets in the dining room, they are stuffed with things, some of which need to go. The table was soon full so I decided to empty one of the crates that Tall had brought with him fourteen years ago. At the bottom was a photograph in a frame. The glass had broken and underneath was Tall, him in his suit at his first wedding, forty-four years ago. My heart broke. Grief for his loss four months ago and grief for the years I never had. Grief that our paths hadn't crossed years ago. I quickly realised that I cannot change the past and mourning for what I never had is pointless. Still I cried the rest of the day, just writing about it now has tears rolling down my face.
Then there are days like Saturday. I was walking the dog when a message came through on FB. It was from someone who I know, who was friends with Tall when he was in hospital back in 2010. "Is he still with us?" Tears from me, then anger, then the sarcastic reply. "No. I'd have imagined you'd have known that if you had looked at his FB page!"
Enough said?
Good days, bad days. Days when his name and his photograph make me smile. Days when if I so much as catch a glimpse of his photo on the fridge I'm done for. There is comfort in the tears, for I fear when I don't cry that people will think I didn't care.
Monday 9 September 2019
After the storm.
I'm sure all of you are getting fed up of the cliches and analogies, but sometimes they seem to be the only way to express how I feel.
Life has been happening around me, on the whole I have been bobbing about on the tide, still out at sea, but content that I'm not currently drowning. Yesterday afternoon I received a phone call from Bernard, Paula's husband. I have to confess that he has tried to call several times before since Mike died, and I have never been able to answer. Yesterday I did. The call went okay, a few tears from me, so I asked Bernard to talk about Buddy the dog for a bit. Yes dear old Buddy is still around, he's eleven now, just like Toni. Bernard talked at me for about fifteen minutes. He said how he still missed Paula seven years on, how his family had said he needed to start seeing other women, and how so far he hadn't actually been on any dates (he joined in January) as none of the ladies came up to Paula's standard. He told me he hasn't been on holiday since Paula died, there's not point wasting money he might just as well stay at home. I was clear to me after that fifteen minute call that he is lonely.
After we had said our goodbyes the calmness slowly turned to a storm. I could feel it coming, the grief for both Mike and Paula welled up inside me. The tears began to flow and I was still crying when I went to bed. I desperately wanted Mike to be there to give me a hug, to ease the pain of Paula's loss, and I wanted to be able to talk to Paula about how to cope with Mike's loss.
This morning I am exhausted. I slept perfectly well, it is just the after effects of the storm. I am emotionally drained.
Life has been happening around me, on the whole I have been bobbing about on the tide, still out at sea, but content that I'm not currently drowning. Yesterday afternoon I received a phone call from Bernard, Paula's husband. I have to confess that he has tried to call several times before since Mike died, and I have never been able to answer. Yesterday I did. The call went okay, a few tears from me, so I asked Bernard to talk about Buddy the dog for a bit. Yes dear old Buddy is still around, he's eleven now, just like Toni. Bernard talked at me for about fifteen minutes. He said how he still missed Paula seven years on, how his family had said he needed to start seeing other women, and how so far he hadn't actually been on any dates (he joined in January) as none of the ladies came up to Paula's standard. He told me he hasn't been on holiday since Paula died, there's not point wasting money he might just as well stay at home. I was clear to me after that fifteen minute call that he is lonely.
After we had said our goodbyes the calmness slowly turned to a storm. I could feel it coming, the grief for both Mike and Paula welled up inside me. The tears began to flow and I was still crying when I went to bed. I desperately wanted Mike to be there to give me a hug, to ease the pain of Paula's loss, and I wanted to be able to talk to Paula about how to cope with Mike's loss.
This morning I am exhausted. I slept perfectly well, it is just the after effects of the storm. I am emotionally drained.
Thursday 5 September 2019
Big bad world.
At the risk of sounding a tad pathetic, I am currently struggling with the big, bad world outside my four walls. The whole political scene scares me, so much so that I have been putting my head in the sand. I feel so powerless and I certainly am not up to a "discussion" with those who think it is all going to be okay.
