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.]

The fear

I just wrote an entry and then deleted it. Intentionally. I have promised everyone that ever crossed this blog, that I would be honest. I deleted it because I was forcing what I'd just written. I wrote the last paragraph before I'd finished the middle. I was copying & pasting, contriving. I want to write from the heart.

It has been a long time since I last wrote. I know I promised I wouldn't force things but I genuinely am sorry that it's taken so long. I'm sorry that I may have lost some readers along the way who have given up checking to see if I've posted. I'm sorry because deep down in my gut I've known I've had posts to write and I've failed to do so. I'm sorry because now I'm sitting here and I have so much in my head, I almost don't know where to start. Almost.

I want to start where all this started. Ems. Ems, my beloved husband. Missed beyond any words I could ever hope to learn let alone write at the end of this grey September day. As September has gone on and we've experienced relentless rain and musky blankets of grey, I've thought of Ems. All summer I've missed him and yearned for his company. I still do. But these grey days make me thankful that he isn't here, that he's somewhere better, that he's not about to face his annual decent into the despair of Seasonal Affective Disorder that he battled with so bravely and admirably in winter months. Of course, I would love to have his company as I face grey days of my own, but I'm glad that for him, there are no more grey seasons, no more despair, just light. Once again it is Ems reminding me, as he never failed to when next to me, that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Everything is different now yet this different is becoming my normal. I am so fearful of this 'new normal'. I fear that as I go about this new life with some sort of routine, that people will mistake me as 'normal', as 'ok', and treat me so. Yet simultaneously, I am so aware that this walk is mine to walk and that no one else can walk it with me. Once upon a time (it often feels like that), one did walk beside me. That was beautiful. Yet now, this is me. In an earthly sense, I am alone. I cannot rely on the support of another person. No human being will ever get close beside me like my Ems, my husband, my other half did. Marriage is a beautiful thing and even though I am learning to walk again, I am learning to walk without one leg to support me, without one arm to provide balance, without one eye to give me a new perspective, and without one ear to hear truth and to remind me of it. I am half. I know I've said it before but I really am.

And this half that you see before you 'getting on' with things, is actually completely shell shocked. I don't spend all day crying and then 12 hours sleeping anymore. In fact, in the last couple of months, my life has become increasingly busy, something I was once very used to. In the busyness I am finding I sleep less, I am exhausted in a completely different way. I spend half my day busy and the other half numb. My mind whirs.

I can hide in busyness. I can put on my mask, keep busy, and avoid talking on a deep level to anyone. I can attempt to put my mind on something else, often successfully, and until the task is done not stop to think. There is this 'new normal' emerging around me and it scares me. It scares me to think that people could view me as normal. That in those moments when I have to stop and think, when I crash, that I will be burning alone.

I 'get' why widows would dress in a different colour to show that they are widows. I used to think it such a cruel and shameful cultural thing which widows were forced to do. Yet now I see beyond it. I'd quite like there to be something that would show me as a widow; that would show others, even when I'm busy, even when I look 'ok' (what does that mean exactly?), that there's something missing.

I wear Ems' wedding ring on my right thumb. I know what it means. Widows have different perspectives on removing their wedding rings (and I completely respect that it is each individual's decision) but for me personally, I don't ever want to remove mine. I wear my rings proudly, the symbol of our love and unity. Yet simultaneously, wear Ems ring on my right hand, showing that there is something different about this connection.
When Ems died I didn't ask for his ring back, I didn't think about whether he should be buried with it or not. The police gave it back to me anyway, scratched and bent from the accident, and placed in a clear sealed bag. For a while whenever I looked at the ring I saw the fact it was mis-shaped and scratched. I saw the accident. Yet now when I look at it, I just see Ems' ring. The eternal ring of evidence that showed that he was mine, that we, like the ring, were whole.
I feel a bit like that ring. I'm damaged and scratched and always will be. Yet some seem to look at me without seeing the damage. It petrifies me to think that people could see through the scars when to me they're still open wounds. I'm so scared that as I do more, as this 'new normal' emerges, people will think I am 'fine' when the daily battle is enormous. But just as Ems' ring isn't on the hand of the one we planned it to be, so I must carry on living this life that was far outside my own plans. And just like Ems' ring, I want to be a reminder of something beautiful to others one day. Petrified as I am, I will step out, because the fear of being misunderstood cannot and should not surpass the fear of missing out on one's purpose.
[Memory #20 'the ring' episodes
It's strange in a way but I can remember several instances of being very aware of Ems' ring on his wedding finger. I remember us going out to buy our rings. We went in the January just after getting engaged, hoping to find some bargains in the January sales. Instead, Ems' noticed this 'new design' and the man who'd once said 'I'd like a really plain ring' decided otherwise (I'd always wanted to have an identical ring to his so was happy with this choice too)! The rings Ems had picked out were gorgeous 2 -colour matt gold rings, each with 2 small diamonds in the white gold bit. Ems & I had discussed before 'which way up' we thought the rings should go (i.e. whether the diamonds should be near the base or top of our fingers). It didn't really matter but we'd agreed we'd like to wear them the same way. I can clearly remember sitting on our sofa together and noticing his ring being a bit big. I'd often notice that his ring was the 'wrong way up' because he'd been playing with it, or that the ring had rolled around his finger so you couldn't see the diamonds at all. It didn't matter - it just meant I noticed it. I just remember being aware of the ring on his finger, of gently turning it back around, always remembering the moment I had first placed it on his finger. I remember on honeymoon, holding one another's hands & playing with one another's rings. It was such a novelty, a new & permanent part of the other's person. I also remember him almost losing his on honeymoon. As he swum in the Mediterranean sea he'd felt his ring coming off and stopped it just in time. Rather than pull his ring off and give it to me for safekeeping, he came out of the sea so his finger would once again swell in the heat of the sun and hold his ring in place before returning for another swim! Only death could remove his ring. I'm glad that I can remember seeing his wedding ring, which has become a permanent part of my attire, on his finger where it belonged.]

