What would you think of all this, pet; this blog which features you, your death, your first initial writ large?
(Yeah, who am I trying to kid with that? He’s called Mark. Anonymity seemed to make sense in the beginning, when I was unsure and cared about what people might think.)
I lay in bed last night, a single tumbler of wine between me and total sobriety, sobbing so hard my eyeballs ached. I missed you so much and I vowed I wouldn’t write anymore. Not intimately, anyway, not about the true state of things. I’d defiled you too much already. Told people too much.
From now on, I would tow the line, describe grief as it happens in the textbooks. Let me just check…ah, here I am, on page 63. According to this, at eighteen months in, I’m out of the mire of total despair, but am now staring up at the rock face of regret. (Turns out this is no more than annoyance though, as the next chapter sees me at the top of said rock face, looking down at the rose garden of renewal. Phew!)
Fortunately Mother stepped in tonight with a copy of The Guardian magazine. And it wasn’t the advert for a super pair of soft-soled sandals (choice of three great colours btw) which made my skin quiver.
It was the article about a cartoonist named Anders Nilsen who had lost his girlfriend to cancer aged 37. And written about it. With candour and a large amount of self-doubt.
Everything Nilsen says in the article resonates with me – every single thing. The piece is here: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/aug/16/anders-nilsen-the-end.
But as you can’t read it yourself, pet, I’ll summarise.
I have realised that this blog isn’t about you. It’s about me. And our love story. So I’m going to keep going for now, warts and all.
But actually, that’s OK, because I know what you think.
You’re with me all the way.
13 thoughts on “Open letter to my dead husband”
I have read your blog over the last few weeks. Mesmerised by your honesty and how the words hit deep into my heart and soul. It is a struggle no doubt. I wonder if the pain of bereavement gets smaller? Or does it stay the same but life grows around the berevement, adjusting and changing to the journey ahead. My therapist once explained this to me, I can’t what theorist it belongs to or if indeed matters. All I know is your writing has touched this stranger (moi).
Thank you for sharing. You are right, it is a love story that will continue to grow.
Eeee. Thank you so much for reading. I have been reading yours too, with the same level of mesmeration (word?) at your honesty and writing. I haven’t yet commented as I wasn’t sure what you’d make of a widow having an opinion on your blog…;) But maybe now I will. I admire anyone who has the balls to just put it out there. I’m with you all the way.
I have heard about the grief getting smaller / life bigger theory, I’m not sure personally, I seem to be plodding on not knowing what the fuck is going on half the time. This is therapy though. And getting support from out there from people like you. Many thanks again. X
I too had a similar view, on how you would feel with me commenting however after weeks of reading and re-reading your posts I couldn’t put it off anymore.
I have no words of wisdom or anything “good” to say but just had to comment.
After your latest post I wondered if you ever thought of publishing a book in regards to your experience…like the person you included the link about. Maybe not at this time but in the future…just an idea x
Well I’m really glad you did. It means so much. Genuinely, you’ll never know how much. Re: the book…we’ll see. I’ll leave it at that! 😉 Much love to you, keep on (tr)uckin’…you’re brill!
Ib read the link’s content…very moving. Not unlike your experience. Sad. But it probably helps you to talk about him and your life together. I feel honored to be able to read about your life with Him. XxHugsxX CJ
Thanks Cj for taking the time to read the article. It really struck a chord. Lonely old business this, you’ve got to find company where you can. I feel honoured that you take time out of your day to read. Much love, as ever. X
I look forward to reading the things you write about, and getting a glimpse of what you are experiencing, as I read.
Thanks friend. X
Don’t even contemplate not writing your blog. It gets me through my day. I love it when I see a new one especially when my mood is low It often lifts me. To me its like counselling without having to leave the house. Keep going you probably don’t realise how many people out there that you are helping whilst hopefully helping yourself by writing it down. xxx
Just talking about you today. You on a downer too? Maybe we need that get together with the hounds. Thanks for the vote of confidence on the blog. glad it’s not helping just me. Glad you commented. Love xx
Can’t seem to pull myself up at the moment just feeling totally deflated and angry that good kind people are taken. Would be great to meet up. I’ve text Rachael recently. Get my number off her. It would be nice to meet up. U can tell me what phase of obedience I’m at with this looney animal and warn me of next hurdle xx
I feel bad saying this, as it’s so selfish, but please don’t stop writing your blog. It makes me laugh and cry and feel less alone in this grief process. G too would hate that I talk about him on line – he didn’t want anyone to know he was dying ffs (I told those i thought should know anyway). I’m sure Mark would be proud of what you’ve done and that its helping other people, and hopefully helping you too. Your love for him comes across so strongly in everything you write. Love and hugs xx
I’m glad, Fi, on many levels, about what you have written here. Thanks for commenting…and staying with me! X