The fear

I just wrote an entry and then deleted it. Intentionally. I have promised everyone that ever crossed this blog, that I would be honest. I deleted it because I was forcing what I'd just written. I wrote the last paragraph before I'd finished the middle. I was copying & pasting, contriving. I want to write from the heart.

It has been a long time since I last wrote. I know I promised I wouldn't force things but I genuinely am sorry that it's taken so long. I'm sorry that I may have lost some readers along the way who have given up checking to see if I've posted. I'm sorry because deep down in my gut I've known I've had posts to write and I've failed to do so. I'm sorry because now I'm sitting here and I have so much in my head, I almost don't know where to start. Almost.

I want to start where all this started. Ems. Ems, my beloved husband. Missed beyond any words I could ever hope to learn let alone write at the end of this grey September day. As September has gone on and we've experienced relentless rain and musky blankets of grey, I've thought of Ems. All summer I've missed him and yearned for his company. I still do. But these grey days make me thankful that he isn't here, that he's somewhere better, that he's not about to face his annual decent into the despair of Seasonal Affective Disorder that he battled with so bravely and admirably in winter months. Of course, I would love to have his company as I face grey days of my own, but I'm glad that for him, there are no more grey seasons, no more despair, just light. Once again it is Ems reminding me, as he never failed to when next to me, that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Everything is different now yet this different is becoming my normal. I am so fearful of this 'new normal'. I fear that as I go about this new life with some sort of routine, that people will mistake me as 'normal', as 'ok', and treat me so. Yet simultaneously, I am so aware that this walk is mine to walk and that no one else can walk it with me. Once upon a time (it often feels like that), one did walk beside me. That was beautiful. Yet now, this is me. In an earthly sense, I am alone. I cannot rely on the support of another person. No human being will ever get close beside me like my Ems, my husband, my other half did. Marriage is a beautiful thing and even though I am learning to walk again, I am learning to walk without one leg to support me, without one arm to provide balance, without one eye to give me a new perspective, and without one ear to hear truth and to remind me of it. I am half. I know I've said it before but I really am.

And this half that you see before you 'getting on' with things, is actually completely shell shocked. I don't spend all day crying and then 12 hours sleeping anymore. In fact, in the last couple of months, my life has become increasingly busy, something I was once very used to. In the busyness I am finding I sleep less, I am exhausted in a completely different way. I spend half my day busy and the other half numb. My mind whirs.

I can hide in busyness. I can put on my mask, keep busy, and avoid talking on a deep level to anyone. I can attempt to put my mind on something else, often successfully, and until the task is done not stop to think. There is this 'new normal' emerging around me and it scares me. It scares me to think that people could view me as normal. That in those moments when I have to stop and think, when I crash, that I will be burning alone.

I 'get' why widows would dress in a different colour to show that they are widows. I used to think it such a cruel and shameful cultural thing which widows were forced to do. Yet now I see beyond it. I'd quite like there to be something that would show me as a widow; that would show others, even when I'm busy, even when I look 'ok' (what does that mean exactly?), that there's something missing.

I wear Ems' wedding ring on my right thumb. I know what it means. Widows have different perspectives on removing their wedding rings (and I completely respect that it is each individual's decision) but for me personally, I don't ever want to remove mine. I wear my rings proudly, the symbol of our love and unity. Yet simultaneously, wear Ems ring on my right hand, showing that there is something different about this connection.
When Ems died I didn't ask for his ring back, I didn't think about whether he should be buried with it or not. The police gave it back to me anyway, scratched and bent from the accident, and placed in a clear sealed bag. For a while whenever I looked at the ring I saw the fact it was mis-shaped and scratched. I saw the accident. Yet now when I look at it, I just see Ems' ring. The eternal ring of evidence that showed that he was mine, that we, like the ring, were whole.
I feel a bit like that ring. I'm damaged and scratched and always will be. Yet some seem to look at me without seeing the damage. It petrifies me to think that people could see through the scars when to me they're still open wounds. I'm so scared that as I do more, as this 'new normal' emerges, people will think I am 'fine' when the daily battle is enormous. But just as Ems' ring isn't on the hand of the one we planned it to be, so I must carry on living this life that was far outside my own plans. And just like Ems' ring, I want to be a reminder of something beautiful to others one day. Petrified as I am, I will step out, because the fear of being misunderstood cannot and should not surpass the fear of missing out on one's purpose.
[Memory #20 'the ring' episodes
It's strange in a way but I can remember several instances of being very aware of Ems' ring on his wedding finger. I remember us going out to buy our rings. We went in the January just after getting engaged, hoping to find some bargains in the January sales. Instead, Ems' noticed this 'new design' and the man who'd once said 'I'd like a really plain ring' decided otherwise (I'd always wanted to have an identical ring to his so was happy with this choice too)! The rings Ems had picked out were gorgeous 2 -colour matt gold rings, each with 2 small diamonds in the white gold bit. Ems & I had discussed before 'which way up' we thought the rings should go (i.e. whether the diamonds should be near the base or top of our fingers). It didn't really matter but we'd agreed we'd like to wear them the same way. I can clearly remember sitting on our sofa together and noticing his ring being a bit big. I'd often notice that his ring was the 'wrong way up' because he'd been playing with it, or that the ring had rolled around his finger so you couldn't see the diamonds at all. It didn't matter - it just meant I noticed it. I just remember being aware of the ring on his finger, of gently turning it back around, always remembering the moment I had first placed it on his finger. I remember on honeymoon, holding one another's hands & playing with one another's rings. It was such a novelty, a new & permanent part of the other's person. I also remember him almost losing his on honeymoon. As he swum in the Mediterranean sea he'd felt his ring coming off and stopped it just in time. Rather than pull his ring off and give it to me for safekeeping, he came out of the sea so his finger would once again swell in the heat of the sun and hold his ring in place before returning for another swim! Only death could remove his ring. I'm glad that I can remember seeing his wedding ring, which has become a permanent part of my attire, on his finger where it belonged.]

