Anything can happen

Over two years into this blog and, with great embarrassment, I've just noticed a grammatical error in the introduction above these posts. I've corrected it but did wonder if anyone had noticed it before. Perhaps you all had and secretly wondered how someone with an error in their introduction could win a best writing blog award. Either you're all too polite or such details have been lost in the abundance of words. Where did that come from? Why hadn't I noticed it before?

Such moments of bewilderment are reasonably common in this journey. Unfortunately, they are not all as simple as finding a grammatical error alongside a blog award badge, and they're not all easily masked in an abundance of words either.

In my life I have experienced the most horrendous shock possible, the worst kind of surprise, the most unexpected, unwelcome twist in the road I was travelling on. I don't think much, if anything, in my life ahead could compare to that dreadful moment when Ems' life on earth was done and mine, unrecognisable as it was, carried on.

While it is an understatement to say that dreadful moment of shock stands out, it doesn't stand alone. While I know from the death of my husband, soulmate, best friend, that life is not always within my control, I still find myself surprised at twists and turns in the journey that leave me looking up in wonder and bemusement. You'd think I'd have learned by now. Even if we know deep down that we're not in complete control, we still fool ourselves on the surface.

Surprises, life's full of them.

I'd like to say that nothing surprises me anymore but it does.

Sometimes it's been things I've done numerous times since Ems died seeming a lot harder than I expect them to be. Sometimes it's things I haven't done since Ems died passing without the anguish I've anticipated.

Sometimes it's the big decisions that bring the pressure. Where is he? My teammate and fellow decision-maker. My heart still looks to discuss decisions that arise with him only to be corrected by my head which, by now, knows better.

Sometimes it's the simple shock of a dead bird falling down your chimney (almost into my lap i might add) leaving me frozen in panic, wondering what to do! He would've just got on with it, unphased.

It's the reactions of others, good or bad, to circumstances not of my doing, and my own reactions to things in life, surprising myself and giving me fresh understanding of others' reactions.

Surprises lurk everywhere. In situations, in relationships, in finances, in life and death, in love and loss. I remember thinking when Ems died that nothing else could hurt me but alas that wasnt the case. I also remember thinking that I'd never smile again but that wasn't the case either.

Surprises will arrive. Some will throw me to the floor and others will leave me
looking up in bewilderment at the craziness of this journey. The experience of widowhood can be shaky ground when storms rage, and sometimes even when the sun is shining; it's a fragile place. But the love and security of a man who loved me with all his heart and was / is loved by me with all of mine doesn't shake at all and its blessing surrounds me through the victories and tears.

Sometimes the thing that most surprises me is that the thing that causes the most pain - Ems absence - is also a reminder of one of the most comforting things in my life - Ems presence. Imprinted like the scribbles on a school desk 'Ems was here'. I would never be without it.

As it happens, the dead bird only needed a shovel and a box. My actions tentatively followed the only decision that could be made.

And sometimes the surprises are like that. There is only one thing to do - get on with it. With each surprise along the way I may be reminded again of so much being outside my control but I also know that one thing is always in my control - my reaction. Sometimes the only reaction that seems possible at the time may be to lift my head in disbelief to the one thing that never changes, but it's still my reaction to choose.

The latest big surprise has come in the form of an invitation to join Mr Jeremy Vine on his BBC Radio 2 lunchtime programme this Wednesday. This surprise left me shaking my head in a disbelief that bordered hilarity. Like the grammatical error that's been there for two years unnoticed, where did that come from?

Many have reminded me how proud Ems would be and I agree. I think he'd also be amused at this next surprising step in his "little wifey's" journey, but, particularly from the perspective from which he now sees things, very unsurprised and entertained by my ongoing surprise at such things.

Thoughts far above my thoughts. Ways far beyond mine. Anything can happen.

You can listen in to my radio interview on the Jeremy Vine show, tomorrow at 1pm here.

That's my boy: 2 years

Two years ago today I returned to a house that shouldn't have been empty but was. After what at the time felt like the longest, hardest 90 minutes of my life, the police arrived. 'There's been an incident...'. Gone.

The death of your other half isn't something you think about five months into marriage. I find it hard to believe it's been two years, his love and memory so fresh in my mind; but also feel like it's been an eternity, those times when we held one another close and felt like nothing could touch us feel like far too long ago.

Two years. I'd love to write a reflection of the last two years right now. I'd love to blog freely like I once did and share the feelings, the struggles, the victories, the grace, the faith, the purpose, the frustrations. Right now though I'm exhausted. Where I was once only capable of grieving, I've developed the confidence to do things and yet haven't truly re-learned my limitations and find myself exhausted from the busyness of life recently. Exhaustion never used to be this exhausting though.

I could have blogged in the last few weeks about my envy of the hedgehog, curling up into a ball when bad things come and hibernating for the dark, winter months. The 'November cloud' has been hovering since the first of this month and reflects so many of the feelings I had this time last year. I know others have felt the same. 'It' looms.

I don't have it in me right now but I do want to share a little something for my boy on this, the two year anniversary of our last goodbye. This is from my diary a few weeks ago. 

Ruth's diary, 12/10/11

'There are moments when I realise afresh how completely and utterly in love with Ems I still am. 
They are precious moments and I feel as in love, deep love, with him as I did when I could hold him close and whisper words beyond words into his ear. 
He's my boy, he'll always be my boy. That thought is so precious. 
I don't want to ever be without that thought anymore than I ever wanted to be without him. 

Tributes and things people have said about Ems recently have made me so proud - 'that's my boy' I've thought, he truly is wonderful.

Thank you for your touch Emrys Davies, hubbie, sweetheart, my boy. Your fingerprints are all over my life and they are truly beautiful.' 

Incidentally there's no particular reason for the photo above. It's just one of my favourites of my happy, bearded, cheeky-smiled boy.

Mrs 2 years

A year ago today I wrote 'memories of a year ago'. I can hardly believe a year has passed since then.

While time greedily swallows my proximity to my sweet boy, each time I mention how 'long' it's been making me feel more unworthy of not yet being 'used to' his absence, the anniversary tells a different story.

While I wish that rather than the comforting thoughts and prayers of friends today that I was celebrating 'another year' with my darling husband, the anniversary seems to affirm why I should miss him as I do. For though today I mark 2 years since the beautiful day that brought us together as man and wife without him, and though today I mark 2 years as his wife having spent just over 3/4 of that time as his widow, today I mark 2 years since I became Mrs Davies, his Mrs Davies, and being his Mrs Davies is still something I consider myself exceptionally proud, blessed and privileged to be.

There'll be no cards but there will be the sweetest of memories.
There will be heartache but there'll be a deep appreciation for the reason it is there in the first place.

Here's to you my lovely husband...till we meet again.

This video is a montage of clips from our wedding day which was put together and played at Ems thanksgiving service. Like the memories it may bring tears, but so too like the memories it'll also bring smiles, and surely we would not want for an absence of tears if it too meant we'd never a smile wear.

