The fight for contentment

In our materialistic culture we're nurtured to always want what we don't have. Adverts and media present us with the beautiful things, the perfect lives, we don't have but should attain to. The sad thing is that this thought infiltrates everything, not just our material possessions, but the very foundations of our lives. 

Our lives, our relationships, we ourselves, are never enough. The art of learning to be content goes against everything we're presented with. Who wants to settle for what they already have? 

Don't get me wrong, I believe in striving to be a better person, for myself and for others' sakes. I believe in goals, dreams and aims that will take us beyond ourselves. I'm not saying we should be stagnant or stale. 

But I also know that sometimes, when life doesn't present us with the perfect life and things we see around us (which let's face it is not rare), that to learn to be content is the only way to find fulfilment. Sometimes the pursuit of more only leads us to overlook or take for granted the beauty we're already surrounded by. The saddest thing becomes not only wanting what we can't have but not seeing what we do. 

I got talking to a lady in a jewellery shop a while ago. In the course of the conversation it emerged that I was widowed (Ems had bought me jewellery from the shop in the past & she recognised it as theirs on me hence the conversation going that way). 

"Oh no" she said sympathetically, before immediately asking (like many before her) "did you have children?"

After replying that we hadn't had time to start a family before he passed she then asked if I was with anyone else. 

Taken aback a little I explained that I wasn't and didn't want to be, that I was as content as I was with the immense love in my heart for Ems & memories we'd shared, the wonderful people I have around me, and the amazing closeness I have with my niece and nephew.

"Oh but it's not the same as having your own" she responded. "You're young. You should have your own family".

I've often thought about this conversation. Not as an example of how opinionated some people can be on situations they know little of, but to highlight how the joy of contentment is overlooked in the pursuit of something more. 

It didn't matter that I didn't want anything more or that I was content in the wonderful experience of being an Aunty rather than mourning not being a mother. 

This (lovely & I'm sure well meaning) lady thought I 'should' have my own family rather than what she saw as settling with 'just' being an Aunty. 

Admittedly I don't know the experience of motherhood and am sure it isn't the same as being an Aunty, but I wholeheartedly believe that the fact that I have learned to be content in the beautiful closeness and wonder of being Aunty Ruru over the years is something to cherish, rather than to overlook or see as second best while living in the frustration of not having what I may once have imagined. Even in the face of miraculous contentment in the most surprising of places, I was encouraged to look for more. 

None of us know how our lives will play out. I am testament to that. Yet I am also convinced that contentment in the moment is what will give us joy for the day when future goals and dreams seem delayed or frustrated. 

Strive to be better but don't take for granted the beauty you have as you learn to be content. 

As someone who has known the sheer agony of frustrated dreams and a total, utter absence of contentment in the face of overwhelming pain and frustration, I for one will never underestimate contentment. In fact, I cherish it, just as I cherish the beautiful joy of being these wonderful little peoples' aunty. In the most perfect of times with them there are moments when I truly believe that I couldn't ask for more.

Not just for Christmas

I am stuffed from Mum's amazing Christmas Dinner (yes, we eat it on Christmas Eve these days), all sung out of carols, and I've just heard that my sister's little people are sound asleep & Santa's already been to their house, as I quietly wrap a final few gifts for my amazing family (last minute as ever). 

Christmas is a funny one, this year a little easier than previous ones I'll admit, but I know we are not the only family aware that Christmas doesn't mean an absence of all trouble. In fact, for some this Christmas will highlight your griefs more than any other time of year. 

So to everyone, whether alone or surrounded, whatever your circumstance, I wish you well this Christmas. 

I wish the lonely the unending love of Christmas, the hurting the miraculous peace of Christmas, the broken the prevailing hope of Christmas, & you all the deep joy of Christmas which doesn't depend on circumstance. 

I have a multitude of unwrapped gifts from generous friends under my tree. Right now I don't care what's inside them, I am just so very grateful for the people in my life, near & far, on earth & in heaven, who are definitely not just for Christmas. 

God bless you this Christmas x 

In yet not in

Sometimes, if I'm totally honest, I get scared that if he's not in my social media profile photos, I'm suggesting he's not a part of me; if I forget to put his wedding ring on my right thumb in the morning, I'm neglecting him; If I can sing along to a song that once brought pain, my heart is forgetting.