On another note, I found out today that this blog has been longlisted for 'best writing on a blog' for the Wales blog awards. I'm pretty honoured and grateful to those who nominated me. See the longlist here.

Back to work

Ok, so I wasn't going to blog tonight but in the interest of following my journey with honesty, I feel like I should.

Tomorrow, I go back to work. Woah. Never has the thought of a day in work seemed so big. Not even those days that involved interviews or presentations or facing the fact you didn't get everything you had to do done the day before.

Tomorrow is big. The first day back since Ems died.

If one more person tells me that going back to work will be 'good' for me, or that it'll be 'good' to get 'back to normal', to 'get some routine', I swear I'll hurt somebody (or probably I won't seeing as I'm a bit of a softie but I'll certainly blow up internally!).

See, there is no 'back to normal'. Sure, the office hasn't changed (I went in for an hour a few weeks ago - emotional, oh yes!). But everything has changed. I am not the same me that left the office on the 30th November to grab half an hour with my lovely hubbie before heading out for a youth committee meeting. The Ruth that brought her world in to the office with her will bring a completely different world in tomorrow.

I remember people commenting on how I was like a breath of fresh air. Now I'm the one with the dark cloud hovering ahead.

I will sit in front of my computer but there'll never be a 'message from Emrys Davies' pop up in my inbox (not that there were many before as he was a very conscientious young man!). Never will my phone vibrate with a call from Ems to say he's on the way to pick me up. I'll never leave the office to see his smiling face waiting for me as he sat in reception. I'll never be rushing down that corridor ringing him to apologise that I'm leaving later than planned to pick him up.

My journey to work, which used to be filled with morning chit chat and commentary on the Radio 2 programme that was playing as we travelled along in his little Clio. My journey from work where we chatted over the events of one another's days, and went over the plans for the evening (most importantly what we'd eat!). My lunch break, which would often be blessed with the privilege of his company as we graced the canteen together and walked about the site. Being in work and just knowing he's there...Oh how different work can be.

And then, there's the purpose. Work was to pay the bills. The mortgage for our home together, the bills to keep our home warm and light, to pay for weekend trips to buy paint testers and one coat plaster, to fund days out or evenings in. The purpose now? To pay bills. They're just bills now.

Meaningless. It feels meaningless.

Meaningless and yet I'm sitting crying, all because I'm heading to work tomorrow. If it's that meaningless why am I so upset?

Oh boy will I miss you tomorrow Ems. God help me. God guide me. GOD HELP ME!

I'm just reminded again that he's not here. That I really am doing life without him. And I don't like it at all.
[Memory #16 the "side of the road" episode
Ems & his colleagues were moving offices. We hadn't long been married and were slightly late leaving the house that morning for work...most probably my fault. Ems was usually in the office for 8am and we were probably on track for 8.10am. The wheel bearing on the car had been playing up so we'd had that fixed over the weekend. I was driving us to work and all of a sudden I felt the steering go before we noticed smoke coming from the front right hand wheel. As we were driving along in the outside lane of the dual carriageway I made a careful but quick manouvere into the inside lane & then into a layby that was up ahead. We ended up on the side of the road for some time. Seems there was still some problem with the wheel bearing after all. Ems couldn't get hold of any of his colleagues to let them know either because he'd forgotten his phone which had colleagues mobile numbers in it and I only had his old office number which hadn't yet been transferred. An internet search (on my phone) and a HQ number later and he'd managed to contact someone to let the Carmarthen office know. We just soaked up the sun (with coats on) for an hour or so until the RAC man came to our rescue (for the first of two occasions that month - the second of which was ALL my fault - putting petrol into a diesel car is not recommended!). We always enjoyed our journeys together though and even those that were brought to a sudden stop allowed us extra time in one another's company. Who needs to rush when the one you love is at your side? Amazingly the N-reg clio is still going strong, all its memories intact!]