Thanking God that love is stronger, way stronger, than death.

A birthday song

Because it's his birthday.

Because I love him every bit as much as if he were here to celebrate it with me.

Because I'll always be so proud of him and everything he was and did.

Because despite not having written recently, this journey of remembering is still simultaneously both vividly beautiful and painstaking, and I love to remember.

I may not be able to treat him today but I'm going to treat you instead.

A few weeks ago I discovered a case belonging to Ems with some home recorded CDs in it. Not knowing if they were audio or digital I tried putting one, simply labelled '19/05/07', in the car's stereo only to hear his lovely, familiar voice singing a song I'd never heard before.

Having since played it to both of his bandmates, his friends Dom and Rhodri who together with him made up Haybarns on Fire *, neither of them had heard it before either.

Never mind Mastercard ads, THIS is priceless!

Ems would regularly record song ideas to later develop and introduce to the guys. Vocals, guitar and drums all by Ems, this was a song recorded that would be hidden for our ears to discover over four years later.

It may or may not be your style of music. You may or may not already be familiar with this incredible man. Either way, take a moment to listen and as you do remember never to underestimate how much something you create may later come to bless others without you even knowing it.

May your name and life shine with bright light, just like his continues to.

Feel free to watch this in 'YouTube' and to like / comment there.

* Incidentally Dom and Rhodri now, with their friend Aled, form the band Conductors

And then there was you

In memory of my valentine.

I wrote and gave this poem to my beautiful Ems a couple of months after our relationship began. The words got truer with every new day. 

'And then there was you'
A poem (written for Ems by Ruthie, February 2008)

I was always told I had a good imagination…
I used to imagine what it would be like to be in love.
I used to imagine holding someone’s hand like you didn’t want to ever let it go.
I used to imagine caring for someone so much that their needs became yours.
I used to imagine what it might be like to feel so at ease with someone, they felt like home.
I used to imagine what it would be like to feel safe even though your whole life was in their arms.
I used to imagine staring silently, deeply, searchingly, knowingly, into someone’s eyes and for a moment forget the rest of the world existed.
I used to imagine what it might be like to let go and have someone else let go of themselves back.
I used to imagine what it might be like to find a human love that added something to me and drew new things out of me.
I used to imagine what it might be like to be with someone and know there was nowhere else in the whole universe I’d rather be.
I used to imagine…
And then there was you,
And suddenly all my wildest dreams and deepest imaginations couldn’t come close to the overwhelming wonder of being in love with you, of being loved by you.
I used to imagine but it didn’t come close.
“Are you sure you’re not dreaming?” you asked me,
Only because this is way beyond anything I could have imagined in my dreams. 

He really did ask me if I was sure I wasn't dreaming, telling me he could hardly believe the beauty of our love was real himself. 

He's still, and what we had is still, way beyond anything I could ever have imagined. 

Love eternally x

For valentine memories, see my blog entry from a year ago - 'More than a day'

When numbness slows my typing hands

So I've just got in from my shift at our church's community coffee bar, The Loft. It's almost 1am. It's silent. And I know I just have to write.

My attempt to break the ice in my last post didn't really work. I have a great desire to write, a great sense of purpose in my writing, I thank God that I have the ability to write, but despite all these things I've been struggling to sit down and do just that; to write. Really really struggling. I've been frustrated with myself. I've let others waiting on me down. And still, nothing. Why don’t the words come out?

It's not just blog entries that have decreased. Diary entries, notebook musings, emails to friends - they've all been in short supply. My writing has consisted of 140 character tweets and Facebook status updates. Snippets can be thought provoking but there is great need too for the bigger picture; quotes can easily be twisted when isolated from their context. My life sometimes feels like those short quotes, those tweets - made up of lone moments where all appears to be 'fine', only for the cracks to show when I'm away from the public eye. It took me a long time to let those moments come, to write little quotes, to face people with a smile, for fear of people thinking that I'm ok, that I'm normal, equipped to face life on my own, all the time.

The inability to get my words out on screen doesn't come alone. Numbness, a state of being I cannot stand, has plagued me of late. And as I feel that numbness wallow over me, it seems natural that a writing inspired by such intensity of grief and emotion, should suffer. The numbness doesn't kill the love. The love still bursts inside; it just kills its expression and influence for good.

Tonight though, as I soon as I closed the car door after my shift, the tears began to flow. He wasn't there in the passenger seat beside me. He hasn't been for over 14 months now but still at times it hits me. It did tonight. I wanted him there, his company, his conversation, his companionship, his taking me home. With numbness you don't feel the hits. But you miss them. You need them. They bring such release. Suddenly in all the grief and tears is all the love and beauty that you miss so much.

I've always been aware of the isolation, the separation that comes with widowhood. If we were only friends with people at the same 'life stage' as us then I'd have none right now. Fortunately it doesn't work like that and I have some amazing friends who I am eternally grateful for (that sentence doesn't give justice to just how grateful I am - there just aren't words my dear friends). But there's an isolation which is far stronger than simply not having friends; even surrounded by people, you cannot escape it. You are isolated from your other half, a part of your very being, and that void becomes all too clear at times.

Looking for advice or opinions on big decisions or simply sharing the mundane details of the day. I wonder if people think it's strange that I've shared certain things with them, like it's not their place to know. But the person whose place it is to 'know' is too far away to share these things with, & in his absence, I share things with others that I wouldn't normally, just like I share this blog with you all. I want to be able to talk through decisions with Ems, to tell him about the silly mundane things of the day, but I can't. And the silence, his silence, is deafening, made louder by still, by naturally non-committal responses from others to questions they should never have been asked, to mundane details that only the most intimate of lovers takes interest in; the way he takes interest in everything that you are. Some things are now solely my decision to make and others can't possibly enter in to that loneliness.

Ems and I bought a 'project' of a house. A beautiful old house with character, light and space; we both loved it immediately. You could walk around and see the 1970s wallpaper and crumbling plaster in places, or you could see what the house would become. We knew it would take ten, maybe twenty years to get the house how we knew it could be, yet we didn't mind. It was to be a labour of love, and it was already full of love; already 'home'. In many ways, despite what other eyes might see, Ems and I lived in the finished article despite having only owned the house for 6 months. With every morning's wake and every walk through the door we saw what it was going to be, not what it was. Our mattress on the floor might as well have been a four poster bed, the ageing paint work the most luxurious wallpaper, as far as we saw it.

In the last few weeks the builders have started work on the house which I haven't lived in since Ems passed. It was time, and as they commence what will be months of work, I continue the build up to living there again, this time alone. This isn't the way I wanted it to be but it's the way I want it to be. It currently stands with its guts taken out, walls knocked down, floors churned up (two words - damp proofing!). Yet as it stands as a shell it still feels every bit our home. It always will.