It isn't just Brexit though. I find I struggle with lots of the things not in my comfort zone. I can shop for food and alcohol. I can shop online for a mattress, as I know which one to buy, Mike told me. I can just about manage to buy new shoes for myself. But, when it comes to less run of the mill purchases like a new laptop, I am paralysed. Now, I hear you all say, "ask for advice in the shop." I can't, I am ashamed to say I don't trust what they might have to say. Generally speaking there is only one shop and that monopoly makes me nervous. It isn't like buying a car, half a dozen brands being sold independently, each salesman saying theirs is the best. A pile of brochures and a nice cuppa at home to weigh it all up. Trying to wade through specs online has my head in a spin and in the shop they are trying to sell you the one they have been told to push, the one that might possibly be an end off line or soon to be last year's model. I know when Mike was alive we would probably have been hoodwinked together, and that's the point, a mistake we both made was one we could cuss about and then laugh about. A mistake made alone is one that I know will become a stick to beat myself with. I still have quite a lot of work to do on my mental health.
So for now I will struggle on with my tired old one. The fan has gone and it has a habit of overheating, crashing as it's poor memory cannot cope. I have named it Lorna. :)
It isn't just Brexit though. I find I struggle with lots of the things not in my comfort zone. I can shop for food and alcohol. I can shop online for a mattress, as I know which one to buy, Mike told me. I can just about manage to buy new shoes for myself. But, when it comes to less run of the mill purchases like a new laptop, I am paralysed. Now, I hear you all say, "ask for advice in the shop." I can't, I am ashamed to say I don't trust what they might have to say. Generally speaking there is only one shop and that monopoly makes me nervous. It isn't like buying a car, half a dozen brands being sold independently, each salesman saying theirs is the best. A pile of brochures and a nice cuppa at home to weigh it all up. Trying to wade through specs online has my head in a spin and in the shop they are trying to sell you the one they have been told to push, the one that might possibly be an end off line or soon to be last year's model. I know when Mike was alive we would probably have been hoodwinked together, and that's the point, a mistake we both made was one we could cuss about and then laugh about. A mistake made alone is one that I know will become a stick to beat myself with. I still have quite a lot of work to do on my mental health.
So for now I will struggle on with my tired old one. The fan has gone and it has a habit of overheating, crashing as it's poor memory cannot cope. I have named it Lorna. :)
Sunday 1 September 2019
I want to be Taz
Don't tell me you don't know who he is! Okay I guess younger readers, if I have any, won't know. Cartoon Tasmanian devil who has anger management issues, yet we all love him.
As my limited audience is made up of people from FB, you will all already know that yesterday wasn't a good day. I was actually just another bad day in a week of not too good days where I have been missing Mike's presence very badly. I have woken up and immediately wished he was next to me. I tried to express, clumsily that I was feeling lonely on FB and the usual friends came along and simply said they were thinking of me or sending a virtual hug. That was okay, I know I wouldn't know what to say either. Then came "friends" who thought some advice was needed. I politely said thank you to everyone and expressed that their kind remarks wouldn't hold me when I had nightmares or make me a coffee first thing. I thought that would stop them in their tracks, that they would understand. Hell no! I cannot remember the exact words, but a reply came that with time I would be able to make my own coffee (excuse me, but I already can) and that hopefully the nightmares would stop (over my dead body?). Why don't you get out those four walls, get a job, go on a college course? What if I did? Would that give me someone to hold me in bed at night? Would that fill the gaping Mike sized hole? Such stupid remarks when I had clearly said what it was I was lonely about.
The cherry on the cake was someone lamenting the loss of their dog who had died aged three. Lots of her friends saying how sorry they were. How they knew how she felt, they missed their dogs too. Someone asked what had happened, she quickly responded that she was too upset to talk about it but Doodah would fill them in (Doodah being the husband). That one remark sums it up, I have no Doodah, no one to turn to when something happens, whether it be minor or major. That is why the loss of a soulmate is so much worse than losing anyone else, there is no one to turn to for comfort or advice.
