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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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First of the ‘Firsts’

It was Mags’ birthday on Thursday. The first of the ‘firsts’. Our little family had a special tea together. The grandchildren had baked for Nanny and were united in their knowledge that Nanny wouldn’t have wanted any sad faces on the day. So we kept it light, raised a glass and held Mags close, each in our own way. These ‘firsts’ are going to be tough but I’ve made it a point to steer clear of grief counselling, just as I’ve given articles and self-help books on the subject a wide berth. Frankly I would find immersing myself in so many shared experiences all at once totally overwhelming. I find the collective kindness of friends who have faced grief in their own lives to be a most effective salve. Having said all that, I did watch the Richard Coles documentary about bereavement, recently shown on Channel Four, optimistically entitled ‘Good Grief’. In the programme he embarked on a “personal grief voyage”, trying all manner of activities from laughter yoga to surfing, boxing and group d...
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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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