Life after death

I think about you every moment of every day, whatever I’m doing, wherever I am, I am never more than a few breaths from thinking of you. This is life after death I guess, so much finality in death yet no separation in love, it’s hard to bear.

The year is ticking on, the sun is shining, I think of how you loved it. School assemblies, Easter and my birthday have passed but still you’re there, every moment of every day. I go to sleep and there you are in my dreams but never here with me, never close, avoiding me and drifting away.

The garden is blooming, the birds are back, everything I do I wonder what you would make of. Every single time I drive up the long wide winding road towards our home, I well up, every single day, without fail I am choked. We worked so hard to be able to move somewhere so nice with our family and every day I am reminded of the first time we drove, so excited to see the house for the first time. I wonder if that will ever stop?

Is this a normal way to feel?

When you just know

You know that moment when you just know you'll be with someone forever? Maybe you don't. I was cynical before I met you but you changed all that. There was a moment when I just knew I had to have you, it made no sense at all.

You weren't my type, at all. Anyone who knew us who reads this will be laughing now I'm sure but I soon realised you were perfect for me, we were perfect for each other.

You were a butcher, much older than me but I wasn't sure how much. In fact it took me quite a while to work that bit out. Christmas was approaching, 2004, you'd caught my eye in the summer.

You used to say that you'd hate to be remembered as a womaniser, it was a title you didn't think fitted you. I don't know why you worried but you used to say you had never chased a woman in your life. At that I'd laugh, you never needed to as far as I could see.

I came in to get my Christmas meat, one of the lads had mistletoe, much laughing and cheek kissing ensued and then suddenly you were in front of me. Earring in, Christmas hat on, collars turned up, laughing. You kissed me, square on the lips, a long lingering kiss. All the boys in the shop were whistling and as suddenly as you kissed me, you stopped, smiled and walked off.

I was and still am absolutely blown away by that moment, I fell in love with you on the very spot.

I'm smiling and laughing at the memory of that Christmas, the knot in my chest like a physical pain.

Is this a normal way to feel?

An Angel

My life probably wasn't in the best place when I met you. You were like an angel who appeared just as I needed you, you helped me get to a place in life I wanted to be and now you're gone.

Maybe that's what you were, maybe you were my angel. The question is how do I not fall back into that black hole of five years ago now that you're gone?

I don't want you to be an angel, I want you to be here, seeing in the New Year curled up on the sofa with a coffee and Jules Holland.

I miss you. As of tomorrow it will be last year that you died. That sounds so wrong and time is passing too fast.

Is this a normal way to feel?

Hindsight

I keep replaying that last weekend in my head, isn't hindsight a wonderful thing? It's not just that last weekend either. Every second of every day is filled with thoughts of you, of things we did in the last five years, conversations we had and mostly signs that were there for so long telling us something was wrong.

Thursday night you had a night out planned with the boys. I didn't want you to go, after the results, the hospital, I was so worried but you were adamant. Off to the Claude you went with the boys from work, a pub you spent many a wild night night in during your younger days and you had a fantastic night. I picked you up early, you were tired but in good spirits.

The weekend went from bad to worse. Friday you were not so good but had planned to go and watch Wales play Samoa at the stadium with some of your family. It was to be a first for you and you were absolutely not going to miss is. Ten minutes before your lift arrived you collapsed, you recovered fairly quickly but you clearly were not going out. All I saw was a bad turn and knocked confidence, hindsight is screaming other things. Now I can see you were fading fast.

The night improved when your son visited, it was to be a night of fun and frivolity, the last ever, although we didn't know it then. You were positively glowing, it was clear how much it meant to you to have him here and say the things you had wanted so long to say. It was pleasant and fun, a few drinks and an incredibly upbeat evening.

Sunday we were supposed to be heading to Amsterdam for a few days, one of the many things we had planned but by Saturday it was clear we weren't going to make it. You needed help and the wheelchair just to get to the bathroom and you were far too ill to go up the stairs. The doctor came and the most useful thing he could offer you was a hospice place, we asked him to leave. You struggled through the day and it become clear your illness had moved to the next stage. Hindsight doesn't agree though, hindsight tells me you were dying before my very eyes.