You see I am a Taz. I am so angry with the world and the stupid things people say. I want to tear the place up, it isn't fair. I am angry with myself for not being able to make him better. I know deep down that as I don't have godly powers there was nothing I could do, but if only I had been more insistent about him not having the second SCT his lungs wouldn't have been damaged and his last two years wouldn't have been so miserable. I know in reality that he probably wouldn't have lived the two years without the SCT, but grief doesn't necessarily compute logically. I'm angry that others still live, bad people who should have taken Mike's place. Again I know I don't have godly powers, the right to say who should or shouldn't live, but I bet I'm not the first or last person to feel this way.
I could rant on for hours. Feel free to join in.
As my limited audience is made up of people from FB, you will all already know that yesterday wasn't a good day. I was actually just another bad day in a week of not too good days where I have been missing Mike's presence very badly. I have woken up and immediately wished he was next to me. I tried to express, clumsily that I was feeling lonely on FB and the usual friends came along and simply said they were thinking of me or sending a virtual hug. That was okay, I know I wouldn't know what to say either. Then came "friends" who thought some advice was needed. I politely said thank you to everyone and expressed that their kind remarks wouldn't hold me when I had nightmares or make me a coffee first thing. I thought that would stop them in their tracks, that they would understand. Hell no! I cannot remember the exact words, but a reply came that with time I would be able to make my own coffee (excuse me, but I already can) and that hopefully the nightmares would stop (over my dead body?). Why don't you get out those four walls, get a job, go on a college course? What if I did? Would that give me someone to hold me in bed at night? Would that fill the gaping Mike sized hole? Such stupid remarks when I had clearly said what it was I was lonely about.
The cherry on the cake was someone lamenting the loss of their dog who had died aged three. Lots of her friends saying how sorry they were. How they knew how she felt, they missed their dogs too. Someone asked what had happened, she quickly responded that she was too upset to talk about it but Doodah would fill them in (Doodah being the husband). That one remark sums it up, I have no Doodah, no one to turn to when something happens, whether it be minor or major. That is why the loss of a soulmate is so much worse than losing anyone else, there is no one to turn to for comfort or advice.
You see I am a Taz. I am so angry with the world and the stupid things people say. I want to tear the place up, it isn't fair. I am angry with myself for not being able to make him better. I know deep down that as I don't have godly powers there was nothing I could do, but if only I had been more insistent about him not having the second SCT his lungs wouldn't have been damaged and his last two years wouldn't have been so miserable. I know in reality that he probably wouldn't have lived the two years without the SCT, but grief doesn't necessarily compute logically. I'm angry that others still live, bad people who should have taken Mike's place. Again I know I don't have godly powers, the right to say who should or shouldn't live, but I bet I'm not the first or last person to feel this way.
I could rant on for hours. Feel free to join in.
Monday 26 August 2019
High days and holidays.
It is a bank holiday weekend here. The sun has been shining and FB and the media are full of pictures of people enjoying themselves on the beach, in the park and at BBQs. Last night I had to shut the windows despite the heat to reduce the noise from the loud music being played at the local pub and the fireworks possibly the same place, although they seemed to be in a different direction.
I have tried valiantly to keep a smile on my face and up until an hour ago I wasn't doing too badly. I went outside to see how hot it was and the smells of other people cooking and their party music playing just hit a nerve. I realised that this is how it is going to be until the day I die, unless I do something to change it. For some people every day is the same as the last, I don't want special days to become just another day. I want to have fun, rejoice, celebrate and have parties. I want life to have meaning and purpose. I also want others to actually think about me too. I have become the parent who is always there when needed, "so we don't have to bother making an effort with her."
I don't have any answers today. I do know it is seventeen weeks until Christmas, ages away I hear you say. Well I am not spending it alone. My children have until the end of September to tell me their plans and if they don't include me, then I'm going to make my own plans!
I have tried valiantly to keep a smile on my face and up until an hour ago I wasn't doing too badly. I went outside to see how hot it was and the smells of other people cooking and their party music playing just hit a nerve. I realised that this is how it is going to be until the day I die, unless I do something to change it. For some people every day is the same as the last, I don't want special days to become just another day. I want to have fun, rejoice, celebrate and have parties. I want life to have meaning and purpose. I also want others to actually think about me too. I have become the parent who is always there when needed, "so we don't have to bother making an effort with her."
