The Grieving Jester

 On Tuesday the Book Club I belong to happened to be meeting to discuss Dervla’s Murphy’s book ‘Full Tilt’, in which she records her journey on a bicycle from Europe to India, in 1963. When I started to read it, I looked on Google to see if she was still alive and it turned out she was 90 years of age.  Well, I was lying in the bath on Tuesday morning and her death was announced on the news. What a coincidence, I thought! The trouble was the ensuing internal dialogue that then ran savagely through my mind: “What are the chances of her dying on the day we are discussing her book?! It just proves coincidences like this do happen. Of course, they do! But then, that makes a mockery of all those potential signs, all those white feathers (of which I have been seeing a lot recently!) and robins (ditto!!) that people talk about. They are all just chance or coincidence. Of course they are, you know that, why are you getting so upset? It means B isn’t there - where???!!! – he can’t conn...

This week has not been a good week, and it is only Thursday! In fact, I had already started my next blog post to describe what I have been experiencing, but a new emotion has taken over – anger! I haven’t experienced much anger since B died, but it emerged today when reading a summary of the Sue Gray report and the goings-on in Downing Street. Not that I haven’t been aware of all this already, but the report just cements my feelings about it all. In the ten months before he died, other than me and health and social care professionals, B only saw six other people, and each of those only once. He didn’t even see his immediate family, except on Zoom. B was happy with the treatment he received during lockdown, but the majority of his appointments happened over the telephone and this meant that he was not assessed as he would have been if he had been seen in clinic, though I don’t think this affected the overall outcome. It was very evident that some elements of his care weren’t as good as ...

I recently read an article entitled ‘Is the Second Year of Grief Harder?’ ( https://whatsyourgrief.com/is-the-second-year-of-grief-harder/ ). I remember wondering about this around the time of the anniversary of B’s death, as I entered my second year without him. My response, so far, is that it’s just different; sometimes it’s easier, sometimes it’s just as hard, sometimes it’s harder. The raw emotion is definitely less, although it hasn’t disappeared completely, and yes, overall, I feel happier, but there are some things that are more difficult. As I read the article, I just kept thinking, ‘yes, yes, that’s exactly it’. It’s true that I am much more critical of myself (and probably others) now: ‘ Oh, don’t start crying again’, ‘They’ll get fed up with you bringing B into the conversation – but if they don’t, I’m going to’, ‘You should be able to deal better with it by now’, ‘What will people think?’, ‘Do they expect me to be over it by now – if only they knew what it’s like, then they...

Recently, I have had two spells away. The first was a few days spent with my family. This was good. Unlike last time, I did have some moments of sadness when things occurred that just reminded me of B, but that’s okay, I’m getting used to those… The second trip was more of an experiment. I was given the opportunity to meet up with some friends from school. This was a slightly scary as I haven’t seen them for forty years, but in for a penny… As we were going to meet in Suffolk, I decided to also visit a friend whom I haven’t seen since before the pandemic. Well, I thought, if I’m going for two nights I might as well extend it and go for four, and see if I can cope with going away on my own. I booked a hotel where B and I had previously stayed. The advantage of this was that I knew the geography, what the hotel was like, and how it functioned. The downside was that it had the potential to make me sad, remembering the times B and I had spent there. I decided the advantages outweighed th...

 Yesterday I had a really nice day. A lovely walk around Hampstead Heath in gorgeous sunny weather, with all the lovely greens of the foliage and the colours of the various blossoms. Then I was treated to lunch by the friends I was with, and we had one of those relaxing lunches, sitting outside, just chatting and eating, with a glass or two of wine. I felt happy.  I was undecided whether to get The Tube or a bus home, but as a bus came along I decided to jump on. Perhaps, this was a mistake. I got on, sat down and, as I travelled along, I felt my grief rise and I struggled to keep back the tears. Why? There were no obvious triggers. Perhaps it’s just buses! When I got home, I tried to reflect on this. Was it because of the empty seat next to me? Was it the contrast between having had such a lovely day and then the anticipation of going home on my own to an empty house, when previously times such as these would always have been shared with B. Was it because, on my own, my brain...