Massive decisions need to be made on what to do with the layout of the house and again I find myself lost. I am presented with options and ideas and I shelve them to discuss later, yet the person I am shelving them to discuss with is not around to discuss anything. These decisions are now mine to make yet with every one of them, I still think of we. This is not my house but our house. I am suddenly carrying out our plans.

Many have and will be asked for their opinion but the resounding cry of 'it's whatever you want to do' will remain. Yet what I want to do is by the by now. None of this is what I want to do and I long for my sweet darling boy to come and decide with me.

Yet, even as I write I know that the focus was never and will never be the bricks and mortar of the house. The focus was our love which made it home. And I am aptly reminded not to worry about big decisions I have to make or little details I cannot share, because all this we see is temporary. Everything we see is in a state of decay, yet the things beyond vision continue forever. There is nothing and no one visible who won't one day not be here. But the faith despite the circumstance, the hope in the despair, the love in the darkness; those things will continue to grow. The numbness must fade, and the release of it will bring pain, yet forever I know it will be worth it for the purpose and love which has brought me this far and which will ever lead me home. Oh God I hope I write as this journey goes on.

[Memory #25: The ‘would you like your order now’ episode
It was my first birthday since we’d started going out and Ems took me to really nice local restaurant, Y Polyn. I’d been starving myself all day to fully appreciate the tasty delights we were anticipating that evening. We’d both wanted to go to the restaurant for ages and he’d decided to treat me for my birthday as a surprise (having already tried to on Valentines day too – not that I knew at the time – but without success due to it being booked out). We arrived and were asked if we wanted to sit down with a drink or go straight through, I didn’t mind, and Ems took the decision to go straight through. The waiter then came to ask if we were ready to place our order and Ems decisively asked if we could wait a while before placing it. I can clearly remember him being so decisive on both counts (very unlike him at times!) and thinking it was because he hadn’t yet decided on his choice of food. After the waiter had left though he confessed to having eaten a pasty when he’d got in from work and ‘wasn’t really hungry’! He’d done too good a job of starving himself through the day and couldn’t wait any longer. He regretted that decision, particularly in realising I’d been successful in holding out and was resultantly famished. Fortunately, another of Ems strengths was his hearty appetite and as soon as the delicious goodies appeared in front of us, the pasty was quickly forgotten and a hearty helping was much enjoyed by my boy who loved his food.]

The reality of it all

Not that I’ve ever faltered from it but I’m warning you that you’re about to hear the honesty I’ve promised you all along. I wish I could have a warning for the different depths of this journey, the different hurts that lay ahead. When I wrote last week about the dawn of November and the grief and fears it presented, I had no idea how raw, how fresh, how agonisingly all-consuming the pain could be again.

There is no other word for it than agony. It isn’t any better than just under a year ago when it was new. It isn’t any better than a few months in when the shock started to wear off. It isn’t like a medical condition that improves with time. Perhaps because I’m young there are different expectations because of all that I’m physically still able to do, but like the old widows with whom I’ve shared many conversations confirm, it doesn’t get better – it gets worse. It’s just different.

Car journeys have never been the same since Ems died. It’s not just his absence because I was often in the car without him; it’s that rather than simply be a mindless journey from one place to another, they’re now burdened with emotional heaviness as I have no escape from my own thoughtful company. Lately I find I rarely take a journey alone, long or short, without crying at some point if not all the way. I’d thought those days were behind me, saved now for the odd ‘special’ occasion, but no.

I’m unable to work out where on my face the burning pain is worse because both eyes and cheeks sting ferociously from relentless tears. Yet they both pale into insignificance compared to the weighty, excruciating throbbing of my shattered heart.

Tears spill into day time, into ordinary moments while daylight is upon us, rather than reserving themselves for the loneliness of nights without sweet Ems at my side. For a while I thought I had mastered control of my tears in public, grasped the ability to play it cool and not upset anyone, to make it easier for others. Now I once more find myself being asked by my boss if I’m 'ok' and without warning rivers flow; Now I stand in church singing and open my eyes to see the droplets of tears on the floor below me; Now I just can’t always promise to keep back the tears, hard as I try at times.

There is no monopoly on hurt. Many hurt around me and I hate it. I often wish that I had the monopoly on pain; that I wouldn’t have to see others suffer too. The one advantage of a broken heart is that it makes you far more sensitive to other’s pain. I've realised that God doesn’t just use us in spite of our brokenness; He actually uses our brokenness to reach out to others. There really needs to be some re-shift in our thinking that the most useful and effective people are the ones with no worries, no hurts, no pain, with the hard exteriors and perfect faces. When we let it, pain will fix our minds on something far greater because the only alternative is to focus on our pain and its harrowing affect on our lives, and that only ever leaves us in despair.

I scream ‘why me’ but I know I have no more rights than the next person. I have no right over anyone else to a long marriage. None of us do. I had no right over anyone else to the beauty of being in love with a man who was as equally and beautifully in love with me. I still don’t hold that right but I’m blessed with it.

I don’t love Ems any less than anyone who loves the husband right next to them. I don’t desire or need him any less. I don’t want to share the little details of the day with him any less. The love, the wants, the needs - they remain. The difference is solely that he’s not here. The wants and the needs remain frustrated; the love it continues to grow. Until you experience it you can’t possibly imagine it but though the days apart grow longer, the love grows deeper and the heart misses more; the love does not switch off – it is stronger than death and doesn’t change. You just begin to learn to live with only memories of whispers coming back your way; of his arms to hold you after the tough days; of him, your confidant, sharing your deepest fears and desires and fighting for them alongside you.

You begin to learn to live with it; but you still hate it.

I refuse to wallow in self pity. I have never demanded special treatment because of the pain I relentlessly carry. Though I cannot control my feelings, I can control what I choose to do or say, what passions I choose to run with, what purpose I’ll seek to fulfil. We can all choose that.

And so it goes, in the brutal honesty I have promised you; be encouraged that I still believe there is purpose in pain, but don’t think that the pain goes away. I run not because I am pain free, but in spite of it, because of it, knowing that the final destination will make all this worthwhile.

I remember when Ems died not just wishing I had the monopoly on hurt, that no one else would have to feel like I did, but also naively thinking that nothing else could hurt me now. How I wish we all had a quota so that once it was full we could feel no more hurt. But alas, even though my love and grief infiltrate every second and action of my waking day, and I start to believe I couldn’t possibly feel greater loss, more pain, there it is. And just as the grief surprises you with increased vigour, so other hurts are magnified in the light of your open wound. There is no hard shell for hurts to bounce off; it’s all absorbed, deeper and deeper into the gashes that one sweet day will be but memories themselves.

Running with an injury can make the injury flair up at times. But this isn’t a broken leg which can be rested before training resumes. Waiting for my broken-heart to heal is as little an option as waiting for Ems to walk back through the door. So do I stop? There are moments when desperation comes over me to run away from it all; but there is no escape route, there’s nowhere to run to, this isn’t a choice. I can choose to stop but I won’t; I’ll keep running. The stitch will pound and the knees will buckle, there’ll be dehydration, and long, slow hills, but I will run; not in spite of it all, but because of it all, and one day I’ll win.