Sunday morning and we should have been heading off for our next adventure. Instead my parents visited and helped me turn the dining room into a bedroom. You were so distant all day, hardly said a word. Your son was coming and you were waiting for his call, when it came it was to say he couldn't make it, you didn't show it but it was clear how upset you were. Throughout the day after the call you kept asking when he was coming, you had forgotten that he had called to say he couldn't make it and kept forgetting over and over. I made a mental note to buy you a notepad, it became clear that your thinking and remembering abilities were really being affected by the tumour yet still I didn't think I was about to lose you.

You slept well on Sunday night, I came and checked on you several times and it was nice to see you so peaceful after weeks of being unable to sleep. Hindsight, of course sees things differently.

Monday the doctor came, you told him you'd rather be dead than in the pain you were in. He prescribed morphine. Simple, you'd think but then I had to leave you to collect the prescription and hindsight knows that you spent your last two waking hours alone while I tried to find a pharmacy that stocked it, what a nightmare.

You took the morphine and slept, it was nice to see you so peaceful. I kept thinking that if the pain was under control and you could sleep, even if you weren't well enough to be up and about we could bring the fun to you. I told myself that tomorrow would be a better day.

I checked on you several times throughout the evening and at midnight when you still hadn't woken I sat with you for a while, just stroking your hand, I was hoping you would wake, we always said "I love you" and kissed goodnight but you never woke. I decided to sleep on the sofa so I was close to you if you needed me. I only thank God I didn't leave you that night.

I don't know if this is a normal way to feel, in fact I don't know anything for sure any more.

Going on

I know I want to continue this blog, but going on in here and in life is proving much more difficult than I could ever have imagined.

I want to continue, but how do I talk about you? In which tense do I speak? It's so hard to even think but I owe it to myself to continue the story I began with a blog.

I so want to fill in those last few days but even now, three weeks later I'm finding it so hard to believe you were gone so quickly.

Wednesday, wedding plans, the scan result, such thoughts of frivolity, ideas about having a Christmas that everyone could share.

Thursday, results day. I watched you struggle to walk to the ward, let you lean on my arm as we strolled along slowly, thankfully in no particular rush. It took it out of you. Everything else is a blur. Waiting for ages, strange looks from nurses who were particularly chatty, more waiting, blood tests.

The most memorable part of the day was a gentleman, about your age who walked out smiling, when talking to the nurses he said he was good, still dying but much more slowly, he laughed and was gone. That'll be us soon I said.

The consultant, the moment I saw his face I knew. You were silent, we just sat and held hands while he told us it was over, no more chemo, the cancer was in your brain and aggressive. We left, I was crying. "Don't cry" you said, "we have a wedding to plan, I'm not going anywhere just yet"

We never spoke about it again.

Three weeks on, time is doing funny things, it's either on fast forward or complete stop for hours of the day. Is this a normal way to feel?

Living the Dream

I've been neglecting the blog a little, maybe that means we're coping better. I doubt it, I think it just means we have been coming to terms with things.

I still can't get over how brave you are, how accepting. I still feel so cheated and you do too, it's so difficult.

But I refuse to talk about you as if you are dying, I can't think of you that way when you are so very much alive and that's why it's time to start living the dream. That's why I haven't been writing, we've been having fun living.

A family holiday last weekend, making memories and doing things we've been putting off for various reasons. It was so great to see you smile and laugh, even though you found it tiring.

There will be time for tears.. Later. Now is not the time, now is the time for living, having fun and living like there's no tomorrow.

Is this a normal way to feel? I sure hope so!

D Day

After all the waiting we should be getting some results. Tomorrow is D Day, assuming they don't move the goalposts again.

Part of me, and you I'm sure would rather not know, the outcome is scary and no matter how much I try and prepare my mind for what may be the worst possible news I just cannot envisage losing you.

You have to be ok, I'm not sure I can face my life without you. I know you're getting worse, your breathing is affected, you can't eat and everything is a huge effort. I keep telling myself all that might be worry, anxiety maybe and not the cancer, it's not working.

You've found a lump on your wrist and your stability and dexterity has been affected, since a cough two weeks ago you are suddenly very ill. I'm scared and for the first time you've admitted you're scared too. You cried, I cried, it's ok to cry, even if you're my big strong man.

They say this is a normal way to feel.