Final thoughts; What would Ga think of who I am now?

Here I am, sitting down for the last time to write this blog. Over the last 23 months I’ve posted just over 100 blog posts, written 102, 983 words and gained 33 official followers (plus the many more who informally read via search engines, or my Facebook page). To those of you who have been with me since the beginning; to those who have taken time out of your busy life to listen to me thank you. I mean it. THANK YOU. I guarantee that I consider you some of my most committed and precious supporters over the last two years. If you’d like to, I’d love you to get in contact and let me know what touched you most in this blog; the stories you’ll remember and what’s made you smile as you’ve read, despite the sad context to it. It’s been such a blessing being able to engage with you throughout my storytelling… and I’d love to engage with you further now my writing has come to an end. Especially if you haven’t already told me you’ve been reading these blogs… for I’d love to know if you have been.

So, here it is. My last blog post. And the natural question that comes to mind is what would Ga think of the woman I’ve become? Would he recognise this current version of Clare Kingdon if we were somehow able to catch up over a coffee today? Some people have said that they are never the same person after being widowed. I suppose that is true, as how can you be after surviving something so catastrophic? But on the other hand I still feel like me (most of the time). What resonates more is that I’d say I’m not the same person as I was pre-2006, when Ga and cystic fibrosis came into my life.

So if Ga were to walk through the front door this evening, in many ways I think he’d find me just the way he left me. I’m still hopeful, optimistic in all circumstances just like we were together.  I’d still somehow find a way to laugh and joke with him about the last two years apart, whilst not brushing aside the agony it’s been. I couldn’t hide my deep love and affection for him. How long and tender would be the embrace I’d give him. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear I haven’t become green-fingered in his absence, and the only reason the garden isn’t looking like a jungle is because of kind, insightful friends and family who continue to mow lawns, dig-up weeds and plant pretty flowers in it. In fact only tonight my next-door neighbour has knocked to remind me to pick the strawberries, gooseberries and redcurrents planted by Ga, that are in danger of going rotten otherwise! He’d be pleased I’m still finding an outlet for my creative side through knitting and I hope impressed I’d matched his skill by finishing sewing together his complicated patchwork quilt. He’d be happy I’m still living in ‘our’ house and the evidence of his ambitious DIY interior design projects are still evident and being enjoyed. He’d be glad I was still walking my life with Jesus, and settled in the church we’d planned on joining together. Happy that I’m still considered, and consider myself to be part of the Kingdon family (and am due to spend a week with his cousin in Sweden in July). In so many ways he’d find I was the same as his widow as I was his wife.

But I think he’d be in for a few surprises too. I’m no longer an Acute Pain Specialist nurse (a job he told me he thought was so, so important in light of his negative experiences with inadequate analgesia). I now work as a specialist nurse with a specific group of patients with a rare condition that often sees them developing severe chest infections that require intravenous antibiotics. I am now that nurse who sorts out IV supplies and carries then down to patient’s cars to spare them several journeys. I hope he’d be pleased and proud that I’ve chosen to be the type of nurse to my patients that the CF nurses were to both of us. I hope he’d see why it’s so important for me to be able to make their chronic ill-health issues just that little bit marginally better by seeing a friendly, knowledgeable face they know and trust each time they have to spend more hours in a hospital setting.

I’d jump on the scales and show him I’ve lost 5kg (just before he went to Liberia he’d gently encouraged me to lose some of the weight that had been gradually creeping on over the years). I’m sure he wouldn’t have any complaints over my newly defined waist and toned muscles! I reckon if I explained I got them because over the last year I’ve developed a love of physical activity he’d have a good laugh before realizing I was serious. The Clare who regularly chooses to run 5k at her local Park Run, or midweek before work is a new one. The Clare who ran 10k in 59 minutes last year and is excited about training commencing again soon for this year is not the Clare Ga would remember. I’d need to explain to him the buzz I now get from setting myself a physical challenge and meeting it. How I’d much rather enjoy the endorphin rush of physical exercise surrounded by nature than more sedate activities such as baking cakes, watching movies, or academic study. I’d tell him how the Masters in Pain Management I was working towards when he flew to Liberia was the first thing I ever quit midway through. And it was a liberating experience! This evening I’d proudly show him my newly acquired ‘Great North Swim 2015 Finisher’ medal; obtained on Saturday after six months of swimming lessons and disciplined training in rivers and lakes with a new friend. We easily swam the mile across Lake Windermere in less than 44 minutes. He’d wonder where all that energy came from.

