Starting the second year

Somewhat surprisingly, at least for me, the anniversary of B’s death has felt the hardest significant date that I have had to face and recover from. On the whole, the actual day was a good day. I went to the crematorium in the morning and laid three roses on the site where his ashes were scattered, and then walked around the gardens. The gardens are beautiful, and there is such a sense of peace there. I then joined with some friends and we followed B’s last ‘proper’ walk (as opposed to the very short walks we did locally when he was unwell). We ended in a pub, had a lovely meal, and raised a glass to him. I am very grateful for the friends who came with me - it would have been a harder day without them. In the evening, I watched the Thanksgiving Service for B’s life, and it was easier than I thought it might have been as it brought back many happy memories, although I did have a good cry towards the end. 

I’ve already written about the anticipation of the anniversary, so I won’t re-hash that, but what I wasn’t expecting was the slough of despondency afterwards. For some reason, it has been really hard to come to terms with the fact that it is a year since B died. It still seems an impossibility! I was glad to have been able to spend time with my family for a few days afterwards and to have had something else to think about. Now, I just need to pick myself up again, get ‘out and about’, and find that sense of purpose for my life. It reminds me of a song that Fred Astaire sang, ‘so take a deep breath, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again’ (D. Fields & J. Kern). Easier sang than done, but I’m trying!

When I was at the crematorium, I saw a plaque which said:

‘Remember me when I am gone away... 
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than you should remember and be sad.’

It is taken from Christina Rosetti’s poem ‘Remember’ and I completely understand the sentiment, but what it made me realise, though, is that, as yet, this is what I am unable to do. The thought of it just makes the tears well up. I do have times when I don’t think about B for a while, and I can be happy, but underneath it all I remain sad. I know on one level that I won’t ever forget him, but just thinking about the possibility of my life carrying on and being happy without him makes me feel sad, even though that is what I want (and what he would want for me). It is a weird paradox! I want to forget and yet I don’t want to forget… I realise as I write this that ‘forget’ is probably the wrong word, it is more the ability to let go, but the same applies. The ties are loosening and my life is slowly expanding around the loss and my head knows this is a good thing, but my heart still just wants to scream and hang on for dear life!

The other morning, it suddenly dawned on me that when I wake up my first thought is no longer about B, I no longer relive the fact that he is not lying next to me (I invariably woke up and got up before him). Now, I just know and accept that he is not there beside me, just as I used to simply know that he was there. It feels a significant change. The same morning, I looked at the picture of B by my bed, and the thought ‘you are just a picture now’ popped into my mind – why does it do this? – and the tears welled up. In some ways, this is the painful reality, but I realised that B will always be more than this, as he is part of me and he has shaped who I am. He may not be here, but his influence lives on in many ways, in me, his family and friends, and not least in all the students he taught over the years. It is good for me to remember that!

Recently, I led a Book Club and we discussed the novel ‘The Trouble with Goats and Sheep’ by Joanna Cannon. I chose the book because of the theme of ‘unbelonging’, but what struck me as I read it for a second time was the sense of loss and grief running through it (obviously, just as we view pictures, we all read a book from our own perspective!). Sometimes, I am unable to find the right words to describe how I feel, but on several occasions in this book Joanna Cannon just hit the nail on the head, and so very eloquently. One of her characters says this: 

“But the chair remained silent. It was strange how the past often broke into the present like an intruder, dangerous and unwanted. Yet whenever the past was invited in, whenever its presence was requested, it seemed to fade into nothing, and made you wonder if it had ever really existed in the first place.” (p.377) 

This is exactly it! Something can come completely out of the blue and floor me, and yet at other times when I remember a happy occasion it can all feel so unreal. The anniversary of B’s death just heightened this for me. Another quote in Joanna Cannon’s book sums up the unreality and loneliness of losing a partner: 

‘And as long as he had Elsie, he had everything … When he’d said ‘til death do us part, he never really thought it would happen. It seemed so unlikely, so far-fetched. And yet here he was, sidestepping a world filled with other people’s plans, walking around a shop with half a loaf of bread in a wire basket, and coming down each morning to find the house exactly the same as he had left it the night before.’ (p.217) 

I so identify with this, everything changes, and bread is definitely an issue! I am aware that I feel jealous of friends who go away on holiday, and feel bad because I do so, as I wonder what I am going to do about holidays now. I have possibilities, but it is going to be so different without B and that upsets me. And yes, just living in the house is different now. It is now mine, rather than ours. It doesn’t change unless I change something. It is messy or tidy, clean or dusty because of what I have or haven’t done. There is no-one to nag when a light has been left on (why did I do that?), and I find that I do it myself now, which also makes me feel bad. There are reminders of B, furniture, etc, as well as pictures of him, all over the house, but it is empty of him. Everything is different, and yet some things remain the same, though. B’s study will always be “B’s Room”, even though it looks very different now. Joanna Cannon even recognises this:

‘You couldn’t really call it Mrs Morton’s shed, because even after a person has disappeared, there are still some places left in the world which will always belong to them.’ (p.239)

One more quote from Joanna Cannon:

‘The only thing that was there was the emptiness, the space in my life where Tilly used to be.’ (p.409)

Overall, I would say that I feel a little less empty than I did, or rather that I notice B’s absence a little less than I did, but I know I have a way to go to find that renewed sense of purpose. I have put together a list of things for me to do e.g. to become a volunteer, to do a course, etc., but I need to summon up the courage to put some of them into action. I don’t know why it’s different, B and I didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but it still feels different starting new things on my own, even though I did so before. Perhaps, B encouraged me more than I realised and, also, I realise that I am now a different person with a different story, and the thing is, it does feel like starting all over again, and that is scary. So, that’s the challenge for myself, to start some new things. I’ll let you know how I get on, but I am enjoying being part of a choir, so that’s one positive step.