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.

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!]

6 months

Ok, so it's one o'clock in the morning. I'm heading to Denmark tomorrow and I haven't even packed yet but for some reason I'm here, blogging.

It's 6 months tomorrrow, no wait, today. It's 6 months ago today that I last saw my beautiful man. That I last held him in my arms, whispered "I love you", heard the words "I love you". It's 6 months since I lived the life I knew and loved with the man I knew and loved; With the man who knew and loved me. 6 months.

Ems and I planned our whole wedding from engagement in 6 months (including buying a house). It was the same time of year. He got down on one knee in December. We married in June. What a contrast the first 6 months of 2010 have been to those in 2009. It really is another world away.

I found myself, quite unexpectedly, at the place where Ems died tonight. A few of us were gathered at a friend's house and as I travelled out to get some munchies with one of my best friends, I suddenly found myself asking "Is this the road to the station?". I knew the answer before it came and my friend knew why I was asking immediately. It was one of those moments of realisation where the craziness of the last 6 months is so apparent. It just hits you. It's real.
Driving towards the spot where Ems died. Passing the spot where he'd parked his car to head over to the works. Driving the roads that he last drove on earth. Ems died there. What? Ems died? It's all too real and yet at times it feels so unreal, like another world; like it's someone else this has happened to and I'm just a bit lost in reflecting on it all.

How can it be 6 months since I last saw him? Yet in other ways it feels like forever.
What life is this where I'm heading out for munchies and I'm passing the spot where my lovely man died? It just feels so unreal. It shocked rather than upset me. It just feels so crazy. I guess everything does.

So it's 6 months. I'm not sure how that's supposed to feel. I don't think there are many 'supposed to's in this journey. I thought the shock had just about worn off - the reality of my widowhood certainly hits me all too often. I didn't think anything could feel that unreal anymore. There are lots of things I didn't think. I didn't think it was possible to cry at least once a day for 6 months.

I miss him insanely. I can't even begin to put it into words.

He was in my dream lastnight. It was a good dream. He held me close and we wouldn't let each other go. We were so together. That tangible feeling of being in love was so real. Even though we were surrounded by friends and enjoying with them, it was like we couldn't let each other go. It was a lovely dream. It made a nice change. So many dreams involving Ems have involved him not being able to hear me or not being able to say anything. I even had dreams at the start where he was telling me "it's not what it looks like"...how true that statement turned out to be following the inquest.

I can't and won't live in my dreams though. This is life. This is different, very different, to the life I once walked. My perspective has totally changed. Pain is a constant part of my life and yet so is faith. I just can't let it go. Mark Hall put it into words when he described what it's like when tragedy hits a life - 'faith isn't life enhancement anymore. Faith is life'.

A good friend asked me if I ever get angry. I certainly get frustrated, massively frustrated. I ask why this had to happen several times through my tears (I know I can't get an answer to this).

But angry? Being an accident, the only ones I could only get angry at are either Ems himself or God.

I never was very good at getting angry at Ems and that's not about to change - he's gone, I love him just as much as the day he left, and while at times I whisper to myself "you stupid boy" at the absentmindedness that may well have resulted in the accident, it's never in anger. I remember how endearing that trait was to me. He never meant harm to anyone.
And to get angry at God? I guess I could. He has everything in His control doesn't He? Well, the thing is, I completely believe that He does. And if I were to get angry at Him, I'd just be cutting myself off from the only source that can lift me from this mess, the One who Ems is enjoying right now, the only One who can make things right for me, when they feel so terribly wrong so much of the time.

I guess there's nothing wrong with getting angry, it's what you do with it that matters. I certainly don't need anything else consuming me.

And Denmark? Yes, I'm off to Denmark for 5 days with our favourite identical twins (see photo) - one of them lives out there. Nothing is an escape, but it'll be really nice to spend quality time with them both. Holidays (I'd probably rather the term 'breaks') are different now, but so is everything else.

6 months. I love him more than ever and I'm petrified of the thought of another 6 months without him but I can't do anything about it and I pray to God He'll help me through.

[Memory #18 the "I forgot it" episode
Seeing as I've mentioned Ems absentmindedness in my blog, I've been reminded of some occasions of it in our time together. One in particular was when we were heading up to my Mum's church to take part in a special meeting. Ems was playing the guitar there. We headed off on our journey from my parent's house. Half way there I asked him if his guitar was in the carboot (it wasn't on the back seat). He said "yes" quickly before questionning himself. He'd actually forgotten it! He was going somewhere purely to play his guitar & he'd forgotten his guitar! It was one of many such occasions where Ems would forget something obvious & something that we'd all have described as "typical Ems". It usually induced smiles rather than frustration in people though as we explained our late arriving! I personally really miss his forgetful ways & the laughs that would come with them.]