The Grieving Jester

B and I were married for just over twenty-four years, and were ‘an item’ for several years before that. In many ways we were opposites, but we complemented each other. Above all, we were each other’s best friend. We fitted together and we were happy together. And now I am on my own, and today is the third anniversary of B’s death. So how am I? What have I learnt? Well, it’s good I didn’t know how hard it was going to be without him, but I know that the pain of his loss is the price for the happiness we found in each other. Would I do it all again? Of course, I would! I now know that grief is about learning to bear the unbearable, but I also know that I can do the impossible, I can bear the unbearable! I didn’t have a choice, B didn’t choose to die, but I did have a choice about how I dealt with his absence. I chose to look squarely into the face of darkness, to learn to live with the abyss that appeared in my life. I could have shut it all out but I knew that, ultimately, that would ha...

Last month I visited my in-laws for the first time since B’s death. It took a while to arrange due to concerns over covid, me getting around to it and having to arrange flights (believe it or not, I had never flown on my own prior to this), and, if I’m honest, me being in a place where I could face visiting on my own. Not that I didn’t want to see them, just that I knew it would be hard visiting without B. The last of those big firsts! And, of course, it was lovely to see everybody; to meet my great-niece for the first time and to see my great-nephew growing up; to catch up with everyone and chat about B; to look at and mull over family photographs; and to go out for a lovely meal together. And I was grateful to the friend that made my journey a whole lot easier by meeting me from the airport, and then taking me back there a few days later. But, of course, for me, the whole trip was about B and it was hard being there without him as it just reinforced his absence. How could it not? Say...

 In one of his more lucid moments, not long before he died, B told me to have a “big party”. I have no idea what was in his mind – perhaps, something after his funeral, though, I’m quietly, thankful, that covid prevented that. That would have been too hard! But, I haven’t forgotten what he said. At the weekend I held a garden party (except it was held inside as it was so wet!!) and about 40 people came. Essentially, I held it because it was my turn in a trilogy of friends, but I decided to designate it, in my mind at least, as B’s ‘big party’. He would have been in his element. I can just see him, going around and chatting with everyone; occasionally, when he remembered, filling people’s glasses; me getting irritated with him because he wasn’t helping enough! But, one thing is for sure, he would have been enjoying himself.  At times, the thought of organising the party without him just seemed too hard, and once or twice I got quite stressed by the thought of it, but I am glad ...

 Well, I’m here again! Sometimes I just feel the need to write… I write in my journal most days but, somehow, my blog is different – I write differently. Perhaps, knowing I’m going to make it public helps me to process my thoughts rather than just vomiting up my feelings onto a blank page in my journal. It might sound daft, but I think more when I write my blog rather than just venting and forgetting (not that that can’t be helpful). Recently, someone I know lent me a book called ‘Levels of Life’ by Julian Barnes. If you’ve lost a partner I can’t recommend it highly enough, or read it if you just want to understand a little about what losing a partner is like. Read it anyway! It’s a short, simple read, and yet so eloquent. Barnes wrote it four years after his wife died. The first two sections are interesting and add to the third, or just read the third section where Barnes talks explicitly about his grief. The book did make me cry, but not because it is sad but because I identified...

Well, it’s two years since B died and, no, it doesn’t seem possible. How can all of that time have passed without him? How can I no longer be able to say, “my husband died last year”? And yet here I am. To be truthful, although I couldn’t see how it could possibly do so, life does carry on and I no longer think about B all of the time. I can go out now, have a good time, and really enjoy myself. Admittedly, the underlying sadness is still there but it is less potent, and I haven’t had any more of those terrible dark, crushing times of misery, for which I’m thankful. There are still the occasional bad times but, on the whole, they are shorter and I bounce back more quickly. Whenever I feel sad, I just also try to feel grateful for what we had and, generally, that helps. It no longer feels like yesterday that B was here, though. I can feel the ‘realness’ of him slipping away and, I guess, this is the natural process of grief unfolding, which is probably good but, if I’m truthful, I don’t...

Well, I thought I had finished with my blog, but the recent death of the Queen has prompted some reflections. It was clear the Her Majesty’s health has been declining and, although her end seemed quite sudden, it was in fact, as Dr Kathryn Mannix pointed out, an ordinary death i.e. her slow decline had been apparent, if one cared to look. My lasting memory of the her will be of her sitting alone, wearing a mask, in St George’s Chapel, Windsor, for her husband’s funeral. With quiet dignity and strength, and at the most painful of times, she showed solidarity with her people by following the restrictions imposed because of covid and, as we later found out, in stark contrast to our government. And for that I thank her.  Whatever one’s views about the monarchy, I think it is interesting to observe how the pomp and circumstance since the Queen's death has been playing out. I find the mass grieving an interesting phenomenon. Why is there such feeling for a person who most didn’t know per...

Well, I’m not letting her have the last word! She’s managing quite well, and perhaps she more often seems like her old self, but she is a changed person and underneath it all she is still grieving. I still make some days quite tough for her. Mostly, though, I just sit in the background and she thinks that she knows how to live with me, and she can and does think about living the rest of her life, but I can still needle her. I mostly use different tactics now – after all, I have to remind her that she’s not finished with me, even though she would like to be – and I make her realise that her emotional resilience is still quite low (what an understatement!). If she gets stressed, I just poke at the pain deep within her and I can soon overwhelm her. She has come a long way, but she’s still got a way to go. If you think about it, it’s still early days for her; she’s only known me for eighteen months or so, whereas she and B had been together for twenty-four years and more. You’ll be ple...