Next weekend

I`ve been dreading next weekend, it`ll have been a year since Cliff died. I wasn`t sure what to do with myself that day, I was probably going in to work to try not to think about it too much. Then I saw in the paper that the local VMCC will be displaying bikes along the high street, ah Karma, very apt, so I`ll head off for a gander and a chat. I`m hoping there`s a Velocette there (very classy and I`ve a picture of one on my wall), that was one in our wish list and when he was in hospital asked me to wave down the chap who rides round town on one and request if Cliff could have a ride (on back as he was too ill to ride) but we didn`t have enough time.

The weekend after I`ve had a very kind invitation for a couple of days away for bank holiday so need to let my hair down and laugh a little although I suspect a little "shed envy" may set in although I`ve been thinking of extending mine.

It`s finally worked

When Cliff first died I was haunted with images of him looking ill and thin, not what he really looked like, not how he`d want me to remember him, not what I wanted to remember. So I looked out some photos which I had slightly enlarged, the one at the start of this blog was one, Cliff happy in his shed and another in his favourite scruffy shorts (threadbare they`re one of my prized possessions). I don`t usually frame photos but did and put them by the bed (and yes, I still say "night night"").

It`s taken all this time but at last I can`t picture him looking ill, now I see my big hunky husband again with that devilishly naughty twinkle in his eye. "Result!!!".

My heads still all over the place, emotions still up and down but I appear to be making some very small steps in the right direction.

Strange I can write all this down but not talk to anyone in depth, think it`s because I start crying and I hate crying infront of anyone, Cliffy was the only person I could ever really share things like that with. I phone Mum regularly (but she`s her own health problems to deal with) but the rest of my family aren`t close, very occasional phone calls and cards at Christmas.

Not alone

It`s so easy to get caught up in the "Why us" roundabout, everyone else seems to be happily getting on with life without a care or worry while I feel like I`m stuck in a rut. Of course this is far from the truth as at work two other women have lost their husbands to cancer, one younger than me. In company I don`t look miserable, I still chat away and laugh and make ridiculously bad jokes, so to a stranger I too look like I don`t have a care. What I`m realising is that death, or illness or worry of some kind or another has visited everyone and you just have to deal with and get on with it. Dealing with it has however been very hard.

And now just because I like it.

I`m a daft old bat

I`ve done some very daft things in my life but this takes the biscuit, I`m now going to open myself to ridicule especially from myself. I mentioned madness in an earlier post and this was something I ventured into at my lowest point last year, a point when I`d grasp at any straws going.

I was reading the local paper and saw an article about a psychic medium a subject I`d often scorned but what caught my eye was her statement that she`d never profit in any way from her gift. So having nothing better to do and nothing to loose I went to one of her monthly psychic supers. (in a local cafe the price of the "supper"  seemed a bit steep for all I ate). Infact I went several times and even had a reading, things were said, hope was given BUT.

It became very clear that every widow (I hate that term, makes me think of withered old Sicilian women with headscarves and aprons) talks to their husband and rushes about making changes to their homes and/or gardens. So what couldn`t be guessed was commonplace among bereaved. Then a few things that I checked out later were totally wrong.

This wasn`t helping me at all, I wanted to KNOW, I wanted to have the proper goodbye we were robbed of to be sure he knew all I was saying to him. I suppose I wanted some kind of hope. None of it was however something only we would have known. The whole thing was actually making me feel worse.

The latest article in the paper was announcing her new psychic "business" and I felt all the more silly.

I realise now that he knew all along how I feel (I didn`t wait until he died to tell him, I told him all the time) and he`s still around, probably laughing at me for being a plonker.

holiday

Bank holiday, a couple of years back we`d have been off out somewhere having fun,  last year at this time was roughly when we found out what the future had in store and now, well that`s just it, what now.

I`m trying to go with the flow but can`t help having ideas and trying to plan things slightly but just end up changing my mind every five minutes. I seem to have sorted my days out but the rest of the time is a problem. I`ve checked out most of the social life here but in this sleepy little town there`s not much on offer.

Nearly midnight and I`m not even slightly tired, really need to get down to the library as I`m running out of night-time reading material.

(Early morning added thought.....boy is my life dull!!!).

Extra addition, I`m really meant to be dusting and sweeping up vast amounts of dog hair from the floor, brain numbing jobs so I`m easily distracted. I know, some lively ear nectar is needed, no kids today so can disperse with headphones and turn the volume uppppp!!

Dreams

Daydreaming used to be nice, now it`s not. My reality now sometimes seems unreal like it wasn`t meant to be like this at all. Then there`s the moment when I get stuck to the spot when I think to myself that if I blink really hard that I`ll hear Wobbles indicators bleeping as he comes in the drive then the front door will open and Cliffy will be home for tea. I know, DREAM ON (I`m not quite that mad yet!).

It occurred to me that I`m having to fill every minute with stuff, things to keep me busy to take my mind off this unreal world I feel I`m now in but they`re just distractions, I`m wondering if like the drugs I refused from the doctor they`re just covering the cracks not mending them because when I run out of stuff to do I feel just as bad inside.

I feel like I`m just existing, going through the motions, attempting to fill time, I don`t want to grow old on my own turning into a lonely sad old f**k, we were going to grow old disgracefully together (there were plans of mobility scooter races up our street!). I want my Cliffy back, I want to talk and laugh with him, I want to hold his hand, I want a huge squeezy cuddle, as I said, dream on!!!

Yes, I run out of things to do last night hence too much thinking, to try and cheer myself up me and Wobble had a singsong and dance round the shed to my fav Doors tracks.

Tree

Another of my things is that I`ve been helping out in the BHF charity shop for a wee while. I chose that one because Cliffs heart operation had improved his life so much that I wanted to give something back. Initially I`d said that I only wanted to help behind the scenes (I hate gloomy long faced shop assistants who find it hard to crack a smile or have a bit of idle banter).

But one morning, as there was no-one else, I found myself serving people. It`s a very busy shop and the constant stream of customers meant time flew by but more importantly I was so busy I didn`t have time to be gloomy and enjoyed chatting to people more like I used to. Plus the manager and other volunteers there are a lovely bunch and have helped me far more than the so called councillor.

Evenings are still bad, don`t quite know what to do with myself, usually end up reading. I still can`t settle in my own living room, I hate it, it`s just full of memories of THAT morning.

I`d asked Greenhaven burial ground to let me know as soon as Cliff got his tree, I got a text yesterday with just two words, I`m not quite sure why but they made me cry. "Silver Birch"