But there's no getting away from whatever face I have on, whatever I wear, however much I sing or laugh or talk, he is a very part of me. His love has made me who I am, and the strength I never had but now know is not a sign of forgetting, but of learning to live with him being in but not in my life.

It's not leaving behind, it's stepping forward differently. 

Sometimes love in action is impossible but it never dies in your heart.

7 years ago tomorrow Ems asked me out one highly exciting lunch hour.

The 17th.

Now 7 years.

Another 7.

A life changing 7.

"I've got something to tell you..." he said.
And now, I have so much to tell him.

30

There's a celebration, a twinkling of the lights. 

Your name, 

your influence, 

is shining brightly. 

30's here. 

That unofficial checkpoint.

You had wondered where you'd be standing now. 

Would you be married?

Career focused?

With a house and flashy car?

Would there be kids there? 

Would you be known there?

Would you have made it? 

Your light shines on brightly. 

Your influence lingers inspiringly, beautifully, poignantly. 

Your celebrations cannot be imagined by your would-have-been guests. 

Did you make it?

You truly made it.
You blew all expectation away. 
Not 6ft under but skies above. 

30 doesn't matter now. 

You have loved and you are loved. 

And we celebrate wonderful you. 

---

Happy 30th birthday sweet hubbie. 

The world has known of wonderful you for 30 years, and while we remember you here, somewhere just out of our reach you celebrate where age is irrelevant. 

Love you to eternity my darling, with all my heart. 

Always and forever. X

And the beat goes on

As long as the light still shines,
my journey continues.
Words are never exhausted.
Love never dies.

After rest comes refreshment. The 7 journey has simply been resting.

More soon.

Was I ever not his Mrs Davies?

Was I ever not his Mrs Davies? This thought has been with me all evening. What a bizarre force time is - flying by yet standing still.

I haven't blogged recently but that's primarily due to a lack of computer rather than a lack of heart for it. My notebooks are full to the brim and I am determined to write more regularly with time but for now I'm posting something I seldom write - a poem that rhymes. I get scared that it'll sound childlike but I hope you hear its heart.

As for the photo, that's part of a text message written by my one and only the night before our wedding (i.e. 3 years ago today) after a busy, exciting week of preparations.

Though so very far away, there are some precious moments when my heart feels like it couldn't possibly feel closer to him in feeling, even if it hurts.

Was I ever not his Mrs?
Did I ever bear the status miss?
Were my arms ever unheld by his arms?
My lips a stranger to his kiss?
Was I not from the beginning his girl?
Did another ever hold my gaze?
Was I not always half of our whole?
Was my heart not his for all my days?
Memories of days before him distant,
Time without him seems a blurry haze,
In this moment my heart beats for one only,
In remembering beautiful days.
And I know that in this moment,
Though in body too long gone,
Love is mine in all its fullness,
Here in tears but also song.
Time and death they have no power
Great enough to beat this heart.
Truest love and deepest blessing
Remain mine though far apart.
Heaven may seem too far at times,
Yet at times I lose my breath,
At the closeness I ever feel,
Love has conquered over death.
Its power cannot be beaten,
Broken hearts still on can beat.
Hope is mine and love to cherish,
And one day again we'll meet.

Radio 2 update

Further to my earlier post, I will be on air today from 1.30pm and not from 1pm as stated. Tune in to Radio 2 for 1.30pm today, Wednesday 7th March, to hear me on the Jeremy Vine show.

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.

Good Morning Wales!

Yes, it's Friday evening. The title of this post is not a greeting but the title of the radio show I'll be joining in the morning to discuss the 20th anniversary of the world wide web.

I was only asked earlier today and it's made me think a little about how different this journey could have been without the internet. Keeping friends up to date on how I'm doing, touching the lives of people I don't even know, the prospect of writing beyond the pages of my diaries - these words might otherwise have hidden in pages only I would see with noone any the wiser on this crazy situation.

After a few busy weeks culminating in very dark shadows under my eyes, I am very glad that this is a radio interview. I shall be on air at 7.45am GMT tomorrow (Saturday 6th). You can listen in here.

A glimmer

Written yesterday as the emotion of the early hours flowed. A parting ode on the second anniversary of our beautiful day.