I don't have any answers today. I do know it is seventeen weeks until Christmas, ages away I hear you say. Well I am not spending it alone. My children have until the end of September to tell me their plans and if they don't include me, then I'm going to make my own plans!
Thursday 22 August 2019
Oops I did it again.
I realise that this poor blog appears to be little more than a moaning Minnie's diary of disaster, I did say I wouldn't got back and change or remove posts, so for now it is what it is. It will get better, I promise (fingers crossed!)
I read my last entry this morning, and I depressed myself. Yes, for now things are tough financially. Things will get better. I will sort out my mental health issues and get a job, and ironically be able to call the various suppliers and streamline my costs. I can't do much about the new gas pipes, they have already started to make holes in the pavement across the road. I do need ear defenders though, my anxiety seems to enhance my hearing where noise is concerned. Toni isn't very keen either, so we hide together.
This is probably as good a place as any to mention an up and coming plan for September. My son's girlfriend A. was saying via Whatsapp that she wanted to tone up before her holiday in three weeks, so she had joined the gym. We had a bit of a conversation and then I suggested that when she gets back from the holiday we both spend the twelve weeks until Christmas eating healthily and going to the gym to tone up. She thinks it is a great idea, so we have a plan. She did suggest I start Sunday, but I said as I was still trying to do meat free August, my brain couldn't cope with anything else, so September 1st is when my food choices will be rethought. Please note, at no point have I used the 'D' word, just healthy choices all the way. I may or may not share what happens here.
I read my last entry this morning, and I depressed myself. Yes, for now things are tough financially. Things will get better. I will sort out my mental health issues and get a job, and ironically be able to call the various suppliers and streamline my costs. I can't do much about the new gas pipes, they have already started to make holes in the pavement across the road. I do need ear defenders though, my anxiety seems to enhance my hearing where noise is concerned. Toni isn't very keen either, so we hide together.
This is probably as good a place as any to mention an up and coming plan for September. My son's girlfriend A. was saying via Whatsapp that she wanted to tone up before her holiday in three weeks, so she had joined the gym. We had a bit of a conversation and then I suggested that when she gets back from the holiday we both spend the twelve weeks until Christmas eating healthily and going to the gym to tone up. She thinks it is a great idea, so we have a plan. She did suggest I start Sunday, but I said as I was still trying to do meat free August, my brain couldn't cope with anything else, so September 1st is when my food choices will be rethought. Please note, at no point have I used the 'D' word, just healthy choices all the way. I may or may not share what happens here.
Monday 19 August 2019
All too much.
They say when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I'm definitely not very tough at the moment. I received a letter this morning from the company that is responsible for the maintenance of the pipes that supply gas. They need to replace the mains gas supply pipe and possibly the pipes to properties. I know it shouldn't upset me, but the thought of them digging up my garden and having to be without gas has me in a complete panic. If Mike was here I know what he would say, but he isn't, and I have to cope alone. I can't do it. I can't do anything much these days. I am scared of everything, and no one understands when I try to explain why. It doesn't make sense to anyone except those who have also lost their partner.
It comes on top of a whole series of small, stupid things that I should just be able to laugh off, but can't. Instead of having my sensible head on, I have one that sees danger and disappointment at every turn. I am trying, I truly am, but even the telephone counselling, the first option where I live, has turned out to be wrong for me. After the first telephone call, which I struggled through despite my anxiety, I was sent a booklet and told to keep an hourly diary of my anxiety. I can't remember to put the milk in the fridge not the cupboard, never mind try and analyse why I am anxious and then say what I could do to stop it. "What stresses do you have in your life right now?" I have f***ing lost my soulmate, I'm living off less money than the mortgage payment so that's in arrears and I have no one to help me with it all.
I want to be a tough cookie, but instead I'm a digestive at the bottom of a tea cup.
