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After Mags

Everyone grieves in their own unique way. For nearly three weeks I haven’t shed a single tear yet at times my heart is so heavy with hurt that the slow painful breaking of it is undeniable.  As a carer I’ve kept going for three years, but just as my high energy levels and resilience surprised me during that time so the heavy layers of fatigue have caught me out in the days since Mags died. The legal obligation to notify various organisations and the informing of friends and family is exhausting. Hearing myself repeating the same message over and over and feeling my voice catch on her name is unbearably tough. Wishing my good nights to that side of the bed where she took her last breath just feels weird yet, at the same time, immensely comforting. Mags was cremated on Saturday. The process she called her “recycling”. There was no service and no family or friends in attendance. A decision we made for ourselves years ago. Instead, Heather and I walked one of her favourite walks early ...
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Triggers

Bracing myself for a wave of grief becomes almost second nature when the potential triggers are obvious. Significant events, anniversaries, etc. Sometimes a photograph or an object springs a memory from the undergrowth of routine and it sails through my mind in sharp focus, only to be brought down by a discharged shot of reality. The day after I last posted here the twins celebrated their 14th birthdays. There was cake and gifts, love and best wishes. But there was also a memory that clamped itself around the occasion. Not tight enough to squeeze the joy from it, just a grip that left the fingerprints of sadness. On the eve of the twins’ 13th birthday Mags told me she wouldn’t be here for the 14th. We both knew it to be true but the advantage of learning to live literally one day at a time is that the far off future remains totally greyed out. Unavailable for planning of any kind. On Easter Sunday Heather laid on a lovely spread. Chocolate eggs were exchanged, there was laughter and it...
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A Baggy Fit

  Nine months on. Seven since I last posted anything here. More ‘firsts’ have been and gone. My first birthday made all the more poignant because Mags, despite everything, had circled an M and written BDay next to it on the kitchen calendar for November 23rd. It was around this time that I booked a one-off session with a grief counsellor from the hospice. She asked me if I could use one word to describe how I felt, what would it be? “Lost,” I said. She went on to explain that when a person loses a life partner/soulmate they suddenly find themselves in a lot of open space. A heavy and unexpected dose of freedom if you like. Couple that with the guilt one feels at only having oneself to consider and you have a sure fire recipe for feeling lost, disoriented. It all made sense to me and bought me some relief, in the short term anyway. Then Christmas arrived. I made an effort to make the place feel at least vaguely festive. Various artificial berries and sprigs were draped or tucked ove...
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