Ramblings of a Reluctant Widow

Oliver had a friend's birthday party today. We had a nice time.  Now I'm now emotionally drained. I feel really sad, angry, and resentful that I have to do these things alone now.  Every parent there today went alone, apart from the birthday boy's parents, but all the others would go home to that second adult to help them deal with the hyperactive sugar-fuelled small child.  I joked with a few of them that it was their turn this week, since there was another party last weekend, leaving unsaid the obvious point that I no longer get to take turns.  And the next time Oliver is the birthday boy? Well, I will be doing that alone too, on top of dealing with the emotion of his dad not seeing him turn six, and knowing we will be just a month away from the anniversary. I know I can't live my life always looking ahead to the next hard thing...... But I did not sign up for this. I miss being a team. I miss the man I married. I'm exhausted. I just want to scream. None of this i...

Apparently for me, grief is a sad elephant trying to hold together broken love.  Interesting.

I had every intention of coming here to write something positive. Whilst this space is for me, I am aware that people are reading it, and I'm also aware that I primarily write to process hard feelings. So I wanted to bring some balance. And I will, in a minute.  I've been doing my homework exercise my counselor set me. To avoid repetitive use of the word counselor, I will henceforth call him K. No, he's not a 'man in black', but he is kinda cool in that he's one of just three men in my life right now who regularly make me feel better.   So, K asked me to complete some sentences about grief, and where I'm at right now. I'm not sure yet what the purpose of this is but I'm guessing it's to prompt discussion next session.   I've been busy today with various distractions so I've just sat down to look at it this evening. Probably not best timing, as I'm already feeling exhausted and teetering on the edge of a dip, but then again perhaps tha...

Oliver was rooting around in his underbed storage draws earlier, and pulled out 'little bunny'; a jellycat rabbit gifted to him when he was born. Why do these things have to happen on fragile days? I was instantly transported back to those joyous days where we were finally holding our baby, life was good again, we were gonna be OK. Grief had taken a back seat for a while.  Little did I know just how short a while it would be.  Tears streaming, I tried to suppress the panic I could feel rising.  Whilst I'm OK with Oliver seeing me cry, in fact I consider it part of my parental duty to demonstrate that sharing our feelings is healthy, I'm not OK with him witnessing a panic attack. He's already afraid something is going to happen to me and when I left the room in case I failed to suppress it, he followed me to keep me in sight.   So I employed every mindful technique I could think of and managed to stay calm, whilst he set about finding and bringing me every cuddly...

That was cathartic. 

As I walked back from school with another mum this morning, the conversation turned as it so often does to my widowhood. She told me, as people so often do, that I'm so strong. Neither of us knew that less than an hour later I'd be crying in the car after dropping a donation off at a charity shop.   It was a practical, easy (or so I'd expected) job for this morning.  I'd done the hard bit of emptying and sorting the mountain of books and DVDs Mark kept on the bookcase I wanted moved to Oliver's play room. The ones I'd decided to donate were sat in three bags for life in the dining room, and needed to go this week ahead of the decorators coming on Monday.  I got to the shop, heaved in my three quite heavy bags and asked to leave a donation please.  The volunteer was obviously having a bad day because she just had a bad attitude.  I apologised that I needed the bags back please (they were the canvas kind, not the plastic ones, because, well they were full of ...

Midnight. Unable to sleep. A series of flashbacks of things endured (the last time I saw him/the police at my door/them telling me what he'd done/my screams/the interment) and imagined (his final moments/how he was found) running like a film through my mind. A big, ugly cry. Panic. Who do I turn to in this moment? Who can I justify waking up right now? I felt so very alone.  My bed empty. Nobody to see I was in crisis. I almost phoned the Samaritans, but feared I'd be incoherent. So I turned to my daily devotional book, a Christmas gift from friends. Possibly not in the way I'd intended but the book was a good choice of distraction as I'm calm now after laughing at myself trying to read the infuriatingly small print in the half light.  Better test myself for a reading add I thought.... It reminded me of something I forgot to write about. Notice how blogging is a bit like consumer feedback... The complaints come a lot more readily than the good stuff. Anyway. Romans 8:28...

It's a blunt title I know, but there's no other phrase that covers it really.  Exactly three hours into being back home without immediate support I found myself on the kitchen floor in full meltdown.  Gutteral sobs, silent screams, clawing the air, the works.   I'd hoped it would hold off until tomorrow when Oliver is back at school. Thank goodness for You Tube Kids.  Bethel music was playing on the echo dot; as they sang about hope rising from the ashes and raising hallelujahs I was raising wordless groans.   I've swung fully back to intense grief.  My husband is gone. Forever. It's horrific.  Totally horrific.  How the hell am I meant to be normal, to live a normal life when life is anything but normal?  A few days ago I was thinking work would maybe be OK later this month.  Perhaps not.  I've yet to open the 2021 gratitude jar. I know he put a few things in there......we should be reading them as a family full of hope ...

Back home in Chester after what has been a really suprisingly good Christmas and new year. I've had real respite and actual fun, better sleep and no panic attacks.  It's important to say that, and internalise it, be thankful for it. However, last night I slept terribly and when I did sleep had awful dreams, the worst of which involving Mark living with us having attempted but survived. He was showing me his scar from his attempt.  I woke this morning with the now familiar racing heart and wobbly legs. I've been very tearful. I think perhaps the numbness I've felt over the past ten days was self protection, (don't feel anything because that way you'll survive it.) Well it worked for the holidays but clearly the thought of returning to life alone without help has re-triggered my anxiety. I went to the church yard today to leave fresh flowers for Bertie, and had flashbacks of walking the path with Marks ashes. I thought those were over. I'm not going to stop vi...

A Facebook memory came up today, a picture of me at Christmas 14 years ago.  My first thought - wow she looks young was s quickly followed by the realisation that the picture pre dates the toughest decade of my life.  ' She ' isn't ' me '. She is untouched by grief and loss. She hasn't felt betrayal or abandonment. She is a newly wed with no idea that she will bury her baby and her husband before middle age.   I wondered what I would say to her if I could go back and visit her?  Would I tell her of the unspeakable grief she had ahead of her? No.  I would let her keep her innocence as long as she could.   I think I would tell her to believe in herself more because she is a warrior.  That life is short so seize every opportunity.  To make plans but hold them lightly because life so rarely goes to plan.  Talk to God more, lean on Him because He knows she's really going to need Him. To care less about what other people think of her. B...