The Grieving Jester

 Receiving post in my husband’s name hasn’t bothered me (yet), but it’s those once-off phone calls wanting to speak with him that I find difficult. The Fire Brigade rang (!), asking to speak with him. I explained he had died and asked why they were ringing. It was about smoke alarms – my husband had requested a contact before he became unwell, at least two years ago! Another call was from the local Councillor, who was an acquaintance of my husband through his voluntary work, rang. In retrospect, I suspect it was just a random phone call in light of the coming Mayoral Election and that she hadn’t realised who she was phoning, but this made for a bizarre call as I explained my husband had died and I apologised that she hadn’t been informed. I suspect she was still trying to work out who he was after we had finished the call!  Other phone calls have been strange, too! When I have rung a company to inform them of my husband’s death, quite often I have been transferred to the ‘bere...

 I am beginning to cry less, which is a relief, although on Monday I didn’t cry but I had such an overwhelming feeling of sadness that, somehow, that felt worse. There are now more than five days (but less than ten!) when I haven’t cried at all, but there wasn’t anything particularly different about those days. Two days ago I cried in the shower – I’m not quite sure why, it just comes in waves. Yesterday I was clearing out my husband’s clothes and doing this felt fine until I came across three checked shirts that so reminded me of him that the tears spilled over, again. (I’m keeping those shirts for a little while.) Today I took the clothes to the local clothes bank. He would have liked that (and it meant I didn’t have to wait for the charity shops to open), but it was hard. More tears, but it was the right thing to do.  I am learning that I am not in control of my grief and, as a control freak, that is hard, but I also know that this is normal. I don’t want to feel as I do (e...

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to view my husband’s body, or not. The undertakers had told me that I could do so on the three days prior to the funeral, if I so wished. I didn’t view any of my grandparent’s bodies on the basis that I wanted to remember them how they were but, somehow, it felt different with my husband. Very strangely, I then developed this romantic notion in my head where I would visit and spend time with ‘him’ on each of the three days to say goodbye. I don’t know where this foolish notion came from (I’m a nurse I know what bodies are like!) but I suspect it was case of my heart ruling my head. I didn’t want to let him go. I can only put it down to the pain of grief. In reality, though, my head still hadn’t decided if this was something I wanted to do. So, I decided to seek out other peoples’ experiences on the internet. There was lots of material to read, but their experiences didn’t help with my decision. Some felt viewing a loved one’s body had been really helpf...

I have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of love on Facebook after my first post, so thank you, and sorry I haven't been able to respond other than 'liking' your comments. Why ‘The Grieving Jester’? Well, J.E.S. are my initials, and I have used the term Jester on another blog of mine, but it also seemed a natural title. Jesters were the court fools, those that provided entertainment. Some have said I am brave writing openly like this – I’m not sure about brave, maybe foolish, but I have realised that writing this stuff down helps me, even if no-one reads it. Also, that I find it easier to write it than speak it…  Another point is that humour is important. When I was a palliative care nurse, the times of greatest humour, often black humour, were at our bereavement meetings. It was a method of release. Grieving doesn’t mean I don’t laugh… I thought I would write something of the first month after my husband died. I knew he was dying, indeed in the last hours I told him that ...

  After my husband died, I decided that, if someone asked, I would try to be honest about my feelings. I think it’s the retired palliative care nurse in me - we shouldn't shut these things away. I have to admit, though, it’s not always easy. As a society, we are not very good at discussing dying and death, and / or bereavement and yet at the moment there is a tsunami of grief. A couple of days ago, I read (I wish I could remember where) that currently in our country four out of ten people have lost someone close to them, and six out of ten people someone that they would have attended the funeral of. It is a stark reminder that behind each covid number there is all this misery. And that is not to mention all the grieving people living in the war torn or famine-stricken lands in our world. We need to talk about grief. So I thought I would share where I’m at, what I’ve learnt.  • I miss him so much – the intimacy, the companionship, the physicality, and dare I say it, the disag...