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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