As night draws in, the pain intensifies. Like shadows, the dark makes everything bigger, darker, cloudier. Beware the night, the dark, the challenges it brings, and hurry to rest; remembering but a glimmer of light destroys darkness and though the night seems heavy, your candle may itself contain the glimmer that will the dark's destroyer be. Tomorrow is a new day and though the pain may linger, the morning light will come.

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

Fancy dress

There are times when you wonder how you managed to get yourself involved in things. This is one of those times. As part of our Red Nose Day fundraising at work I have succumbed / agreed / enthusiastically volunteered to dress up on Friday 18th March in something red and silly all day! Comic Relief is a fantastic cause, doing great work with needy people across the UK and Africa. If you would like to sponsor me and donate to the cause, every donation small or large can make a difference at http://my.rednoseday.com/redruthie

It doesn't seem that long ago that I struggled to get dressed in the mornings, making every effort to avoid wearing anything that would make people notice me, resistant to wear anything that Ems hadn't seen me in, or in fact to wear an outfit that didn't have at least one item of his clothing in it. I am grateful for the baby steps that have found me here.

The confidence is not all there. There are still occasions when I wear his coat for the comfort of knowing it is his and not solely because it fits me well. To dress in fancy dress is a major achievement for me, which though will likely be masked behind the loudness of the costume, will all the same, be something I am very aware of.

I remember silly, carefree days like the one in the photo above. Days when clothes were just clothes and we weren't worrying about fancy dress drawing any attention to us because we were so confident and free with one another. I remember Ems, the creative soul, bursting with ideas, and up for pretty much anything, and the confidence he gave me to the be the same. You remember the red jeans story right?!

Well while I'm currently nervous (understatement) about my first speaking engagement since Ems died taking place this Saturday (no fancy dress involved), I'm currently taking a pause from all things serious to remember the silliness often injected into our lives together and thought I'd share it with you. The photo above and the photos below follow various fancy dress occasions that we were involved in from various eras and seasons. I hope they bring a smile to your face too.

Don't forget, if you'd like to put a smile on someone else's face, donate to Comic Relief by sponsoring me for my first solo fancy dress attempt in years at http://my.rednoseday.com/redruthie
 
And as for the speaking engagement, I was never going to wake up one morning and feel 'ready' to speak again. So, like many things (more than anyone knows), this is a step of faith. If I wait till I feel perfect, the day will never come.
 
The reality is, we can't wait for the 'after' photos like you get in 'Weightwatchers' programmes before we step out. If we wait for the perfection waiting at the other end of our journey, we'll be too late. Was I feeling good when I set up this blog? Far from it! Is the message stronger from in the midst of the struggle? 
 
Hope is ours to share whatever our current status. If we have any light in our darkness, we have a duty to shine it.

I penned these words to a dear friend of Ems last night and they have sat with me ever since
'there is no less God in this path than in the path that brought alongside me that beautiful man to share 'life' with. I was no more deserving of that beauty than I am deserving of this pain. I am no less qualified to serve in the valley than I was on the mountain top. Brokenness is not a disqualification in the Kingdom of clay pots.'
 
Fancy dress for charity, speaking from brokenness to brokenness, 'little big things'.
Where will the next step of the journey lead?

And this little piggy cried all the way home

Tears.

I remember Ems telling me that he'd gone home the evening after he'd asked me out and couldn't stop crying in his room because he was so happy. I remember his tears during our first argument, bewildered at 'what had gone wrong' and so desperate for us not to break up (the very existence of this blog shows that the desperation was mutual). I remember us driving along and realising it would be 4 days before we were next able to see each other and simultaneously looking at one another with tears in our eyes (that will sound desperately silly to those of you who've mastered long distance love). I remember saying my vows in our wedding rehearsal and struggling to get the words out through my tears; I mistakenly thought that getting the tears 'over with' in the rehearsal would mean I was ready to say them in the actual ceremony tears free. I was wrong!

Love it seemed had released something in the two of us which was difficult to contain. Neither of us were the sort to spontaneously burst into tears regularly before. Something about the love we shared moved us, equally so the fear of losing it. I poignantly remember us both sobbing in my parents living room while watching 'The Notebook', unable to imagine what it would be like to lose the other with age, age we were never to reach, to dementia in front of our very eyes. I remember us sat on our sofa, talking about how it would be impossible to live without one another, tears rolling down our faces.

