The Grieving Jester

Today is thirteen weeks or three calendar months since B died. In some ways it seems ages ago and in others such a short time. It seems so long since I was arranging the funeral and Service of Thanksgiving, but then I also wonder how three months could possibly have gone by in what seems a blink of an eye. I’m not sure it’s got any easier, although it is perhaps beginning to feel a little different. I would say that perhaps my grief feels less raw, at least at times, although, saying that, my emotions have been all over the place this week. At times I have actually felt happy, which has been so nice, but then something has happened and, just as if a switch has been flipped, the misery comes back out of nowhere. As others have said, it is just like being ambushed! The other day I was watching the morning news and they were interviewing a professor who worked at the Open University in B’s field. Previously, at this point I would have asked him if he knew the person, as it was not uncommo...

B liked books; I like books; our house is overrun with books. There are some books of B’s that he kept in what was his study that I don’t want to keep, but what surprised me when starting to clear them is how many of them belonged to his first wife and to his father. Some he would have read, but some were extremely dusty indicating that they had just sat on the shelf since the day we moved into our house, twenty-four years ago. Perhaps, he had had trouble letting go too and, in a strange way, this is a comfort to me. In many ways it won’t be too difficult for me to get rid of these books (all 20 boxes of them, though far more remain!) knowing they are going to be put to some use. What was hard, though, was when it looked like I wouldn’t be able to give them to a charity shop, as the first was less than helpful. Whilst I don’t mind giving them to a good cause, the thought of taking them to the tip was, somehow, unbearable. Anyway, the boxes are now sitting in the hall waiting for my a...

 About two weeks ago, I started jotting down, mostly daily, notes about my day. I have kept a diary for forty odd years, but the accounts in my diaries just give a very brief report of what I did each day. My new notebook is different, as the things I write in it are primarily about my emotions and what has triggered positive or negative feelings. I started doing this on the basis that I wanted to look at the positive things that happened, as well as the sad things, to see if this would help me move forward. I have found that I do sometimes just splurge, but I have also found that venting my thoughts and feelings by writing them down can be helpful. I do wonder whether I would have started this notebook if we hadn’t been in lockdown, but it has been a constructive exercise. Interestingly, in his sermon this week, our minister referred to the practice of Examen, a process of reflection to help us find God in the everyday. He pointed out that how we encounter God isn’t necessarily in...

  Grief is strange! I want people to ask me how I am, and I think that is mainly because I want my grief recognised, and yet it is too big a question to answer. When people have asked (and this is so much better than when people just ignore the fact that B has died), I have employed various answers: I’m ok; I’m up and down: today hasn’t been too bad; today’s been a better day; I’m fine (!), etc. I don’t tend to say I feel miserable, which is often nearer the truth. I try not to cry, although I don’t always succeed. In reality, though, the truth is, I don’t know how I am. The other day I was having another sob and I wondered how long this was going to continue as, paradoxically, I don’t actually like feeling this miserable. I was then looking at Facebook and I saw another widow had written that she was still crying after nearly three years. This both encouraged me (okay, I’m only two and half months in, so this is normal / alright) and disturbed me (I don’t think I can bear to fee...