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.

Mrs 2 years

A year ago today I wrote 'memories of a year ago'. I can hardly believe a year has passed since then.

While time greedily swallows my proximity to my sweet boy, each time I mention how 'long' it's been making me feel more unworthy of not yet being 'used to' his absence, the anniversary tells a different story.

While I wish that rather than the comforting thoughts and prayers of friends today that I was celebrating 'another year' with my darling husband, the anniversary seems to affirm why I should miss him as I do. For though today I mark 2 years since the beautiful day that brought us together as man and wife without him, and though today I mark 2 years as his wife having spent just over 3/4 of that time as his widow, today I mark 2 years since I became Mrs Davies, his Mrs Davies, and being his Mrs Davies is still something I consider myself exceptionally proud, blessed and privileged to be.

There'll be no cards but there will be the sweetest of memories.
There will be heartache but there'll be a deep appreciation for the reason it is there in the first place.

Here's to you my lovely husband...till we meet again.

This video is a montage of clips from our wedding day which was put together and played at Ems thanksgiving service. Like the memories it may bring tears, but so too like the memories it'll also bring smiles, and surely we would not want for an absence of tears if it too meant we'd never a smile wear.

Thanking God that love is stronger, way stronger, than death.

November

I usually write in the darkness of night but this morning I woke with a heaviness I haven't had for a while. I had to write.

It's not like I usually spring out of bed carefree; thoughts of Ems are with me within seconds of waking, just after acknowledging that 'ok, I'm still here'. 'Ok, I'm still here' because I have a strong conviction that if I'm still here it's because there is still purpose yet for me to fulfil. Somehow it makes the pain more bearable, it makes life bigger than me.

The mornings aren't like they were in the first few months after Ems died, when I'd wake with a physically aching heart with just a few seconds before things slotted into place in my mind and I realised afresh - 'Ems is gone'. It was like losing him anew every morning.

Now, there is no denial that he is gone from here. It feels like forever. There's the odd moment when it feels like it did when he was here; if I'm lost in work, for example, it's only when I stop that it hits me.

'Hits me' is a very appropriate phrase.

On the whole though, he's gone from here and it feels like forever. Being without him, much as I hate it, becomes something I'm almost 'used to', yet my love for him remains as full and fresh as the last time I saw him and the amount I miss him increases by the day.

The feeling of losing Ems afresh each day may have gone but he's never here now. I wake and I miss him and I wish he were here.

I'm remembering the way we'd always kiss one another before getting out of bed. Or the way I'd tiptoe around the bed on the days he wasn't working, doing my best to get ready without waking him, yet always kneeling down and sharing a kiss and a few gentle words before I left.

Mornings aren't the same now. This morning wasn't the same.

It's November.

November.

November - the name of this month has been on my lips more than it has any other year in my life.

'Last November'.

'When did he die?', 'When did you lose him?', 'When did it happen?', the last time I saw him, the last time I held him, 'there's been an incident...'. All these things - 'last November'.

And so, when this month comes to an end, it'll be 'the November before last'.
I'll no longer say or hear the words 'it hasn't even been a year yet' despite the security that comes with it - what will others expectations be of me now? To me it may feel like a year 'already', to others a year may seem a long time. In some situations, it really isn't.

Though it feels like an eternity since I've seen the man I love, I can't believe it's almost been a year. I still feel like such a beginner on this journey. I may accept it, there are moments when I'm 'used to it', but I hate it.

But when we hate something, we don't fear its loss. Instead, I will just grapple with God and fall into the purpose for which, heavy hearted as I felt, I woke this morning.