Tears.

It seems rather peculiar to remember particular instances of emotion now. If falling in love with one another had opened the flood gates to some extent, losing sweet Ems has burst the reservoir wall and I have no control with each bend and bump in the road how much water will come my way. There have been tears too many and too often to remember particular instances like those when he was here.

Before Ems died I didn't realise that a broken heart actually physically hurt at times. I also didn't know that the sting of tears was more than a temporary burning sensation while the tears were still flowing, and was in fact a lingering ache that pounded even after the tears had long since soaked into my clothes or pillow.

Tears.

Tonight I was at one of our monthly leadership meetings and found myself in tears after the meeting. I wasn't moved by the matters we were discussing. I simply couldn't control the emotion that burst up as I tried to speak up about something I felt passionate about and failed to make my voice heard (literally - I was like a mouse). I get annoyed at myself; at the underlying confidence which is so fragile now. I get frustrated at how different things are, how I can't do my job like I used to, how I can't stand before the crowd like I used to, how I can't speak up about things I feel passionately about in conversations because of the flood that can inevitably follow.

And so lately I've been finding myself staying silent, answering 'yeah I'm ok' to people who genuinely want to know how I am. I put on the mask and I smile politely, even go overboard with the day to day chit-chat. I'm not even trying to prove that I am ok. I even detest my falseness at times. I've just struggled to be any other way.

So do I stay silent when I want to talk about things that I'm passionate about? Do I not say how I am when someone really wants to know how I really am? What gain is there in giving the appearance of being stone-like when underneath the love and passions rage?

I sobbed all the way home tonight. I remember braving my first leadership meeting after Ems died and getting emotional about being welcomed, getting emotional at the end of the meeting as people said "I'd better get back to my wife / husband". I missed knowing that Ems was at home waiting for me, whether it be his open arms to celebrate with me, his shoulder to lean on if the meeting had been tough, or to catch up on the Ray Mears programme he'd been watching on iPlayer while I was out (he always conveyed the adventure so excitedly!).

I missed Ems tonight. I drove home asking him in my head why he wasn't here. If he was here I would have been more confident. If he was here I wouldn't have lost control of my emotions even if I hadn't been heard. If he was here he would have comforted me on my return, even if I had got emotional. If he was here...

And so, I can't do anything about the tears. I can act as though there's nothing going on underneath, but that won't mean that there isn't.

The tears come unexpectedly now.

As I sat on the plane back from New York last week (I'll write about that trip soon), I put the earphones of his iPod touch in, clicked play and looked through the beautiful photos of us that are stored on it. I have done so several times without emotion but as I sat on that night flight, the interior lights off, I started to sob. With 2 seats to myself and the lights off I could easily hide visibly but had to put all my efforts into avoiding making any noise as the sobbing got stronger. As my body convulsed with the sobs and the noise sought to burst out, I bottled up the noise so instead the emotion poured out in rivers. The Virgin Atlantic pillow was saturated as I thought about my Ems and the fact that going 'home' is never that without him. Even up so high in the sky I am still no closer to him. It wasn't 'home' anymore that I was headed towards. One beautiful day it will be.

I have memories that spring up on me in the most 'normal' of times, as though there to remind me that all is not 'normal'. Sat in church singing and suddenly reminded of the 600+ who gathered for Ems' funeral: 600! At first I am touched at the amount of love people had / have for Ems and then I'm reminded of why those people gathered. It's a 'funny' kind of reminder, to go from 'normality' to 'reality' within seconds of my thought patterns. The mask is shattered with them but I'd never be without those reminders. To be reminded that all is not 'normal' reminds me that one day all will be well; this is not 'home' forever.

Many ask if the photos placed around my pc screen (in above photo), on my car's dashboard, kept as numerous bookmarks, upset me; but these photos are reminders of blessings I still count as mine. And if there's a tear or two to pay for them, then they're a small price to pay.

One day there'll be no more tears.

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'

Travel Alert

I just thought I'd let regular readers know that I'm in New York for 6 days.