[Memory #23 The "running" episode
Ems was a man who could teach us all a thing or two about perseverance. As you'll have read in earlier blogs he suffered with Seasonal Affective Disorder in these winter months and yet never let it conquer him. It would reduce the amount he could do, yes, but he never caved into bitterness, never took it out on others, never stopped being grateful for the things he did have, never took his eyes off the main thing, he always always loved. One day, lacking energy as he did, he decided that in spite of it, he was going to start running that night in order to increase his (already fairly high) fitness levels.
As I watched the rain begin, then start to pour, outside my office window I expected his resolve to be postponed to another day. But not Ems, he was determined. As soon as we were in through the door, he was up the stairs, changed, then back down, asking me how long dinner would take, before setting out for his 'first' run in the pouring rain. He ran hard despite the elements and got back just in time for dinner!]

November

I usually write in the darkness of night but this morning I woke with a heaviness I haven't had for a while. I had to write.

It's not like I usually spring out of bed carefree; thoughts of Ems are with me within seconds of waking, just after acknowledging that 'ok, I'm still here'. 'Ok, I'm still here' because I have a strong conviction that if I'm still here it's because there is still purpose yet for me to fulfil. Somehow it makes the pain more bearable, it makes life bigger than me.

The mornings aren't like they were in the first few months after Ems died, when I'd wake with a physically aching heart with just a few seconds before things slotted into place in my mind and I realised afresh - 'Ems is gone'. It was like losing him anew every morning.

Now, there is no denial that he is gone from here. It feels like forever. There's the odd moment when it feels like it did when he was here; if I'm lost in work, for example, it's only when I stop that it hits me.

'Hits me' is a very appropriate phrase.

On the whole though, he's gone from here and it feels like forever. Being without him, much as I hate it, becomes something I'm almost 'used to', yet my love for him remains as full and fresh as the last time I saw him and the amount I miss him increases by the day.

The feeling of losing Ems afresh each day may have gone but he's never here now. I wake and I miss him and I wish he were here.

I'm remembering the way we'd always kiss one another before getting out of bed. Or the way I'd tiptoe around the bed on the days he wasn't working, doing my best to get ready without waking him, yet always kneeling down and sharing a kiss and a few gentle words before I left.

Mornings aren't the same now. This morning wasn't the same.

It's November.

November.

November - the name of this month has been on my lips more than it has any other year in my life.

'Last November'.

'When did he die?', 'When did you lose him?', 'When did it happen?', the last time I saw him, the last time I held him, 'there's been an incident...'. All these things - 'last November'.

And so, when this month comes to an end, it'll be 'the November before last'.
I'll no longer say or hear the words 'it hasn't even been a year yet' despite the security that comes with it - what will others expectations be of me now? To me it may feel like a year 'already', to others a year may seem a long time. In some situations, it really isn't.

Though it feels like an eternity since I've seen the man I love, I can't believe it's almost been a year. I still feel like such a beginner on this journey. I may accept it, there are moments when I'm 'used to it', but I hate it.

But when we hate something, we don't fear its loss. Instead, I will just grapple with God and fall into the purpose for which, heavy hearted as I felt, I woke this morning.

[Memory #22 The 'bacon' episode
I can remember the cosy Saturday morning lie-ins together that we'd follow up with a good breakfast. They were never planned and so we'd be out of eggs or milk or another essential ingredient which would mean plans to enjoy it in our dressing gowns were soon halted as Ems made a quick dash for the local shop as I started the grill. No DIY was mentioned as we prepared breakfast, enjoying the peace and togetherness of a post lie-in breakfast; Ems setting the table, pouring the juice, leaving me to rule the stove. Leaving me that is until the bacon started. Mum reminded me the other day how fussy Ems was with his bacon. He liked gammon but didn't like his bacon too thick. He liked it crisp but not hard. He didn't like too much fat but didn't like it with the fat cut off! He was very particular about the bacon but once it was cooked to his exceptionally high standards, the 'mmmms' that enthusiastically flowed from him as he ate it were well worth the effort. Outside of cooking bacon, he caused me very few stresses. We had food and love in our tummies and were ready for the day and DIY ahead.]

Sweetheart

The rain is relentlessly hammering down against the roof.

Relentless. This grief seems relentless.

There are never moments when it isn't there. With each new day I still feel so much heavier than I used to. But there are days when that load feels slightly more bearable, where the light breaks through a little more than usual, where the emotional muscle ache isn't quite so overwhelming - even if it's just because I'm numb.

Today though, it feels relentless. Today is a relentless day.

There are some better days but there are others when the load seems too heavy; weeks when the darkness hovers closer; moments when the ache doesn't fade at all.

I am surrounded by love. The memories of Ems' love engulf me at times, bringing warmth to my soul as I recall our love with one another. I am still as crazily in love with that boy as the last time I saw him; as moved by his words as I was that last night as I read his last text message - 'ok my lovely sweetheart, I love you x'.

I regularly whisper 'sweetheart' as I look at his photo. The photos of Ems on my dashboard continuously remind me of journeys we took together. When I get in the car I love seeing those photos.

Sometimes I warmly whisper 'sweetheart' at his smiling, loving face - the natural reaction to the sight of the man I love. Other times, I cry 'sweetheart' in desperation, yearning for him, desperate for him, frustrated at taking another journey without him. My prayer life follows the same pattern - love, gratitude and desperation.

I remember the love and feel tender. I remember the loss, the great ever-deepening loss, and I yearn. There is no better word for it. I yearn for him; for my sweetheart.

Today is a relentless day. Today is a day where I'll utter 'sweetheart' in pure desperation. I have driven his car, frustrated that he isn't in it. I have met with our friends, painfully aware that he 'should' be a part of it. I have trawled through the loneliness, needing just his hand to take it all away, yet knowing it won't ever reach out to me again this side of heaven.

I can't wait to see him again one day. And till then, whether softly wistful or in aching desperation, I will never fail to whisper 'sweetheart'.

Love and / or grief

I'm hurting. It's no worse than yesterday. It'll be no different to tomorrow.

I do wonder sometimes, I ask myself when it'll all go away. I think of Ems and wonder when it will stop feeling so crazy that he's not here. I wonder, and then I know.

The truth is it won't ever go away. It won't ever feel crazy that he's not here. There won't be a morning when I wake up and the pain is gone, when I don't miss him anymore, when everything is 'normal' and uncomplicated again.

My perspective, my life, has been well and truly shifted.

I hate life without Ems. I hate that he's not around to make decisions with, big and small. I hate that he's not here to share those little details that you only care about sharing with the one you really love. I hate that I so often find myself in those moments where you're 'killing time' waiting, only to realise that the person I'm subconsciously 'waiting' to hang out with isn't around anymore. I hate being in a situation that no one else is in.

