Saturday, 10 July 2010

36 hours of Peace and Quiet

I've finished work for the day. I am quite dirty and very brown - in key areas only though. My legs for example are snow-white. And frankly they are going to stay that way. I am not doing shorts, nope :-)

My kids are at their dad's for the weekend. The older two have just emailed me a cheap but complicated Amazon order for plugs and wires. I believe they are in the middle of an adventurous XBox/laptop project. I'm not too sure, but I'm tremendously proud of them for doing it.

I've been reading a lot about grief this last week. (I did contact Cruse but they were Not Helpful - I spoke to a lady who appeared to have bereavement fatigue. Well, it's lucky I have a sense of humour still! It was almost comical! And in fact, I'm not really very good at opening up anyway, especially about something so painful. So it's probably just as well.)
So, what I read - There are no rules in grief. It is different for everyone, but there is common ground. I expect that is blindingly obvious really but because I'm mixed up and confused it's validating to see it spelt out.
There is commonly:
  • Pain
  • Pining
  • Confusion
  • Numbness
  • Anger
  • Fear of losing anyone else you love
  • A sense of futility
  • Craziness - irrational thinking
  • The need to talk to your lost one
  • A sense of their presence
On that last one, I see Rob everywhere, for a split second, in the distance. Feel him nearby, in the same room, but without seeing him. When I'm happy it's a nice feeling. When I'm down, it bloody hurts. Tricks of the mind.

But, but I remember - Rob had the same experience after his dog (the actual one and only Mutley) died last year. He looked for him, thought he saw him, felt him nearby too. And he cried sometimes when that happened. (I really loved him for that.)

I've also learned :
  1. over time you change - significant personal growth occurs -
  2. It is recommended to express your feelings, be it verbally, creatively or in writing - a journal, letters to your dead loved person
Well I do write a lot. When I can, but, privately. And it isn't all sad, a lot of it is happy and funny. I like to think he can read it. No forget the 'like to think' - I think he can. (See, irrational thinking/craziness) Somehow, somewhere he can read it.
He always read everything I wrote - and I read everything he wrote. He wrote a lot! It was one of our things - writing. Listening to people and collecting their stories came first. There are great tales of discovery and courage and joy in everyone I think, if you're patient. Then there was absorbing facts, history and weaving new tales. Then fantasy, pure imagination - and a lot of laughs.

I miss him so, terribly. I am less than half of what I was. I get these mental exercises going - stop over-thinking - one day at a time - be happy for what you had - And then, I forget and I just want to tell him something, think I see him and all the exercises fold into a small flat heap. He's not here. He's gone.

Right, enough, I'm going out into the garden. Pruning. Big-time :-) There's a jungle down the left-hand side and today is the day...

Love to all family and friends that read this. X

Thursday, 1 July 2010


I found a book of poems Rob gave me ages ago - he used to read a poem a day. Every day. For fun.

'101 Poems To Keep You Sane' by Daisy Goodwin turned up at just the right time. Excellent - A ray of light -

(I wasn't looking for solace - I was actually looking for a Peppa Pig DVD - small son has been sick all night, we are both very tired today although he is chirpy enough to have just eaten a small bowl of pasta and done a little dance along to a song on the radio. After a mere three hours sleep I am beyond dancing unfortunately. My eyes seem to be moving in different directions though...)

'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers

Emily Dickinson

'Hope' is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.

That's very moving. It actually makes me smile too.

But what am I hoping for? To keep on, I guess. Not get lost.

I am grieving - that is as it should be. Grief is painful, it makes me slow and confused. But I keep busy - I work physically hard in the day on a farm, 45 hours a week. I listen to an iPod, I chatter, I join in socially - Yet, truthfully, there is this pervading sense of futility - I spend a lot of time fighting that one.

I just want him to come back. I want this whole time of emptiness and devastation and crap since 21st May 2010 to have been a giant error.

And he can't come back and it isn't an error. He is gone.

Hello futility.

I'm not signalling distress in saying that. No. I have family and friends who are strong, kind and lovely , I'm very fortunate. And most importantly I have my boys to bring up.

Hope. A little feathered thing. Yes, this poem brings me light. If I can't feel hopeful now I'll just hold onto this poem. Pin it up on the wall. Learn the words of 'Hope' by heart until hope itself is in my heart.