I have every intention of blogging about the experience when I return but wanted to let you know that if any of you want to follow my story in the meantime I'm going to attempt to 'tweet' each evening and hopefully at other times intermittently so you can follow my tales at www.twitter.com/the7journey

Being away has reminded me afresh that even in territories entirely new to the both of us, memories of Ems are absolutely everywhere because they're a part of me. That is a good thing.

Wishing you all a safe and blessed week,

Ruthie x

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.]

Breaking the ice




















A Christmas engagement: Bath, December 7th, 2008

I've spent the day receiving gifts and realised this evening that I have gifts I've neglected of late.

As you know, I've promised never to force a blog entry. However I also know that in the past 7 weeks of silence there have been many entries that I could have written and haven't.

I have given in to the silence and I have let it win. I have let it eat a bit more of my confidence and waited; waited for the perfect moment. I have also let those moments come and then procrastinated till I'm too exhausted to write a word.

The more the silence has gone on, the more fearful I've been of sitting at the keyboard and writing again. It hasn't been writer's block from a lack of inspiration - Ems, grief, self-analysis, day to day struggles and victories, have all been in the foreground as ever. I've just lost the confidence in conveying it and so I've left this gift neglected.

Today, I know, this is one gift I have to start using again. I can't neglect it. I can't give in to this fear. I cannot let the silence win.

In the silence has been a battle.

The silence has been a stark reflection of this very same time last year when silence fell and the world stopped.

Many days that I wanted to mark, that I wanted to write about; the silence won.

Since the last time I wrote we've passed the first anniversary of beautiful Ems departure for Heaven. We've passed the anniversary of his funeral, incidentally the same day as the anniversary of our engagement just a year earlier. I've spent quality time with his best friends; I've known heightened emotions as well as near total numbness. There has been so much to write about.

And yet I have been scared. I've been too scared to write. I've been looking for the perfect post to start me back out.

And yet, as I reflect on a Christmas day, void of my wonderful other half, yet surrounded by the most amazing and loving family, touched and encouraged by the thoughtful messages and gifts from friends, showered with the realisation anew that God came to earth to make a way for me to find hope in otherwise impossible situations. As I reflect on this day, I know that the things we once thought of as perfection - the trimmings we once thought made it Christmas; the decoration we thought made it home. None of these things count for anything without the main thing in place, without the faith to hold it together, without our loved ones around. They are just trimmings. And in the same way, life isn't always the earth shattering moments, the depths of emotion or the big events. This blog isn't about perfect posts.

I could give you a run down of the widow's Christmas day but that's not my reason for writing tonight. As the snow covers the earth outside and the temperature plummets, I'm writing to break the ice that's been growing inside, to break the growing fear in me of sitting down and writing, hoping and praying that now I've sat down and written, that there'll be many more entries on the way, accompanied by the confidence and determination to go with them.

[Memory #24 the 'gift wrapping' episode
Poor Ems took the gutsy step of asking me out one excitable lunch time (read more about that in an article I wrote for The Tip) only for me to say yes (enthusiastically) yet then tell him that as it was my only free night before Christmas I had loads of things I had to get done that night and so couldn't see him. It took me the 5 minutes drive back to the office to realise I was being an idiot and was absolutely desperate to see him again already so I invited him to come to my parents after work and help me wrap gifts, etc.
Months later I remember asking Ems what his favourite evening we'd had together was and he said it'd take a lot to top that first night. We'd just sat on the floor, wrapping gifts, him passing me bits of sellotape and setting up a playlist on my ipod, while we talked about absolutely everything. We'd been good friends for months and talked about so many things but had never spoken about relationships or what either of us expected in one. That night we spoke about everything - past experience, present desires, future goals. When I look back it was crazy how much ground we covered in that first night but it was all incredibly natural as we spoke together, and we set an amazing foundation of security and friendship that deepened with each new day. We were in love right there as we tackled Christmas preparations and that love grew at great pace from there on. I will always think of Ems as I wrap gifts and remember that night, which, like he said would have taken a lot to top. He later told me that he'd cried when he got home that night because he was so happy. Just like me, he hadn't realised that the feelings we were newly experiencing were possible. I still feel that way. Love like that never dies and I still love him with every bit of my heart, a million times more so than that first night, so grateful that he'll always be mine.]

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!]