Saturday, 30 June 2018

The sun rises . The sun sets and we all die.

We are pretty good at accepting the first two but will do anything to avoid confronting the third. 

Two years ago today, the sun set on my life as a wife and rose the next day on Annie, the widow. Knowing it was going to happen - I'd had a couple of weeks to get my head around the inevitability of it - didn't help and  I have to be honest and say that the twenty four months since haven't soothed the pain either.  The so called five stages of grief appear to be a handy box to compartmentalise feelings that have no intention of easing into gradual acceptance. When your loved one dies, they take a lot of you with them   but the gap is filled with their own image/spirit/essence . Teo is rarely out of my thoughts. When he was alive I'm sure I could go for days without him entering my head. Now I feel as if half of my brain has been diverted and the efficient, reliable manager of pre-July 2016 is now a liability. It is like surviving a terrible car crash that leaves horrendous internal injuries that no one else can see but you feel the wounds every hour of the day and can't concentrate on anything. 


I was looking for a nice photo to put on Facebook to mark the second anniversary of Teo's death and scanning through the snaps made me realise that we had lots of different interests and spent plenty of time apart.  He was happiest thrashing a ball around a court,  I preferred lazing on a yacht with friends. Most of the photographs of us together are taken when we are doing nothing much.  Walking the dog, sitting in the garden, tackling the daily crossword and no matter how busy the bereaved keep themselves, the sad reality is that we have no one to do nothing with.  (Or should that be ' we have no one with whom to do nothing '- Teo would have known, his grammar was much better than mine) 

If you are annoyed with your spouse because they are doing nothing - go and give them a big hug and do some nothingness together.

16 comments:

  1. Too true, these days spending time together is priceless, yet never treasured until too late. Two years is a short and a long time Annie, you always have our sympathy, and hope seem to be of some support.

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  2. Your enduring pain at Teo's passing is palpable, Annie, but beautifully expressed. Will take your advice. Sending big hugs. Axxx

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  3. Beautifully written post that speaks volumes. Thank you, Annie.

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  4. Julia M F Lane (aka Helva)30 June 2018 at 15:17

    Sending hugs to you - not much help in some ways, but just to let you know you're in my thoughts and prayers, Annie. Love from mid-Wales.

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  5. Annie, I will certainly take your advice. xoxo J

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  6. Knowing that none of us are going to get out of this thing alive is the reason J and I made the decision a few years ago to do those things that we enjoy and pull back from much else. With creaky joints advertising the limitations that mortality was beginning to impose we decided to construct our cocoon just for us whilst we still could. So well expressed Annie - may your memories sustain you together with whoever and whatever else you choose to fill your life with.

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  7. I have taken your sound advice to heart and will do exactly as you say - give a big hug and do some nothingness together.

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  8. Beautiful words that express the reality of bereavement so well Annie ... Sunday is our day for doing nothing ... sometimes it has felt mundane and unexciting ... but I won't let it anymore ... hugs all round.

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  9. This is a lovely heartfelt piece of writing Annie. I feel your loss is still acute but also that Teo is always with you. Thank you for sharing something so beautiful and so personal.

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  10. Love you Annie, from the bottom of my heart; I am sure Teo is up there watching you with a smile and so proud of all the things you do and that you keep going. I will give you a big hug when I see you, one amazing lady xxxxx Ozlem

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  11. Sending you my love Annie - your writing conveys your heart-break so completely x

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  12. Dear Annie, for all of 2015 and 2016, I was ill and unable to blog. So I didn't know that Teo had died. I hope that the memories you have of him and of your life together are providing some comfort as you go on the journey through grieving his loss and living without his tangible presence. Please know that you are now in my thoughts and prayers and that I hold you in Oneness as Teo does. Peace.

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  13. I relate to your post, as my husband died suddenly in 2016. I think what you write is true for me too, I will always miss my hubby. I wrote a post recently about being a widow and some things I've learned.

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