I still have every desire for Ems that I ever had. It's still him that I want to hang out with. It's still him that I want to live out my dreams, frustrations, good days and bad days with. When I have something I want to share, it is still him that I want to share it with, that I want to share everything with.

Life since Ems died is not life without Ems. Ems is no longer here, I am in no denial of that, but the love I have for Ems is as great as the day he died. My desire to be with him, to please him, to serve him, to love him is still as strong as when he was right here next to me. I still think about him all the time and consider him as I'm making decisions. I'm grateful that we were so close, that we knew each other so well. It means that I often know what he'd have wanted or thought about decisions that I make. It's also excrutiating when I don't know, and I can't ask.

The new struggles, struggles that Ems and I would never have come across when he was alive. The new achievements, things that would never have looked like achievements with him here. These things I want to share with him.

Life goes on and the number of days where I've been void of his company increases but the power of the love, the memories - they remain strong.

People ask if it's easier now but it isn't. It is certainly different to the horror and shock of the initial weeks. I feel like I'm still living for two yet with the strength of just one. I guess, more accurately, where I was part of a whole, I am now half. Being a half hurts. Being a half in a world which is so different to what it was before - I'm lost.

I cling on to God with everything that I am and He remains the only thing that brings purpose to my days and peace where everything is in turmoil. But faith doesn't mean an absence of pain. It doesn't mean all of this hurt will just disappear; It is far bigger than that.

I remain indebted to the family, friends and colleagues who have shown me so much love. I am grateful for the words they have encouraged me with even when they feel so helpless. I am grateful for the time they have given to me even when they're not sure what to do with it. I am grateful for the way they have tenderly cared for my breaking heart even though it hurts them to do so.

No the pain doesn't go away and it won't. There are all sorts of phrases about 'grief being the price you pay for loving someone', about it being 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all'. As easy as they are to say and not mean, I actually agree with them.

I truly am experiencing this deep, unquenchable agony because of the inextinguishable, lifechanging love that was (is) Ems and mine. I don't have the option of switching off such feelings - neither the pain, nor the love. And I have to ask whether I'd want to?

The truth is, I have to live with this pain. For with this pain comes the immense memory of the truest love two flawed human beings could have hoped to experience - not just memories of days or acts or words, but memories of feelings. Memories of the excitement, hope, comfort, joy that rises when you hear your loved one's name, see their car approaching, hear those 'sweet everythings'. The anticipation of seeing Ems still rises in me only to be quashed by the repeated realisation that he isn't coming. But would I choose to deny that repeated agony and with it lose the memory of the love? Not a chance.

There is loss because there was once something so beautiful in my posession.

There is pain because there was once such comfort.

There is grief because there was once great love.

The grief has overcome me just like the love did and there is no way to lose one and not the other.

Would I do it all again? Every time.

In giving everything you face losing everything but in losing everything, you seek to gain everything. And as this is true in love, so it is true in life. I'm still going to give everything.

Little big things

Right now it's the little things I struggle with. It's funny how details which were once just part of the routine now seem like such challenges. Getting dressed each morning becomes an achievement. We don't always appreciate the little things and yet it's amazing how significant they can become.

It's not just the big things that I miss about Ems, it's the little details that often come to mind...

Driving along and having him in the passenger seat.

Our little routine as he'd set up for dinner while I finished cooking.

The way he'd be planning the next day's lunch before we'd even finished dinner.

The way we'd play with one another's wedding rings while holding hands.

Having a music related pub quiz question that I know he'd have known the answer to.

Coming down in the morning to find he'd put me a cereal bowl out and poured me some juice.

Driving to and from work together.

The way we'd mess around (above photo illustrates one example).

The way we'd talk about even the silly little details of our day.

The little notes we'd leave for one another on the rare occasions we were apart.

His reassuring smiles.

The eye contact.

Wednesday nights being 'our night'.

Stripping wallpaper and demolishing wardrobes together.

Hearing him call me "wifey".

The way he'd hold me close when I was cold.

The fact he'd tell me how cute I looked when I was in my scruffiest 'round the house' clothes.

The way he'd always be the first into bed.

The way we'd always check if each other had a glass of water to take up to bed with us.

Praying together.

...And so so so much more.

To say I miss Ems is the most gross understatement possible. Everything has changed now that he has gone. Not even the little things stay the same. Getting dressed, eating, breathing become chores. Nothing on this earth holds the same joy it did when he was here to share it.

Because we shared the little things. They have now become the big things.

And we should never forget the little things.

Only a second?

Say that to the Winter Olympic Gold medallist who's just won by a second?

Or to the athlete who's been training for years and just missed out on a medal by the same amount of time.

Only a metre?

Say that to the guy who's just narrowly escaped a collision

or to the wife of the husband who didn't.

Only a few words?

Say that to the woman whose boyfriend just became her fiance when he got down on one knee and asked her to spend her life with him

or to the wife who's just been told her husband won't ever be coming home.

A lot can happen in a second. A few words can change your life forever. A metre can be the difference between winning or losing, life or death.

It may be only a day but sometimes things can happen which make it difficult to live through a single minute. It may be only a minute but you can still change someone's life with it.

From tiny acorns, mighty oaks grow.

Jesus once said that faith as small as a mustard seed could move a mountain.

Right now the little things may feel like mountains but I thank God for mustard seeds.

And for the little things we shared, because suddenly the memories of them are huge.

[Memory #12 the "comfy" episode

I could spend ages getting ready for an evening out with Ems and just have a simple compliment from him on my appearance. This didn't really bother me as he was always very complimentary in general.

One Sunday we'd come back from church and Ems was outside doing some jobs in the garden. I ran upstairs, changed into my oldest jeans and an old vest top, swept up my hair and got on with lunch. It was a hot summer's day. Ems came in to see if he could be of service and on seeing me absolutely beamed, wrapping me up in his arms and enthusiastically said "Aw, my little wifey looks so pretty and comfy".

From many people, the word 'comfy' could have been seen as some kind of masked insult, but Ems was genuine in his enthusiasm. The compliment always stands out in my mind. He was so enthusiastic and genuinely thrilled to see me look as I did. Relaxed. Perhaps it was because we were so relaxed with one another and that after all, was our home. Ems appreciated the little things in life. Diamonds and Gucci wouldn't have impressed him much at all but a wife who was completely at home with him was the most attractive thing to him in the world.

I was also cooking him dinner at the time - that would no doubt have added to the attraction!]

More than a day

Here we are. I'm writing. I've been idly browsing facebook and procrastinating wondering whether to blog or not to blog. I'm nervous but I'm here now.

It's been quiet on the writing front, well on here at least. I spend much time writing down notes, thoughts, prayers, memories and the like in my trusty little notebook (I've gone through 4 notebooks since Ems died 11 weeks ago). I like to get things out on paper. I've struggled to write on here this week though, sorry readers.

It's been a very tough week but today has been ok. You'll recall me repeating that I'm going to remain honest to myself (and you) and that I will. I won't pretend this week has been easy but neither will I pretend that today has been the worst day. It hasn't.