On another note, I found out today that this blog has been longlisted for 'best writing on a blog' for the Wales blog awards. I'm pretty honoured and grateful to those who nominated me. See the longlist here.

Winter Days

More snow has arrived.

While many excitedly prepare for another 'snow day' off work or school, I find myself dreading the isolation that comes with the snow.

I'm staying at my parents for the forseeable future. This means being 'home' in the house I lived in from age 0. Yes, not many live in the same house all their lives these days but other than 4 or so years of uni, work placements, travel, etc, I'd lived in the same house from newborn to last June when we got married and moved in to our new house together. I never imagined that being at that home would ever feel so wrong [N.B. no disrespect to my parents who have been nothing short of amazing these past few weeks, thank you]. It's just being with Ems was home in every sense of the word.

The house I was brought up in is situated in the countryside with a couple of miles of lanes before you reach anything you can call a 'main' road. When the snow comes, access becomes a problem, as the gritters are focused on sorting out the well used routes rather than our lesser used lanes.

Thus, snow makes for isolation.

In past years I've welcomed this news when it would prevent me getting to school or work and just meant a day of carefree snow games with my sister and anyone else who could get anywhere near.

This year it's a different story.

It's not because my sister's been long gone to a home and family of her own. I can't even blame the fact it means I can't get out to see people. It's just that the physical isolation just accentuates the isolation I feel inside. I have been isolated from the one I want most in the world to see. I can't get to him. In not being able to get to others I am reminded again of the loneliness that grief has brought with it. No one else can fill the gap that Ems has left, but not being able to see anyone else certainly adds to it and also prevents welcome distraction.

It is winter outside. It is winter inside.

I'd love to have a few 'snow days' with Ems. It would've made a great bonus to what would have been our 1st Christmas together as man and wife. I can well imagine the fun we would have had together, the walks together, and naturally, the snowball fights! The lovely thing about having known him so well is that I can still imagine what the days without him would have been like if he had been here. Ems would have loved it.

I shared one snow day with Ems last February after we took his brother out to celebrate his 18th birthday one evening. Despite protests from both mothers that we shouldn't go too far with the snow forecast and it being mid-week, we ventured 30 miles, had a great evening, and yes, struggled to get back to their farm on our return. Needless to say my car didn't get back up their farm's track and I gatecrashed for the night. The next day was a 'snow day' as one of Ems' colleagues came to pick us both up for work in his landrover, only for us all to be sent home again seconds after arriving in the office. It was like being a kid again. I watched Ems and his brother pelt snowballs at one another (see photo), and then sheltered when I became the target.

This season's snow has given me much time for thinking (sometimes too much). 3 such thoughts I share here:

Firstly, I've realised that in years gone by, when the snow has brought nothing but joy to me, it may have brought pain and anguish to others to whom I gave no second thought - those injured on the ice, old people isolated in their homes, perhaps others grieving or lonely, unable to be reached. It makes me think of the first 6 months of 2009 when Ems & I had one focus - our forthcoming wedding. We knew nothing but joy and excitement in our own lives and, though sympathetic, I didn't stop for any length of time to realise that there were others out there whose lives weren't as unbelievably happy as ours were at that moment in time, some lives quite the opposite. Now I am stopping. Now I am realising. Now, in my grief, I've seen friends who are experiencing the very best times of their lives. While some people's dreams come true, others have them dashed. When some people find success, others find failure. While some meet, others part. While some face death, others know new life. It's not that we should all live somewhere in the middle so that we're all in the same place at the same time, we'll all know different extremes at times, but I choose to spare a thought to those less fortunate than I when I finally know joy again, just as I choose to find joy in other's dreams coming true while I am in the midst of my pain.

Secondly, even though the snow brings isolation, it also brings peace. The snow brings problems. However, when I look up and around at the snow covered landscape, it looks so beautiful and peaceful. It doesn't have the colour of summer, but it makes everything appear so clean, tranquil and light. When the sun shines on it, I get teeny weeny glimpses of what the brightness of heaven may be like (I wonder if there's snow there?).

Finally, it is a season, not a permanent state of being. Winter may be here but spring always follows. In a way it fits that the winter of my life comes at the same time that we are experiencing our nation's first proper winter snow in decades. Just as the snow has stuck around for a long time now, I know that the winter season I am experiencing in my life won't be a short one. However, it is a season. In nature, there aren't winters without spring to follow, there aren't nights without a new day, and it's the same in our lives. Winter may bring death but spring will come in time and with it new life.

'For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven...' Ecclesiastes
'Weeping may last through the night but joy comes in the morning' The Psalms

[Memory #3 the "nothing will stop me" episode
Ems was brought up on a farm with a track that was pretty treacherous when icy and some hazardous country lanes to wind down in order to reach the safer 'main' roads. In the Christmas of 2007, just a few days after we got together, I remember the risk of snow being mentioned. One evening as we said goodnight & he said he'd see me tomorrow, I responded that I guessed it would depend on whether it snowed or not (not that I didn't want to see him for one second - I wanted to see him all the time!). His sweet reply was that nothing would stop him getting to me, that no weather (or other!) condition could keep him from getting to me, even if he had to walk or sledge across the fields (it was a 12 mile trip!).
I'm not sure whether he was mistaking himself for the 'milk tray man' or was just plain crazy (crazy in love maybe?) but fortunately for him that year, the snow didn't come and he arrived safely at my house in his little green Clio.
Having said that, knowing Ems spontaneity and love for an adventure (and of course his desire to see me!), he probably would have got there by foot and sledge even if it had snowed!]