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.

Celebrations - another crazy day

Celebrating together on our wedding day. June 27th 2009

It's 12:50am. I have work in the morning. I was going to go straight to bed. But I just had to blog quickly before I retire and attempt to sleep.

Today has been another crazy day in this journey I'm travelling. Another day with completely new challenges to face, situations to encounter, things to experience. Yet today has been a crazy day of a different kind.

I've spent the day literally riddled with nerves. Wondering what tonight would hold. Worrying about how I'd be and whether I'd be able to hold myself in a sea of new faces.

I put make-up on this evening for the first time since the memorial gig. I have worn make up three times since Ems died. Once for his funeral. Once for his memorial gig. Both times for Ems, representing him as his wife, not wanting to meet his friends and not be at my best, just like I would've if it had been him introducing me to them.

Tonight was a similar affair and yet not. Please don't think I'm advocating a need to wear makeup to be at your best. Being at your best is most definitely a matter of all things internal. But this evening I had the confidence to wear make up again, to represent Ems, to be there as his girl; this time to a world of people who knew neither of us.

Tonight has only happened because of Ems. Because of the incredibly powerful and overwhelmingly life-changing love story we shared. Tonight has only happened because Ems died. Because the rug was pulled out from under my feet, leaving the bare but strong rock, yet shaking me to the core all the same. Tonight has only happened because I was lead to write about the insanely challenging meeting of these two parts.

Tonight I've won awards for 'Best writing in a blog' AND 'Best Blog' at the Wales Blog Awards!

I am still completely shell shocked and will be for some time.

But tonight, for the first time since Ems died, I have been genuinely pleased. I am genuinely pleased and excited about the light that can come out of the darkest of experiences.

This is by no means the end of my journey. I know that the happiness and excitement that has been experienced tonight is only true because of the deeper sense of purpose that goes along with it.

The happiness will turn to tears of sadness once more; the excitement will be engulfed in desperation. But they will in turn be back. And all the while, my eyes knowingly wandering for glimmers of the bigger picture, the sense of purpose will remain. And so long as we know purpose, we can know fulfilment whether in light or dark, happiness or sadness.

Thank you to those that organised tonight's awards. Thank you to the judges. Thank you (and well done) to my fellow nominees who have written excellent blogs (The Chocolate Takeaway, Journal of Plastik, Two Passports, The Nutpress). Thank you to the lovely people I've met and shared this evening with. Thank you to everyone who has read and followed this blog. Thank you to friends who've supported, encouraged and carried me through. Thank you to Ems for letting me love you and for your incredible love that will always touch my life and fill my heart. Thank you to God for the ability to write, for your hope and inspiration, and the strength to make it through one day at a time.

This is by no means the end. This is all part of the journey, the7journey, and I hope you'll continue to follow.

'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts' Isa 55:8&9

I'm not going to write out a particular memory of Ems tonight but as I've driven home I've remembered clearly the wonderful feeling of sharing achievements with him. I know, I really know, how proud he'd be of me, and how chuffed he'd be with me right now, his Ruthie. I am so sad that he's not here to share it, but I'm so pleased that he's a part of it, and whatever steps lay ahead of me, he always will be.