The lessons of the week

Big week this week,  A lot has happened that I need to process. So hello!

The police came on Tuesday to take my statement for the coroner. Fortunately it was the DC I already know so that made it easier on me, and he was in plain clothes and an unmarked car, which I was also grateful for. 

Lesson one:  I'm still apparently bothered what the neighbours think despite my work on  self esteem and letting go of other people's opinions. 

It was tough, as I expected, telling him about Mark as a person, how we met, the state of our marriage through the years, Bertie's birth and death, the years of waiting for Oliver, how he fared through the pandemic and the lead up to his death.  I felt a heavy weight of responsibility to do us all justice.   The picture the coroner forms of him as a man will be mostly shaped by my statement.  Mark is not here to speak for himself, and whilst I knew him better than anyone, I now wonder if I really knew him at all.   I got through it without an ugly cry, telling a story that's all.... Except that isn't all is it? It's his story.  Our story. And it's ended for him. For us. I got through it. But it hit me like a cannonball that night and the floodgates opened.

Lesson two: The tighter and longer I wear the mask, the bigger the release when I remove it.  

Lesson three: Despite all my work on eradicating irrational thinking I still hold a degree of guilt and self blame for his death. 

On Wednesday I went for a hill walk with some fellow widows. It was of course very lovely and it was nice to spend some quality time with people who 'get it'. But, it's a double edged sword, because of course the reason we all met, and the thing we have in common is our widowhood. So naturally, most of the conversation was centered on that.  Which I found a bit stifling and wearing.  Two of them are now a couple and listening to them was very interesting.  I had thought that if I were ever to consider another relationship, then another widow would be the easiest way.  But I couldn't help wondering if these two would have met or got together under different circumstances. Or if their commonality in widowhood had thrown them together in a sort of mutual dependence.  The woman made a really interesting point that she is fearful he could never love her like he loved his wife.   That's seems so sad to me.  Talking to them all also made me realise that within "widowhood' there are so many different stories, feelings and emotions.  Even within those of us bereaved by suicide the nuances are different. 

Lesson four: nobody can or will ever truly 'get' exactly what I'm going through, just as I can't truly 'get' them.  We can be more empathetic to each other than someone who has not grieved their life partner, but we do not all walk the same path. And that's ok.  And we can still support each other.  And it's important and necessary to still mix with 'muggles'. 

I've just spent a lovely weekend with family getting some much needed respite and adult  company.   Including attending a special birthday party for one of my oldest and closest friends.  I made a big effort with how I looked and dressed for my first trip 'out out' since Mark died. My first ever trip 'out out' as a single person.  I enjoyed it, catching up with old friends, but couldn't help but be so very aware of my singleness.  With every affectionate touch between couples, every drink bought for a partner, every unspoken communication between lovers, I missed my person.

Lesson five: It is possible to feel more lonely out in a group full of people than sitting at home alone.  

Of course whilst at my parents I visited the church yard to leave flowers for Bertie and Mark. I now have to walk past Mark's grave to reach Bertie's.  Walking up the path towards the tree Bertie rests under I could picture Mark standing there. Like he used to, ready and waiting to comfort me after I'd finished being a mum to Bertie the only way I can.  Only he wasn't there. And he never will be again.  And now every time I visit my son's grave I revisit the trauma of putting my husband in the ground too.  And I'm so pissed off at him for doing this to me. And I can't believe this is my life now. And I regret interring his ashes there because now it has become so hard to visit Bertie again just when I was getting used to it.  Bertie always makes the sun break through when I visit, without fail. Any time of year, whatever the weather, it always happens.  And I blow him a kiss.   This time was no exception.  I finished up and the sun hid back behind the cloud and I made my way across to Mark. I laid flowers for him in silence until the sun broke through again and I shouted at him to piss off with his sun! How DARE he? That's Bertie's thing and I didn't want it from him. Not after what he's done to me.  He doesn't get to do that. He doesn't get to try to comfort me from where he is when I needed him here.

Lesson six: I'm still stuck in anger, even though I'm letting the grief in. 

Good thing I'm seeing K tomorrow.