It comes on top of a whole series of small, stupid things that I should just be able to laugh off, but can't. Instead of having my sensible head on, I have one that sees danger and disappointment at every turn. I am trying, I truly am, but even the telephone counselling, the first option where I live, has turned out to be wrong for me. After the first telephone call, which I struggled through despite my anxiety, I was sent a booklet and told to keep an hourly diary of my anxiety. I can't remember to put the milk in the fridge not the cupboard, never mind try and analyse why I am anxious and then say what I could do to stop it. "What stresses do you have in your life right now?" I have f***ing lost my soulmate, I'm living off less money than the mortgage payment so that's in arrears and I have no one to help me with it all.
I want to be a tough cookie, but instead I'm a digestive at the bottom of a tea cup.
Tuesday 13 August 2019
Three months
Dear Tall
I couldn't let the day go without marking the fact it is three months since you died. I miss your body next to mine in the best bed in the world, the one you insisted we needed. I miss your hand holding mine as I go to the shop. I miss you walking up behind me when I am doing the washing-up, when you would wrap your arms around my waist and hug me. I miss having you to bicker with, knowing that when the tiff was over neither of us would hold a grudge and the matter would be forgotten. I miss all the little things that others right now are taking for granted.
Before you went you were convinced I would be okay, you had great plans for what I should achieve in the future. Three months on, and have yet to do any of the things you had wanted. We couldn't predict how long it would take me to grieve, no one knows how long their grief will take to scar over, and no one knows how long it will take another. I am trying to move forward as you had wished, it isn't easy without you by my side.
I tried to explain to someone after you had gone, that the love we shared was rare. I had "loved" before, or I thought I had. The second I met you I knew we had a connection. It wasn't sexual, it was just the easiness of it all. We talked for hours and not once did I feel awkward. We became great friends before we became lovers. I guess that is what I miss most, your friendship.
I will never stop loving you my dearest darling friend.
Good Cheer Pixie x x x
I couldn't let the day go without marking the fact it is three months since you died. I miss your body next to mine in the best bed in the world, the one you insisted we needed. I miss your hand holding mine as I go to the shop. I miss you walking up behind me when I am doing the washing-up, when you would wrap your arms around my waist and hug me. I miss having you to bicker with, knowing that when the tiff was over neither of us would hold a grudge and the matter would be forgotten. I miss all the little things that others right now are taking for granted.
Before you went you were convinced I would be okay, you had great plans for what I should achieve in the future. Three months on, and have yet to do any of the things you had wanted. We couldn't predict how long it would take me to grieve, no one knows how long their grief will take to scar over, and no one knows how long it will take another. I am trying to move forward as you had wished, it isn't easy without you by my side.
I tried to explain to someone after you had gone, that the love we shared was rare. I had "loved" before, or I thought I had. The second I met you I knew we had a connection. It wasn't sexual, it was just the easiness of it all. We talked for hours and not once did I feel awkward. We became great friends before we became lovers. I guess that is what I miss most, your friendship.
I will never stop loving you my dearest darling friend.
Good Cheer Pixie x x x
Saturday 10 August 2019
So alone.
Another weekend, even though they weren't ever any different to the rest of the days when Tall was still alive, they now bring an extra loneliness. I think it is less to do with Tall not being here and more to do with the fact that it is only now he has gone that I really notice all my children have gone, along with all the frantic activity that occurred around their days off school. I miss Tall every day, weekends I miss everyone.
I find myself scouring social media in order to live my life voraciously. I want people to tell me all the normal boring stuff they have been doing. I want to see their knitting projects or their photographs of sunsets. I want to know there is still life out there, even if for now I can only watch it from a window.
I have tried asking people around for a cuppa, but they don't take me up on my invitation. May be the house smells of dog and they are too polite to say. May be it is too messy and they are too polite to say. May be I make an awful cup of tea and they are too polite to say. I wish they would tell me why. Tall always said it was the people that made a home, not the house. His mother was a hoarder and so he was used to the organised chaos, he was quite good at creating his own sometimes. We were so happy amongst the piles.
So dear readers, if you ever feel the urge to say something, anything, you are very welcome to leave a comment, doesn't even have to be about the post!
