Season of misseds and mellow fruitfulness

Mark loved Autumn, and here we are in the throes of a spectacular one. Yeah, yeah Mother Nature, rub my snivelling snout in it a bit more why don’t you? As if I don’t miss Him enough.balanced_seesaw-001

And golden leaf-flurries and abundant hedgerows notwithstanding, I am really missing Him at the minute.

It’s been a gruelling couple of weeks and I need His opinion on things. He countered my skewed world-view with His own skewed world-view, thus producing one perfectly balanced individual.

When you’ve had ten years of living side-by-side with someone – farting, burping, giving birth in their presence – it is impossible to reconcile the fact that they are suddenly no longer there. Entire chapters of your life are swallowed up in that furnace at the crematorium. Exclusive vocabulary, mannerisms, points of reference, all gone up in smoke.

I actually went to tell Him something the other day, unable to staunch the flow of the first few words before they came out.

“Remember: ‘Did you drawed that’…?” I began. (It was a line from this book, right, and… ahh, forget it.)

But I was talking into the wind. Of course, He wasn’t there.

Generally, we agreed on stuff, so I think I know what His counsel would be relating to issues of the day. (Although not the sexual allure of Jenny Agutter. We never saw eye-to-eye on that.)  And besides, I have a raft of other counsellors now, from my Counsellor with the capital ‘C’, to my friends, family and the odd individual who pipes in with an opinion every now and again. But that voice – His voice – is conspicuous by its silence.

So here I am, perched on my side of life’s see-saw looking up at the empty space where my foil should be.

At least the weather’s good though, right?

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6 thoughts on “Season of misseds and mellow fruitfulness

  1. That comment of yours, ‘Entire chapters of your life are swallowed up in that furnace at the crematorium’ just sums it all up beautifully and poignantly. That’s the bit that other people don’t get; it wasn’t just your Mark or my Graeme who died, huge chunks of us died too. I’m sure you’ll constantly consider ‘what would Mark say’ even though he’s not here to articulate it any more and you’ll make the right decisions. Sending love & hugs xx

    • That’s exactly it Fi. Part of us has died with them and that’s why when people say ‘we just want the old you back’ they don’t realise it is never going to happen. I have changed since Mark died. Irrevocably. Big big love my friend. Xx

  2. After following the link from the WAY bulletin I’ve read your blog from the beginning. Superb. Sad, funny and honest. And, as a man who during a presentation he gave at a WAY AGM admitted to the delegates that he fell in love with another woman in the period after his wifes’ terminal diagnosis but, rather importantly, and rather rudely, before she had, to quote Shakespeare or a murdering Marine, shuffled off this mortal coil, I think I know a thing or two about honesty. Ok, it remained exclusively in my head until Angela died but it took me years to forgive myself. I wouldn’t worry about the plumber if I were you. Keep it up. Tom

    • Magnificent comment Tom! I am so up for honestly in all this – there are no rules and everyone should have the right to grieve how they want to. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment. It means so much to meet others out there who understand and who are going through similar guilt pangs and self-loathing! X

  3. yes, you are so right – so much of us went with Them, so much we can no longer share that often casts such happy and contented memories to being now sad and disrupted and sometimes, just gone. the impulses to call, to tell them something, to ask, “remember…?, such sharp jabs that pierce lonely and longing hearts, then the inevitable message to tear ducts – how can one person produce that many tears? I wish there was something I could do or say to comfort you in your grief – but let’s just hold one another close to our hearts, and hang on for dear life, knowing you are not alone, and that a lot of someones “get it”.

    much love and light,

    karen

    • There is nothing you can say except for what you continue to say my lovely friend. I hope I provide you with similar comfort. I cried and cried for him yesterday. I just have so much I want to tell him. He is missing so much. As are we. Love and light back to you across the ocean. Xx

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