Today was Valentines Day. Today was the day that thousands celebrate their mutual love, one with the other. I celebrated my love alone. The love is still very much alive, the memories are vivid, the texts, cards, photos still so very real. But he is not here to share it with.

I'm not going to pretend that I spent the day thinking about the fact it was Valentines day. To be honest, I tried not to. It was excrutiating on Friday, trying to find a birthday card and pretending I didn't notice the countless 'To my wife' valentines cards I had to clamber past to get to the birthday section (only to realise there were no decent cards because they'd all been put away to make room for the Valentines ones).

I'll never receive a 'To my wife' Valentines card. Just like I'll never receive a 'To my wife' Christmas, birthday, anniversary card. Our marriage was so real, so full, so loving, it felt like we'd been married forever and it's crazy to think we didn't mark these dates as husband and wife. It also doesn't take the word 'wife' on a card to prove its worth*.

I got out the 'to my fiancee' card Ems sent me last Christmas at Christmas. I haven't got out the valentines cards he'd sent me today though because I've memorised the words he wrote in them already. I have read those words (Welsh and English) countless times in the last few weeks; all the cards and notes and texts he'd sent me. They bring tears but they also bring smiles, the love behind them as real as the second he sent them.

I've had this overwhelming sense of how perfect our love was today. I am so incredibly grateful for that love; for Ems. The funny thing is, our perfect love is immortalised now. Ems can't screw up on Valentines day; he can't buy me the wrong present or not write enough in the card. Sad as I will always be to not have him here with me, I will always remember how lovely he was. Our love will always be perfect, Valentines Day or any day. Nothing can ever taint it.

Even though I've mentioned it in this post, Valentines Day is more insignificant than ever. I was never overly enthusiastic about it before. Ems and I naturally enjoyed celebrating the first one we shared [see memory #9]. Last year's consisted of wedding suit fittings, McDonalds, rugby and an Indian takeaway with friends. I was a bit dissapointed at the time but a few weeks later Ems surprised me with a massive bunch of flowers and took me out for a delicious expensive meal. The surprise and effort meant far more on a day when Ems was unprovoked than it would have on a day when it was expected. We agreed that Valentines was just an extra excuse to proclaim our love rather than a day where we had to prove it.

I will remember the love we shared every day of my life. Valentines Day will be no exception but neither will it be especially significant. This is better than Valentines Days before Ems came along because I have a very real love to remember. In days gone by I may have sat and wondered if my crush would send me a card but I'll never have to wonder again. The Royal Mail just about manage with earthly deliveries, there's no way anything can be sent my way from Heaven.

I know he is surrounded by love up in Heaven though and so am I. Warm memories of the sweetest love I could ever have known, and the life-giving love of a Saviour who died for me so that one day, we will be reunited.

Real love can't be captured in a day.

Real love is expressed with every breath you take, every day.

I can't write it in a card for Ems this year but I will love him forever.

[*Memory #10 The 'card' episode

Ems loved doing the unexpected, he wasn't really one to take the obvious option.

When I look back at the various cards Ems sent me, it is only last Christmas' 'To my fiancee' card that ever had such a label (that was only because it was pointed out to us both that it would be the only Christmas when we would have such a title).

I remember opening the first birthday card Ems ever gave me, expecting some kind of girlfriend statement or at least a few love hearts on the front. As I pulled it from the envelope, I was surprised to just see a few chickens on the front. They weren't animated or particularly attractive, it was just an old fashioned sketch of some chickens. It was unconventional and the first words he'd written inside were 'You do like chickens don't you?!'.

Completely random, just like Ems was. I didn't particularly like or not like chickens, we'd never made any reference to them. He'd just seen it when looking for my birthday card and decided it was to be the one. He told me he didn't like the obvious ones and would rather write his own words than rely on those printed in a card...so would I. Ems' words were real, loving and beautiful.

Thinking about it, I may never have received a 'to my wife' card even if he was here. That might have been far too obvious for my sweet, unpredictable boy!]

Something to think about

I've just spent the evening with a group of friends from church. These friends were people Ems and I would regularly hang out with together on a Friday night (usually at our house). It is strange to spend time with them and not have Ems there. Everything is strange without Ems here.

We got onto the subject of the first cassette or CD we'd ever bought, the first video or DVD, etc, and I know Ems would have had plenty to say on the subject of music, his first love (before I came along!).

The subject flowed on to music and films in general and the film 'The Matrix' was brought up. I commented on the fact that I couldn't remember what happened at the end of the last film in the trilogy and one of the guys summed it up. What he said, unknowingly to him, has given me something to think about...

He said that at the end of the last film the lead female dies, gets resurrected, then dies again. This makes the lead male realise that he can now go out and save the rest of them, something he wouldn't have done when his focus was on saving her, but now he's got nothing to lose.

I'm certainly not the lead female in a film but I'm the leading character in my life, just as you are in yours.

I have nothing to lose. I have lost the person that was most dear to me.
My greatest fear in life has been realised. My greatest fear was losing Ems. I have lost him.

Like the Matrix, there is still so much I don't understand, and much I don't need to.
People may misunderstand me, which can be painful, but nothing can hurt me like the hurt I am already feeling.

Pain and grief are constant companions right now (thankfully so are grace and peace) and I'm under no illusion that I'm going to go out there and save the world. I can though, like you, choose to make a difference to those I can, when I can.

Believe me, I am not trying to say that my greatest fear being realised is a positive thing. I am living through every reason that I feared losing Ems and it is worse than I could ever have imagined. What I'm realising is, with Ems gone, there isn't anything I'm clinging on to. My life on earth isn't precious to me anymore.

I can give everything, and know that nothing can hit me harder than the loss and pain I already know.

'He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose' Jim Elliot (a man who gave his life for his faith)

[Memory #9 The "love songs" episode
Ems had countless CDs, mini disks, cassettes, etc. He was the music man. The number of people who've told me it was him who introduced them to new bands, styles, genres, etc of music, is unbelievable. Ems didn't mind what genre so long as the music had something to it. Music was his passion and he loved to share it with others. With all that music you'd think he'd have every eventuality covered.
February 14th, 2008. Our first Valentines day as a couple. I remember it clearly. The moments, the gifts, the food, the wonderful company, the excitement about everything ahead.
We'd had a nice meal and Ems said what he'd really like to do is chill out together to some love songs. "The only thing is..." he began to explain, "...I don't actually own any"!
I guess that was one style of music that had escaped him up to then. It's funny what true love awakens in you.
Needless to say he didn't become a Celine Dion man but the Beach Boys' 'I love you' album certainly got played from time to time and I remember him grinning while belting out Sting's "Every little thing she does is magic" one precious car journey home.]

Brokenhearts and silly games

I've been putting off writing a new post till I felt a bit better, till I was having a 'good' day and could write something inspiring. The reality is that as the last few days have ticked away, I don't feel any better but I don't want to stop writing.