I find myself scouring social media in order to live my life voraciously. I want people to tell me all the normal boring stuff they have been doing. I want to see their knitting projects or their photographs of sunsets. I want to know there is still life out there, even if for now I can only watch it from a window.
I have tried asking people around for a cuppa, but they don't take me up on my invitation. May be the house smells of dog and they are too polite to say. May be it is too messy and they are too polite to say. May be I make an awful cup of tea and they are too polite to say. I wish they would tell me why. Tall always said it was the people that made a home, not the house. His mother was a hoarder and so he was used to the organised chaos, he was quite good at creating his own sometimes. We were so happy amongst the piles.
So dear readers, if you ever feel the urge to say something, anything, you are very welcome to leave a comment, doesn't even have to be about the post!
Wednesday 7 August 2019
The Atlantic Ocean
I am as guilty as anyone else for thinking in the past that grief and bereavement are linear. That you start out in the middle of the Atlantic (other oceans are available) with waves crashing over your head. The storm so fierce you fear for your life. Slowly you make your way to land, hopefully under your own steam / sails but if not with help from the RNLI. Once you have landed the odd small wave might wet your trouser leg, but it's all under control.
The reality is that grief is nothing like that. Instead the ocean is full of rip tides, that pull you back into that storm. The patches of what you think are calm water are just you riding the top of a very large wave that hasn't yet broken and when it does you fall so fast you can't catch your breath. The journey to a safe harbour isn't a quick one, it can take years. Your too far out for the RNLI to pull you in, it is too dangerous for them to risk their lives.
May be the worse part of it when you have lost your soulmate is that you have to sail alone. When a sibling, parent or even a child dies we have our soulmate to cling to. Another pair of hands to help batten down hatches, move the sails, fix the engine. When your soulmate dies, there's no one. Distress signals are sent, but friends and family can do little more than radio back "you'll be alright, see you soon."
The reality is that grief is nothing like that. Instead the ocean is full of rip tides, that pull you back into that storm. The patches of what you think are calm water are just you riding the top of a very large wave that hasn't yet broken and when it does you fall so fast you can't catch your breath. The journey to a safe harbour isn't a quick one, it can take years. Your too far out for the RNLI to pull you in, it is too dangerous for them to risk their lives.
May be the worse part of it when you have lost your soulmate is that you have to sail alone. When a sibling, parent or even a child dies we have our soulmate to cling to. Another pair of hands to help batten down hatches, move the sails, fix the engine. When your soulmate dies, there's no one. Distress signals are sent, but friends and family can do little more than radio back "you'll be alright, see you soon."
Monday 5 August 2019
Quicksand
Apart from the football score incident I thought I was doing okay. Not all singing and dancing okay, but getting out of bed and not crying all day okay. That was until yesterday. A "simple" phone call* and that was me done for. I was strolling along at my own pace with my little dog and suddenly it was like stepping in quicksand. I started to sink, I reached out for Tall's hand so he could help me out, but of course he isn't here to help. I tried my usual coping tactics, but the quicksand seemed to keep pulling me down. My sleep was disturbed by dreams where I ended up crying and I was woken by my own sobbing several times.
This morning I have woken up still stuck, but I realise that the only way out is to not panic, try and lie flat and float and wait for help to come. In the past Tall would hold me tight and I would sob, he would listen to my rants without offering an opinion unless I asked for it and he would pull me out. All I can do now it imagine his arms around me.
*As the person who made the phone call doesn't read this blog and in fact neither he or his wife are friends on FB I am going to have a good rant here. There will be some readers who do know him, I hope they will keep my secret.
Yesterday Mike C. called. The pretence was to ask how I was, but the conversation soon took a different direction. He started lecturing me on how I need to have a plan. How I need to talk to people about what I can do in the future to make money, I pointed out that I didn't have many friends, he said "no talk to other people, strangers online"!
"You should rent out your house on AirBnB and live out of a suitcase."
"You should do B&B and offer an evening meal at an extra cost."
"You can't waste your time like I wasted four years."