[Memory #22 The 'bacon' episode
I can remember the cosy Saturday morning lie-ins together that we'd follow up with a good breakfast. They were never planned and so we'd be out of eggs or milk or another essential ingredient which would mean plans to enjoy it in our dressing gowns were soon halted as Ems made a quick dash for the local shop as I started the grill. No DIY was mentioned as we prepared breakfast, enjoying the peace and togetherness of a post lie-in breakfast; Ems setting the table, pouring the juice, leaving me to rule the stove. Leaving me that is until the bacon started. Mum reminded me the other day how fussy Ems was with his bacon. He liked gammon but didn't like his bacon too thick. He liked it crisp but not hard. He didn't like too much fat but didn't like it with the fat cut off! He was very particular about the bacon but once it was cooked to his exceptionally high standards, the 'mmmms' that enthusiastically flowed from him as he ate it were well worth the effort. Outside of cooking bacon, he caused me very few stresses. We had food and love in our tummies and were ready for the day and DIY ahead.]

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.

Brokenhearts and silly games

I've been putting off writing a new post till I felt a bit better, till I was having a 'good' day and could write something inspiring. The reality is that as the last few days have ticked away, I don't feel any better but I don't want to stop writing.

My mind is running through so many wonderful memories of Ems and at the same time trying to reconcile them with the fact he isn't here anymore. None of it makes sense to my mind.

Ems is still as much a part of me as he was the last time I saw him. I still say 'we' when I'm talking about things; I still consider what he'd like before I do anything; I still want to sign his name on any cards I write. I still love him with everything I am.

It's just over 2 months in now. While it feels like forever, it is only 2 months.

I was speaking with his best friend the other day and he said that it felt as though everyone else could 'just move on now'.

For some of us, it is with us all the time.

Many can. Many weren't half so close to Ems as others. For many Ems was an acquaintance, perhaps even a role model, perhaps a mate. He was an amazing guy and so they are sincerely sad at his passing, they will remember the laughs, but their lives haven't changed.

For others it won't be so easy. To others Ems was a son, a brother, or one of their best friends. Ems has gone and life has changed.

For me, Ems was my husband, my best friend, my 'other half', a very part of me. I cannot even begin to imagine what moving on even is yet. Just what am I moving on to when Ems was such a permanent part of my life before and all our plans and dreams were combined? EVERYTHING is different now.

I have discovered what a broken heart really means. For the first few weeks after Ems died, every time I woke my heart physically ached. I couldn't move for a few minutes each morning as my body tried to deal with the pain.

Oh how I wish the broken heart could heal itself emotionally in just a few minutes each morning.

Some misunderstand grief as something which gets easier with each new day. The calls and visits stop. People mistake my ability to conduct a normal conversation for me being 'OK'.

Truth is, it is as hard now as it has ever been in the 2 months since Ems died. It doesn't mean I haven't smiled at times. I just miss him more than ever and it hurts. Of course it hurts.

I still love him wholeheartedly. I always will.

I may never reconcile all the amazing memories I have of my time with Ems with the fact he's gone; the perfection and blessing we knew together in contrast to the way I feel right now.

I am learning to accept the fact that I will always miss him.
Of course I will because I will always love him.
Ems will always be a part of me.
A part of me will always be missing.

This broken heart will likely not heal completely this side of Heaven but I know that God is close to the brokenhearted. For that I am exceedingly grateful because this broken heart just can't do it alone.

[Memory #8 the "rock, paper, scissors" episode
Ems and I went out for one of our Sunday afternoon walks last November and in a quiet moment I decided to challenge him to a game of 'rock, paper, scissors'. At first he resisted, perhaps thinking it a bit daft, but once I suggested that it was because he was scared I might beat him like I had at 'thumb wars', he succumbed!
To my horror Ems beat me three times in a row as we started the game. He laughed and teased, suddenly enjoying the game. He should probably have stopped there.
Determined to beat him I challenged him to another round and we both ended up in fits of laughter as I gained the victory over him not just once but time after time after time. I think we stopped after about 15 rounds of me conquering his rock, paper, scissors with my paper, scissors, rock, one after another, because we were laughing too much with disbelief! As well as I knew him it wasn't like I could actually read his mind - well, at least not in games like this!]