My mind is running through so many wonderful memories of Ems and at the same time trying to reconcile them with the fact he isn't here anymore. None of it makes sense to my mind.

Ems is still as much a part of me as he was the last time I saw him. I still say 'we' when I'm talking about things; I still consider what he'd like before I do anything; I still want to sign his name on any cards I write. I still love him with everything I am.

It's just over 2 months in now. While it feels like forever, it is only 2 months.

I was speaking with his best friend the other day and he said that it felt as though everyone else could 'just move on now'.

For some of us, it is with us all the time.

Many can. Many weren't half so close to Ems as others. For many Ems was an acquaintance, perhaps even a role model, perhaps a mate. He was an amazing guy and so they are sincerely sad at his passing, they will remember the laughs, but their lives haven't changed.

For others it won't be so easy. To others Ems was a son, a brother, or one of their best friends. Ems has gone and life has changed.

For me, Ems was my husband, my best friend, my 'other half', a very part of me. I cannot even begin to imagine what moving on even is yet. Just what am I moving on to when Ems was such a permanent part of my life before and all our plans and dreams were combined? EVERYTHING is different now.

I have discovered what a broken heart really means. For the first few weeks after Ems died, every time I woke my heart physically ached. I couldn't move for a few minutes each morning as my body tried to deal with the pain.

Oh how I wish the broken heart could heal itself emotionally in just a few minutes each morning.

Some misunderstand grief as something which gets easier with each new day. The calls and visits stop. People mistake my ability to conduct a normal conversation for me being 'OK'.

Truth is, it is as hard now as it has ever been in the 2 months since Ems died. It doesn't mean I haven't smiled at times. I just miss him more than ever and it hurts. Of course it hurts.

I still love him wholeheartedly. I always will.

I may never reconcile all the amazing memories I have of my time with Ems with the fact he's gone; the perfection and blessing we knew together in contrast to the way I feel right now.

I am learning to accept the fact that I will always miss him.
Of course I will because I will always love him.
Ems will always be a part of me.
A part of me will always be missing.

This broken heart will likely not heal completely this side of Heaven but I know that God is close to the brokenhearted. For that I am exceedingly grateful because this broken heart just can't do it alone.

[Memory #8 the "rock, paper, scissors" episode
Ems and I went out for one of our Sunday afternoon walks last November and in a quiet moment I decided to challenge him to a game of 'rock, paper, scissors'. At first he resisted, perhaps thinking it a bit daft, but once I suggested that it was because he was scared I might beat him like I had at 'thumb wars', he succumbed!
To my horror Ems beat me three times in a row as we started the game. He laughed and teased, suddenly enjoying the game. He should probably have stopped there.
Determined to beat him I challenged him to another round and we both ended up in fits of laughter as I gained the victory over him not just once but time after time after time. I think we stopped after about 15 rounds of me conquering his rock, paper, scissors with my paper, scissors, rock, one after another, because we were laughing too much with disbelief! As well as I knew him it wasn't like I could actually read his mind - well, at least not in games like this!]

Everything

Since Ems died I've been lost as to where the term 'good grief' must have come from. I just can't see anything good about grief.

Grieving for Ems has been so all-consuming. Just like my love for him was (is). I guess that's why grief is that way. The love doesn't just go away. It's there, oh wow is it still there, but he's not here for me to shower it on.

I miss Ems with everything I am.

I miss his look. I miss his cute, adorable face and tall, dark handsome looks, his individual dress sense & his 'this one's just for you' smile. I miss the way he looked at me and the cute sleepy face I'd see each morning.

I miss his smell. I miss the 'tuck your nose into that part where their neck joins their shoulder and inhale' smell. I miss the smell of his Nivea for men after-shave lotion (it doesn't smell the same in the bottle). I miss the way he'd smell my hair when he was cwtching me.

I miss his sound. The voice, the whispers, the laugh, the music, the song, the things he'd say, the way he said things, the enthusiastic 'mmmms' when I'd cooked a good meal, the jokes, the 'i love you's.

I miss his touch. Not just the intimate. The hand holding, him stroking my hair when I had a headache, me playing with his hair, the way we'd cling on to one another when we went for walks, the way he'd hold me.

I miss him in every sense and with every sense.

I miss telling him how much he means to me and how much I love him.

It's no wonder grief is so all consuming when love is so all consuming too. There is nothing good about grief except the love that existed to cause it.
Ems and I loved each other with everything we had. Those of you that have read the articles in the paper since the inquest will have seen one common phrase repeated throughout - "Blissfully happy" - that's what we were together.

All-consuming love sounds like such a dangerous place to be. It would be exceptionally so if it was one sided. You'd be consumed. But the extraordinary thing about being in all-consuming love with someone who is in all-consuming love with you back is that you never get consumed. You never get consumed because for everything you give, you're also getting. You don't give to get. It's not like you consciously receive something and then think that you want to do something back. It's not like you 'take turns'. You are both in this simultaneous state of giving everything you are to the other simply because you love them. The love you have for them holds them in such high esteem in your eyes that you want to be a better person just so you can please them even more. Yet, the security you have in the love they have for you leaves you completely free to be exactly you who are because you know they love you that way. True love is a phenomenal thing.

Be careful who you give your all-consuming love to, lest you get consumed. My heart was in very safe hands.

I miss everything about Ems and I miss Ems in everything. I miss sharing everything with him. I miss telling and showing him how much I love him as much as I miss hearing him say and show me his love.

Don't ever hold back from telling and showing those dear to you exactly what they mean to you. We were created in the image of a God who is love and were designed to give our love away. May we live with the pain of losing those we've loved with all our hearts rather than regrets that we held back.

'It is better to have loved and lost' has become so true in my experience. 'Better' is not always the painfree option, sometimes it leads to exceptional pain, but it's still better because of the love that never dies however much pain may come along after.
[Memory #7 the "hair drying" episode
This memory isn't a one off. It was something Ems did on many occasions and I miss it.
Ems & I shared a car to and from work and so would get up at the same time. Ems was always ready before me (it's a girl's right!). He'd be dressed and I was just starting to dry my hair.
For no particular reason one day he decided to sit behind and around me as I was drying my hair at the end of the bed. He held me as I dried my hair, getting the odd blast from the dryer. He just wanted a cuddle. He wanted to cuddle me. It became a regular morning habit of his. He'd just sit there and hold me. When I finished drying my hair I'd turn to hug him back and we'd head down for breakfast together.
Everytime I dry my hair I miss him. I miss his cuddles and the way I'd feel even warmer inside than my head did from the dryer.]

Anticipation on toast

I have some wonderful friends, I spent yesterday with some of the best of them. People I love; people who love me. People who Ems loved; people who loved Ems. There is such comfort in being with these people and I have immense gratitude to them for all they've done for me, done for Ems, for who they are. It is with such people that I can honestly talk about how I'm doing. I can talk about Ems and get knowing nods and smiles. I can also cry.