Of course Mike, you wasted four years grieving for your wife and then decided that marrying a girl 37 years younger from a foreign country was the way to go. Even after marrying her you were so ill in 2016 that Tall had to rescue you and you lived here for a month while we tried to sort out your mental health and physical problems, your skin was so infected it smelt of death. Your married life consists of her working all day in a care home, you working all night driving taxis and her spending all her holidays and free time with her Thai and Filipino friends.
"Next year all my pensions come through so we are thinking of changing direction. We're going to become foster carers with a private agency that pays much more than the local authority. It is £450 per child per week and you usual have to take two. Joy can earn more than working in the care home."
So the private agency takes money off the local authority and gives you some of it, keeping the rest for themselves. Does the private agency have slightly less rigourous checks I wonder? It beggars belief, it really does.
So why did that conversation upset me so much? I don't know. It just left me feeling angry and even more alone. I suppose in the past Tall and I would have had a good moan together about his strangeness and now I can't talk to him and actually get an answer.
Keep calm, lie flat and try to float.
This morning I have woken up still stuck, but I realise that the only way out is to not panic, try and lie flat and float and wait for help to come. In the past Tall would hold me tight and I would sob, he would listen to my rants without offering an opinion unless I asked for it and he would pull me out. All I can do now it imagine his arms around me.
*As the person who made the phone call doesn't read this blog and in fact neither he or his wife are friends on FB I am going to have a good rant here. There will be some readers who do know him, I hope they will keep my secret.
Yesterday Mike C. called. The pretence was to ask how I was, but the conversation soon took a different direction. He started lecturing me on how I need to have a plan. How I need to talk to people about what I can do in the future to make money, I pointed out that I didn't have many friends, he said "no talk to other people, strangers online"!
"You should rent out your house on AirBnB and live out of a suitcase."
"You should do B&B and offer an evening meal at an extra cost."
"You can't waste your time like I wasted four years."
Of course Mike, you wasted four years grieving for your wife and then decided that marrying a girl 37 years younger from a foreign country was the way to go. Even after marrying her you were so ill in 2016 that Tall had to rescue you and you lived here for a month while we tried to sort out your mental health and physical problems, your skin was so infected it smelt of death. Your married life consists of her working all day in a care home, you working all night driving taxis and her spending all her holidays and free time with her Thai and Filipino friends.
"Next year all my pensions come through so we are thinking of changing direction. We're going to become foster carers with a private agency that pays much more than the local authority. It is £450 per child per week and you usual have to take two. Joy can earn more than working in the care home."
So the private agency takes money off the local authority and gives you some of it, keeping the rest for themselves. Does the private agency have slightly less rigourous checks I wonder? It beggars belief, it really does.
So why did that conversation upset me so much? I don't know. It just left me feeling angry and even more alone. I suppose in the past Tall and I would have had a good moan together about his strangeness and now I can't talk to him and actually get an answer.
Keep calm, lie flat and try to float.
Sunday 4 August 2019
The little things.
On the whole I haven't been feeling too bad recently, that was until I heard the football results yesterday evening. West Bromwich Albion won their first match of the season and that set me off for an evening of sobbing. There were tears for my darling Tall who would have been so happy with the result. There were tears that I will never go to a match with him again. There were tears that our Boxing Day ritual of going to the football if it was a home match is gone forever. A few seconds of "news" and my world collapsed.
It's the silly little things that get me.
I have to be honest, I haven't a clue what our beloved football club have been up to over the summer, I don't know who we have sold, who we have bought, who has come or who has gone. They are my club, the club that I fell in love with as they were beaten by Spurs. But more importantly it is Tall's club, and just thinking about it makes me cry and so I have shut it away in a cupboard to be dealt with at some other time.
I'm sorry Tall.
It's the silly little things that get me.
I have to be honest, I haven't a clue what our beloved football club have been up to over the summer, I don't know who we have sold, who we have bought, who has come or who has gone. They are my club, the club that I fell in love with as they were beaten by Spurs. But more importantly it is Tall's club, and just thinking about it makes me cry and so I have shut it away in a cupboard to be dealt with at some other time.
I'm sorry Tall.
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