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.

Sing Sing Sing

GarethJonesPhotography 2009

I wanted to share a breakthrough with you.

Thursday morning, for the first time since my lovely Ems passed away, I truly sung.

I don't have a beautiful or gifted voice but I've always been a singer. I used to sing my heart out in the car, the shower, all around the house, I sung.

Ems had a real talent for singing and for all things musical. He sung and played in church - leading, following, solo, or group; he'd played at youth events to hundreds; he'd belted out a number of his own songs by himself (Shipping Forecast) or with various bands (Haybarns on Fire, Rayburn & the Radiators, Venturi Channel, Teeny Bopping Commanders, to name a few - help me with any I've missed guys!); he'd belted out covers with Meica & the Mechanics (with colleagues) and Seren Gwib; he was the music man. Yet when it came to the car or the shower or the house, he sung far less than I did.

Don't get me wrong, he'd sing at times*. He'd come in to the room and ask me what the next line of a song was, or how something went. In my bird like tones (some people have likened them to a crow), I would sing the next line or the rhythm. He'd also sing and play in preparation for the next church service, event, gig. When he sung, it sounded good. When he sung, it was because the lyrics were screaming at him and he just couldn't help but join in. I could never out sing him in quality, but I usually did in quantity.

I'd ask him if my singing got on his nerves but it didn't. I'm sure at times I ruined the odd 'classic' for him as I sung my heart out, but he'd usually just smile over at me. He knew I was singing because I was happy and free and relaxed and he loved that. Those times when he did join in, he'd harmonise brilliantly and it would make the singing all the more pleasurable for me.

When Ems died, I didn't feel like singing.

At his funeral though, I sung my heart out. I remember before his funeral saying that I didn't know if I'd feel like standing or sitting, whether I'd be able to sing or not. But as the music started that day, I knew I wanted to stand, proud that I was his wife, and sing loudly, so thankful that God had brought him into my life and blessed us in the amazing ways He had.

Since then, I have sung at church services. I've meant what I've sung. But I haven't truly sung. I haven't wandered around the house, my heart lost in a song. You know those moments when you're singing your heart out because there's something in you that has to get out?

Until yesterday. Yesterday, for a moment, as I dried my hair, I could hear my singing, even about the noise of the dryer.

I was singing.

It wasn't forced. It wasn't planned. It was my heart overflowing.

I had spent the last 7 weeks looking forward to Heaven solely because it would mean an end to all this pain. I can honestly say that yesterday I was singing, not just because I know I won't have any pain when I get there, but because heaven itself is beyond anything I can see, hear or imagine. And despite the darkness that surrounds me right now, there is hope. Hope, because Ems and I shared the same faith, that he is there now, and one day I'll join him and it will be amazing [understatement of the largest scale].

The dark moments will still come. I've cried since then. I'll cry again. There'll be times when I don't feel like singing, but I'm not going to lose my voice entirely. I'm going to remember Ems when he'd come to church feeling low but sing his heart out in spite of it all, grateful for grace. I won't sing because I'm forced to or because it's what everyone's doing. I'll sing because my heart does.

For all those who have lost loved ones suddenly and tragically in Haiti - my heart goes out to you.

[*Memory #4 The "Early morning sing song" episode
Ems suffered with Seasonal Affective Disorder and one of the symptoms was a cruel disturbance of his sleep. As such, getting out of the bed in the morning could be even more of a struggle than it is for most of us because of the bad night that had gone before. One night when setting his alarm, Ems decided he was going to try and get up at 6am and read the bible for a little while in front of his light box before getting up to face the world.
At 6am Ems jumped out of bed enthusiasically. I was so happy to hear him get up so easily, there was no way I was going to get cross at him for waking me in the process. He left the bedroom, I assumed to go and read elsewhere, and I buried back down into the duvet to snooze for another hour.
A toilet flush and a couple of minutes later, and the door banged open and Ems noisily returned to the bedroom, switched on his light box, and parked his skinny but lovely posterior at the bottom of the bed. I realised that meant he was going to read and do his light therapy in the bedroom, but I was still grateful that he was up and ok so I didn't mind too much. I just buried a bit deeper into the duvet and attempted to snooze.
Then, he started to read. He read out loud! I'd forgotten that little quirk of his. He'd often read out loud to help him concentrate and this was one of those times. I just lay still and smiled at another of his eccentricities.
Just as I started thinking that reading out loud probably wouldn't prevent me snoozing because he was doing so quietly, he spontaneously burst into song!
He started to sing. I buried deep, but when he couldn't remember some of the lines to the old hymn he'd pitched up, I could almost feel him looking at me through the duvet, waiting for me to help him with the lines. I didn't first time around, trying to kid myself I'd still fall back to sleep, and he filled the gaps with 'la las' and 'mmm mmms'. But when he reached that part for the second time, I couldn't help but sing my heart out with him, filling in the lyrics he didn't know, and smile, because not only was he out of bed and ready to face the day, but his heart was overflowing with a song, and so was mine.
What's an extra 45 minutes in bed when you can sing with the one you love instead?

By the way, the above photo, that's us, our hearts overflowing with song on our wedding day.]