Two steps forward, one step back and a little piece of John

The 19th May marked six months since John died and it was a really difficult week. I thought I was doing quite well, even though I’m relying on a low dose of antidepressant to keep me just out of the mire. Dragging myself out of bed is always difficult but I was keeping going and even getting motivated in the house and garden. I could keep my sad and self-destructive thoughts in check and occasionally, fleetingly imagine a life of vague contentment with my cats.

I had also come to accept my lack of emotional energy. I’m dormant inside, with a general apathy towards things going on in the world around me. But I think I’m much more the person I want to be - less angry, more thoughtful and understanding. But it also means I can’t feel joy and excitement. And I don’t feel hope. I just want to be accepted and to quietly fit in somewhere in my new, lonely life. It isn't getting any easier. I've processed and accepted all the elements of my grief, and all that is left is a big hole in every part of my life; from the most mundane to the deeply profound, I am missing John with all my heart.

And then something came from left field and knocked me sideways and all the progress and all the self-control is gone.

Sad songs and films are making me cry again. My brain is stuck in a cycle of sad memories of John and wishing desperately that he could be here to put an arm round me and tell me it’s all ok. I still can’t believe sometimes that he’s gone and I can’t rest my head on his shoulder and feel the comfort and love of my life partner.

In a way I welcome the crying because if I’m not devastated by the loss of him it somehow feels like I don’t miss him enough - as if our history wasn’t valued enough. His death needs a meaning. I hate that life is moving on without him. I don’t want the world to change because it gets further and further from my memories of the world with him in it. It feels like he is being written out of the story. It feels like my grasp of our shared past is slipping and I don’t want to let go. I want to hold tight to whatever tiny fragments are left of him.

But the responsibility of carrying on and valuing life more than death feels heavy - I’m exhausted by it. I’m going through the motions, passing the days, because that’s what people do and it’s what I need to do to stop myself from becoming isolated. But it’s mostly just filling a hole. Every day is one day closer to the end. I’ve realized I need people more than I thought. Those moments of connection and friendship are the moments that are closest to happiness and I cherish each one and the people that provide them.

I guess my heart is still as broken and fragile as it has been for the last 18 months and at the mercy of other people who have already forgotten to be gentle with me, perhaps don’t realize that underneath my smile I’m still hurting … or perhaps they’re hurting too.

The watch in the photos is John’s. When we started dating it was long distance for the first 18 months. He leant me the watch one weekend so I could wear it until we next saw each other. It looked good on him. It was part of his image when he was regional manager for JLR. Now I’ve had the strap adjusted so that I can wear it and remember the times he wore it: when I fell in love with him, when the girls were babies and when we went to fancy work events. So many amazing and happy memories have been unlocked this week somehow. They flash into my head so suddenly and so clearly that they take my breath away. He has been in my dreams too. I love these unbidden moments but they also pierce my heart over and over and the overwhelming desire to be with him tugs harder.

The idea began to form, a few months ago, of getting another tattoo - something permanent to etch John onto my skin as an ode or a lament or a tribute to his immense gift of happiness and security and love to me. So, I thought of the North star theme we used for this blog to signify our joint goal in life, of retirement together in Scotland, with peace and a new found joint venture. I felt it also represented what he meant to me. He was my light and my guide and his generosity of spirit gave me something to aim for, and still inspires me to try and show up every day. So here is my tattoo, dedicated to and for John, in memory of his place in my life and in the world. I felt a little lighter on the way home afterwards, with my ink - a way to remind people that he existed.

I sometimes wonder how I will feel when my time comes - am I proud of how I spent my time here? Did I do good in the world? Did I make the most of my allotted days? I hope so. It’s a work in progress.

I hope every one of you lovely people are treasuring their time with their loved ones, doing the things you value and storing those precious memories - you never know when you might need them and just how important they will be one day.

With love to you all x