The last of the first.

 As the first month of 2021 reaches its end I find myself wondering where the days went. One minute it was a new year, the next it was Tall's birthday and now it is the final day. In these strange times it is difficult to look back and see any thing that has actually been achieved, life feels like walking through treacle. No matter what time I get up in the morning I still get to the evening many days without a meal prepared or even a clue what to eat.

The same is true of the time since Tall died. It doesn't feel like it was only yesterday, but it does feel like it was only last year instead of it being 2019. Twenty months without his company. There's still a lot of things I cannot do. Some of them are very practical things like getting the Christmas tree down from the attic, I had to make do with a small one that used to be in the kids' bedrooms. I am very wary of getting jobs done around the house and garden, jobs that I am no longer young enough or strong enough to tackle or that I'm even capable of doing. Tall once tried patching up some missing plaster and he couldn't do it either. 

Then there are the emotional things. The things I cannot change or get rid of. Tall's razor is still on the bathroom shelf. There are still tins of rice pudding in the pantry. The bed needs a new mattress, something Tall told me I should buy when he was gone, a fresh start. I cannot let it go. 

A few months before Tall died my youngest son and his then girlfriend came to visit. Everyone knew what the situation was, Tall wouldn't let anyone be under any illusions. We went out for a walk with my youngest daughter and granddaughter, and the dogs to a small local park. Whilst my granddaughter played we talked about death and what to expect. My son's girlfriend told me about her grandfather's death at home. How the family had all been there. She told me that even though he had died around lunchtime her grandmother had wanted to keep him there and spend one last night with him. The family told her she couldn't. When I was told the story my initial reaction was that I couldn't possibly sleep next to someone who had died. It was only when I found myself in that situation that I realised that is exactly what I wanted to do too. I didn't want the body taken away. I wanted to keep Tall next to me forever. If I could have had him stuffed I would. The best I can do is keep the mattress that he died on. I can lie in his dip before moving over to my side of the bed and that gives me comfort.

It may not be for everyone. I know from widow's groups that there are some people who cannot use the bedroom after their loved one has died, who cannot use a loved one's chair or bear to see their things. We all deal with death in our own way. How we cope is as individual as our fingerprints.

For those whose loved ones have been cremated there seems to be many ways of dealing with death. There are those who have the ashes buried in a special place they can visit. Some people have ornate urns so that they can be kept in pride of place at home, waiting until they too die and the ashes can then be put together and left for next of kin to deal with. Some ashes are scattered, and some are turned into fireworks. I have heard of people getting their loved one's ashes tattooed into their skin. Whilst some of these things might not be for me I realise that everyone has to be free to deal with their grief in a way that suits them. I have learnt to be less judgemental. If their choices are hurting no one, not even themselves, then they should be free to get themselves tattooed or sleep in a dead man's bed.

Celebration

Today is Tall's birthday. I will be celebrating it like last year with a good bottle of red wine and steak, which is exactly what Tall would have wanted for his birthday. I am celebrating that I was lucky enough to have known him, even if our time together was far too short. We had imagined that we might get thirty years together.  

I recently read an interview with a grief expert, who through his own grief experience, had discovered that there was a sixth stage to grief, finding meaning. He wasn't taking about finding meaning in the death itself, but finding meaning in the life of the person we have lost or meaning in what their loss has done to us as individuals, how it may have changed us and allowed us to grow. The article can be found here.

Looking back I can see that over the last twelve months I have been doing a lot of trying to find meaning. I still have days of anger, of bargaining and periods of depression, through it all though I try and find the good things. The lessons I learnt from knowing him and from having to cope with his loss have made me a different person to the one I was before I knew him. 

I know that he didn't change the whole world, but that his life touched many others, and only really changed a handful. There are those who say he saved their lives, people who he helped emotionally and of course he changed my life forever. 

Today I will celebrate that Tall was in this world, tears and all. 

Italy 2008

Confession

 Hello. My name is Pixie and I have a confession. I am glad Tall isn't here for the pandemic. 

Yesterday the UK added another one thousand, eight hundred and twenty people to the toll of those who have died from covid-19. 1,820. Which brings the government's running total to 95,829, a figure which is probably below the reality as they only count those who died within 28 days of a positive test. In reality the number is probably over 100,000!

The truth is if Tall had still been alive the last ten months would have been awful. He would at some point had to visit the hospital, be it for a blood transfusion, dialysis or a lung drain. Probably all three several times. Even if he hadn't caught covid-19 there, there's a chance I might have caught it at the shops, for all I know I have had it asymptomatically. Tall hated being told what to do, hated being shut in the house and if he had been stuck in for the last ten months chances are he'd have broken his shielding and caught it outside somewhere. We would have argued and fallen out as I would have tried to wrap him in cotton wool and he would have done the exact opposite just to be awkward.  

I miss having him here to talk to, having him around to lift my mood when I'm feeling down, yet I know that life would have been even tougher with him here and I feel a bit guilty for being glad he isn't. 

Still here.

 I've been meaning to blog since the 1st, so I'm only sixteen days late. Firstly, I am obviously still alive. I have managed so far to avoid catching covid-19, hopefully that luck will continue. Like many other people in the UK there's a feeling of Groundhog Day about our lives. Currently in yet another lockdown that prevents us meeting up with people socially, including family from outside the home, yet allows millions to still go to work. I'm not talking about the truly essential workers, but all those people who have other reasons to carry on working, the ones the government should be helping to stay at home in order to help society. During the first lockdown only ten percent of children were in school, this time it is over fifty percent. 

The pandemic has left me pretty much where I was in January last year, only this time I don't have a trip to Australia to look forward to. With time I have become used to the loneliness, I have no other choice. I get angry some days that I haven't been able to move forward with life, luckily I have the virus to blame rather than myself. I do worry that I am going to spend the rest of my life alone, and that no one will even notice that I am longer around. 

I have been dreaming about Tall a lot since Christmas, almost every night. The dreams are of Tall before 2017. We are on holiday, going out for a meal or meeting up with friends. We are having a wonderful time until Tall says he needs dialysis. We drive home, me apologetic that I haven't set the machine up, that he'll have to wait the twelve hours until it is ready. We get home and I rush upstairs, the machine isn't there. I turn to Tall and say "You died, we'll have to call the unit at the hospital and ask if they can help you." Tall smiles at me. At this point I awake and cry quietly to myself. I miss his company so much. I miss the man he was before he became so ill in 2017. 

Covid-19 has brought to the public eye what intensive care is like. Tall wasn't ventilated, but he was heavily sedated. He had tubes everywhere. The stories of what it is like have brought back all the memories, a reminder of just how much intensive care stole from Tall. I know that it gave him more time, time that Tall wouldn't have wanted to miss. That last visit from his best mate in Australia, the chance to put his affairs in order, the time to make sure he had done his best to ensure I would be okay.  He tried desperately to rehabilitate himself. He joined a gym and bought equipment for home.  He tried high protein diets and high fat shakes, anything to put weight on and rebuild muscle, but nothing worked. I think the staff at the hospital could see it, in hindsight I knew too, Tall was never going to recover from his treatment in 2017. Tall was stubborn though, he tried everything he could think of to regain strength and fitness, and I loved him.