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.

When numbness slows my typing hands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The reality of it all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweetheart

The rain is relentlessly hammering down against the roof.

Relentless. This grief seems relentless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love and / or grief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is pain because there was once such comfort.

There is grief because there was once great love.

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

Would I do it all again? Every time.

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

Darkness

Sorry for the long absence. I had a week's 'break' in Cornwall with the family. The change of scenery was positive but there are some things I can't take a break from. Coming 'home' has been emotional - Ems was my home and he's not here.

I wrote this in my prayer diary last night and thought it'd make a true and honest blog entry. It might upset some people but it's real...

God, I hate this. I hate my life. There, I've said it. I do. I hate what my life has become. I hate him not being here. I do hate my life.

I loved Ems so much. I love him so much. The love isn't past tense even though his presence on earth is. I love him.

I get so frustrated at little things - some things really don't matter anymore and others seem to get to me even more than they did before. I get really frustrated at people who text to ask how I am and then ignore my response. I don't expect words of wisdom. I'd just rather people didn't ask in the first place. It is nice to be asked but when there's no acknowledgment of the response it kind of takes away any sincerity they may have had in asking. It gives me a fear of answering honestly. I think I'm hypersensitive right now and I have to keep reminding myself that the reason life sucks isn't because people don't text back but because Ems is gone. I just hate it. I was never one to get upset by these things. The loneliness isn't something that texts/emails back will cure anyway.

I look for lumps hoping that I'll find one. When I have a headache or get a cold I hope the symptoms may actually be a sign of something way more sinister. I just don't want to be here.

Don't go thinking I'm suicidal. I know my times are not my own to decide, just like Ems' times weren't his. I'm actually jealous of him right now - the fact he was gone in an instant, ready for the next world and thrust into heaven without a chance to think about the fact he was on his way there - no more tears for him. Ever.

I am glad it's him and not me because I always hated the thought of him suffering and wouldn't want him to endure this instead of me (I think you call that love!). I do love that he's full of life and free of all pain right now, consumed with endless joy and freedom. But, boy I can't wait for the day when I get to join him. I don't know what day that will be but I'm ready. I am sorted with God and when that moment comes I will be there in an instant. I can't wait.

Till then, I have (note that this is obligation not choice) to find some way of living with this. It's not going to go away and so I have to find a way to live with loss and pain being a very part of me.

I'm not sure what Paul meant when he wrote 'to live is Christ. to die is gain' but I can see that in my experience.
'to live is Christ...' - God is all I have to help me live right now. He is the only reason I live. Family, friends, places, memories, can bring me nice moments, some distractions, but it is only God that can give me purpose, strength, peace and hope that is permanent; that can bring change.
'To die is gain...' - that bit I really like. The day I die is what will make this life worth living. Heaven awaits for me and there I will have it all. That will be better than anything I have ever had. Ems has it better than he ever had it on earth, even in our very best moments. Understatement. For the believer who dies, it's not the end, it's just the beginning.

Oh Ems, what a void you have left. How perfect it was. How wonderful you were. You can't hear this but I love you.

Another night has come and yet everything around me is night right now anyway.

A glimmer. I see a glimmer from the bright light on the horizon that I'll one day experience for myself. Then all night will end. Right now it's just a glimmer but the light will win.
It has for Ems and it will for me.

Darkness, you may be my constant companion right now but you will not win. You will not win.

[Memory #13 The "You are my sunshine" episode
Ems & I had so few quarrels that I can remember them and can count them before I run out of fingers. On Good Friday 2008 we had marked the day as an 'Ems & Ruthie day' in our diaries. These were days when we spent time we'd set aside for just the 2 of us. Unfortunately on this day, the pressure we'd both put on the day to be perfect because it was long awaited 'quality time', created tension straight away when a little misunderstanding occured in the first 10 minutes of the journey up to the Preseli Mountains. I had a tendency to 'go quiet' when I'm upset (I soon learned) and Ems wasn't a mind reader so by the time we reached the peak we weren't talking to one another and neither of us really knew why. Fortunately, neither of us liked falling out and so a short heated discussion later (that's not an understatement - neither of us were shouters!), and we both knew what was wrong and realised it wasn't actually a very big deal. We made up quickly. As we made our way to our next destination the song 'you are my sunshine' came on the radio. I can't remember which one of us started singing it first but we both sung out the chorus, and I wrapped my arm around him as he drove through the country lanes. I remember us both realising for the first time that the last verse of the song is actually sad and refusing to sing it but we sung the chorus with gusto 'you are my sunshine. my only sunshine. you make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away'. He did know how much I loved him though, as I knew how much he loved me, and neither of us liked any moments that threatened to take away that sunshine.]

Everything

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

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

I miss Ems with everything I am.

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

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

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

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

I miss him in every sense and with every sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From the start

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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