I had spent the day enjoying their company and doing all I could to be myself (whatever that is right now). As the evening drew in & we sat struggling with Trivial Pursuits, I could feel the emptiness silently creeping around my heart. I knew that in an hour or two would come the journey home. The journey home alone. The journey to my parents, not our home. Another journey without Ems.

I did my best to fight the feeling, knowing full well the tears would come when I got home. Then of all the people that could set me off - I got upset by Carol Thatcher! Yes, as we talked over 'I'm a celebrity - jungle Kings & Queens', Carol Thatcher (Queen of the Jungle once upon a time) said something that I thought was devestatingly sad. As she'd celebrated winning, she told Ant & Dec (or Tom & Dec as my friend put it yesterday!): "I will never be this happy again."

How awful. Imagine enjoying a wonderful moment and at that very moment thinking it would be the last time you'd feel that good. It hit me, and as I attempted to share my reflections on this with my friends, the rivers gust forth unexpectedly and I sat and sobbed.

I can't imagine how such a feeling would tarnish the happy moments. Surely if you felt it was the last time you would feel that happy it would bring a tinge of sadness to what should be a solely happy moment?

True, looking back at some of the incredible moments I shared with Ems, I do wonder whether I will ever feel that happy again while on this earth. That is not a suprising thought to have. My lovely boy who brought me so much joy is no longer here. I can only imagine how much worse it would have been though, if in one of those incredible moments, I had thought that I might never feel that happy again. How that would have taken away from the happiness of the moment.

Our wedding day for example. Wow! Full of happy moments. Truly, the greatest day of our lives because the whole day was spent focusing on the amazing love God had given us to share. How much more awesome it was though because it also held the anticipation and excitement of all the days ahead that we would share together, all the happy moments to come. If either of us had for one second thought we would never feel that happy again it would have been a sorry start to our marriage. In reality, though we never spent another whole day in the company of friends, celebrating our love, we celebrated in our own way every day. Every day had happiness in it, even if just because we had each other. Never was any moment tainted by the feeling it could be the last time we'd feel that good. Part of the fullness is in knowing there is even more to come.

The last time I saw him* was not tainted by such a feeling. Not for one second did I consider it could be the last time I saw Ems or felt that joy from his company. Not for one moment did I think 'I will never feel this happy again'. Not for one moment would he have either. How sad it would have been if we had.

As I poured out my heart and tears on the sofa with my friends, friends Ems and I have hung out with numerous times over the last couple of years, friends I can hardly remember not knowing, I was well aware that things would never be the same again. I couldn't remember spontaneously bursting into tears in their company before yet was well aware it will likely happen many more times in the future. Yet though I can't imagine feeling that happy again right now, I thank God that never was a moment with Ems spoiled because I'd thought in that moment that 'I'll never be this happy again'.

And I thank God that Ems, his huge contagious smile bursting with joy, is in a continual unimaginable state of happiness right now, and that one day, I will join him, and I will be forever wonderfully, ecstatically, indescribably happy for eternity. Once more, because of this hope, I know that there'll be days ahead on this earth that aren't so bad either. I'm just taking it one moment at a time.

'That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won't last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever.'

May we never ruin good times by thinking that they'll never be equalled, because between this world and the next, there is always always always more for the taking.

Memory #2 "the toast episode"
The last time I saw Ems was actually a really cute moment. His mum was round the house and I only had half an hour between getting in from work and leaving for a youthwork committee meeting. Ems and I were always pretty soft with each other & so even though we'd see each other when I got back (or so we thought) we still managed to grab a sweet 5 minutes with each other to ourselves. We messed around outside (even though it was freezing), cwtching (Welsh cuddles for those out of the know!) and teasing one another, full of "I love you"s and catching up on how one another's day had been. On going inside and me announcing I would have to go in 2 minutes, Ems was suddenly overwhelmed with concern that I hadn't eaten since lunch time and started to make me some toast. Despite reassurances from me that I would be eating at the meeting, he lovingly insisted. He made me 2 pieces which I turned down, explaining I'd be too full for dinner. He then tried forcing 1 1/2 pieces on me before we eventually agreed I'd take 1. He put it in some tupperware (he never did like cling film or kitchen foil!) and sat down to eat the other piece with some re-heated roast dinner. I thanked him, kissed him on the forehead, we exchanged some more "I love you"s, and I left. The toast tasted good and I text him to thank him, telling him I'd call him before leaving the meeting, and again reiterating that I loved him (told you we were soft!). His last words to me came by text 'Ok my lovely sweetheart, I love you'. I smiled, full of love, never once ruining the moment by fearing those words would be his last.]

From the start

I never wanted to write this blog. I want to write this blog.

Had I been given this subject to cover 2 months ago, I’d have turned it down in an instant. It’s not something I ever desired to write because losing my husband was my greatest fear in life. The fear, however, became reality, and in losing him, in feeling all I feel, remembering all I remember, believing all I believe, fighting through all I am fighting through, I want to write. I want the world [a.k.a. those who take the time to stop and read this] to hear.

I’m a private person in many ways, but if there be any strength that another who is weak can take away, any hope that another in despair may see a glimmer of, any light that one in the dark can use to light their way, then let my story be shouted from the rooftops. Let the lamp come out from its dusty hiding place.

Ems was the most wonderful, beautiful man I could have asked to spend my life with. I was blessed beyond measure in just knowing him, ecstatic at being his girl. Life though it wasn't to be (for me at least). We had just 2 years; they were 2 phenomenal years.

Our story was one of the fullest, most powerful, wonderful, beautiful love stories possible (you’ll see glimpses as my blog entries continue). We daily thanked God for our story.

Yet 5 months from those sacred words ‘…till death do us part’, death did just that, it parted us. Suddenly and tragically. I still daily thank God for our story.

I am only at the beginning of my difficult story and I don't know how it's going to go. Ems left for heaven under 6 weeks ago and it is, beyond comparison, the most painful time of my life. It is also a time when I have known peace beyond understanding.

We always journeyed together and now I find myself behind.
He is in heaven. I am heaven-bound but still very much on earth.
He is gone from this earth but his memory is still here; his life is still enfolded with mine; and his story will still unfold in my experience. To some extent, this is still 'our story', I’m just doing it alone now. He was the lead role in many key chapters of my story. What chapters evolve from here, only time will tell.

As I write these entries I will remember the look in his eyes and I promise to be honest, just like he was (brutally at times*).
When I cry, you’ll hear my tears.
When I smile, you’ll see my teeth.
When I stop, you’ll catch your breath.
When I start to run again, you’d better keep up.
Follow me…

[* Memory #1 “the sauce was a bit tasteless” episode
That was Ems’ honest and classic response to my asking him for his thoughts after I first cooked for him (along with about 20 others). It left me speechless. He then added sincerely (in consolation?) “I guess that’s why you put the salt and pepper out though”. It may sound rude to those who didn't know Ems but he was a truly gentle soul, never wishing to offend. His honesty was endearing and this world is in want of more honesty like his.]