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.

Normal

I am aching incredibly right now. Just over 10 months ago I never wanted to be normal. Just over 10 months ago I wanted to go against the flow, to make a difference.

Right now in this moment, I would give anything be 'normal'.

I don't even know what 'normal' is and am pretty sure no such thing exists but I want to stop this rollercoaster that keeps speeding round; that just when I think I'm starting to climb, I'm suddenly hurtling down with uncontrollable speed.

I do still yearn to make a difference. And to make a difference, we have to be different. No one ever changed the world by being like it after all. 

I am grateful that my mind is continuously aware of a bigger picture that I can't yet see. Nothing like tragedy can make you so acutely sensitive to how truly fragile life truly is; to how little control we really have. I don't want to be complacent; I don't want to be so at ease with what's around me that I forget that there is more: More to life, more to give, more to receive.

But I am also human. I am fragile. I am easily thrust into moments that leave me crying out for 'normality'.

Sometimes when I am alone I can begin to think that this...that this is normal! I pop to our house to check the post as though everyone has a home they don't live in right now. I smile at memories or photos as though that is the way every 27 year old thinks on their spouse.

And then suddenly there I am, taking a call outside church from friends with good news, and suddenly I'm all too aware that I'm standing in the graveyard where my husband's body lies. And in moments like that I know this isn't how it was meant to be. For a moment I want to be someone in hope of sharing such news myself one day or of turning to my husband to share the good news I've just heard, rather than knowing that I will never be that person.

And even though it hurts, I still know that all I am called to be is me. This is the lot I've been assigned. 11 months ago, I thought it was the most beautiful lot imaginable. When I look forward, I know it is going to be even more beautiful. So right now, I have to just be.

I may want to be 'normal' but I have to be me.

And it's ok for me to get lost in thinking that my situation is normal sometimes. I have to run the race without looking to the right or the left, without looking at those around me. I may have lost the thing most dear to me but if I keep focusing on the goal ahead, I can still win my race. When I stop comparing myself to others, I don't think about normal, about what I don't have. And if I really think about it, even though I'd do anything to have Ems here to live our lives out together as was normal to us; looking back I know that we had so much, so much more than 'normal'. Looking ahead, I know that just as our story together way exceeded anything I could have imagined, I'll one day have way beyond it. It's just right now that hurts so much. And 'right now' will one day be history. Oh help me to realise that. One day at a time.

My heart breaking for 'normality' feels a little foolish considering this poem I wrote this morning.

I would rather be me

Despite the pain,
I would rather be me.
Despite the fact that you're not here,
I would rather be me.

I would rather be me
with all my battles,
all my wounds.

With all my memories.
With all the love I have for you in my heart.
With your love's fingerprints tattooed upon my soul.

Others' climbs may seem less steep, their roads more smooth,
their hearts less scarred, their hands more full.
But I would rather be me,
empty handed,
with memories of holding your sweet hand,
than to be another that had never felt your touch.

I would rather be me,
grief my constant companion
and my heart bursting with the love you lavished upon me,
than to take the burden of being another.

Oh, I don't recommend that any other be me right now.
But I wouldn't have wanted to be any other back then.
I won't want to be any other when I join you in endless light.
And so it is.
Past beauty.
Future gain.
I can't want to be anyone else in this present.

For your love is ever with me,
and though I walk the shady valley of death,
the same light that shined for us, shines for me,
and the light always wins.

I would rather be your me.

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.]