I think we were always pretty good at making the best of the moments we had, and opportunities that came our way, but I think I’ve honed that skill even more since Ga’s gone. I know how to live in the moment! He’d be so pleased I finally was taking his advice and prioritizing rest and relaxing activities over my ‘to do’ lists but absolutely gutted he wasn’t able to enjoy this more relaxed and less anxious Clare. For seriously, compared to the life and death issues I’ve dealt with over the last nine years, not much gets me anxious these days. I’m relearning to enjoy living in ‘my’ home. Currently it’s just me living here, Nellie moved out in May and I’m still in the process of finding a new housemate. But this time I’ve not nose-dived like I did in January. I hope Ga would be gracious regarding the safe, neutral guest room I’ve transformed his messy study into, and pleased that in the last couple of months I’ve begun to fall in love with living in ‘my home that was once ours’ again. He’d be pleased I now look forward to leaving work, and treat myself to a luxurious half hour reading a novel in the garden before eating tea in front of The One Show again and happily pottering on my own in this comforting and familiar space once more. He wouldn’t want me on antidepressants but I hope he’d see they’ve had their place in my road to recovery in losing him (I plan to stop these in July) Since getting past the second anniversary of his death, he’d find that whilst I still think of him so much of the time, mostly I feel warm and happy when I do; the heartache and tears erupt less frequently now. My life has been becoming my own again, rather than being the tattered remains of something that once was beautiful. For example, the other day I looked at the overgrown grass and thought ‘The grass needs cutting. I should plan a time to do that.’ How many of you can hear the silent ending that’s been playing less and less in my head? ‘Because Gareth’s not here to do it.’ Silent, subtle, but oh so significant changes. Ga need not worry. I’d reassure him that thinking those thoughts less and having more elongated, happy days amongst the agonising moments doesn’t mean my love for him is decreasing as time goes by. It means my glass jar is getting bigger.

I don’t know if Ga gets to keep tabs on his loved ones whilst he’s in heaven with his saviour and best friend Jesus. I kind of hope he’s not, for it can’t have been that fun watching me in so much distress over the past two years, and I’m sure heaven is such an unimaginably awesome, fulfilling and satisfying place to be that even I couldn’t distract him from the joy he’s experiencing there right now. But if he is somehow able to hear my words, this is what I’d want him to know. ‘Ga, your dying wish came true. Our God has looked after me, just like you asked him to. You don’t need to worry about me for I shall be okay. I will aways carry with me a wound that will never fully heal this side of heaven. A wound that throughout my life will send shoots of pain to my heart and soul, reminding me of what I have lost, both in 2013 and the life we could have shared afterwards. But Ga, I’ve worked hard at grief. That wound may never heal but I’ve done all I can to make sure it isn’t infected. It isn’t poisonous; it will not kill me. And like you my lovely, kind, inspirational Ga, I choose to allow my adversity be a stepping stone into a future of great, crazy, inspirational and adventourous things. Like you, I’ll do what I can, where I can, without making a big fuss about it. Till we meet again.’

So there you have it. My final thoughts. But I’m not quite finished yet. Ga was passionate about 360-degree photography because he said you couldn’t hide anything in a photo that covers all angles. In a similar vein I have attempted to give a 360-degree account of my life with Ga, and life without him. I’ve shared flattering and not-so flattering aspects of both experiences, for that is reality. I hope Ga would be pleased about that. But I can’t end this blog here. For the last 103,000 words have been mine alone, telling ‘our’ story from my point of view. I’m sure Ga would have encouraged me to write if it helped me in the intense grieving process, and could help others, but I know if he had been this blog’s author there would be way more about Africa, townships, slums and photography with very little about Cystic Fibrosis! Yet I’ve needed to share my story, so CF remains. But I really, really don’t want you to go away predominantly remembering Ga as a wonderful man who lived with and ultimately died from cystic fibrosis. I know that is NOT how he would want to be remembered. And so in the next few days I will be posting THE final blog post. But this one will not be my creation, but Ga’s. I communicate in words; Ga with imagery. I wish to leave you remembering the man who lived well. The video you’ll watch was compiled by another talented photographer, who didn’t know Ga well, but appreciated his talent behind a lens. The words at the end of the video were those his nephew decided depicted Ga’s character best, based on the numerous comments people left on mine or Gareth’s facebook page on 21st March 2013. Those words, which unbeknown to him, Ga had emblazoned on a satchel he’d used regularly over the previous year. Words that Ga himself was passionate about. I’ll leave you with one last blog post.

A post which sums up Mr Gareth David Kingdon.

The whole reason we have all spent the last two years writing and reading this blog.

Well done Ga. You ran your race well, all the way to the finishing line.

Chronic widowhood and the evolution of friendships

As I wind this blog up there are two posts I want to write, evaluating how my life looks compared to 27 months ago. Tonight I want to focus on the changing of friendships; ones that have stood the test of time and tragedy, ones that have grown like green, spring shoots out of desolate ground, and those that have withered a natural, timely death. I have been blessed with so many friends that have in their own, individual and unique ways been soothing balm and nourishing connections that have helped me create my current life. A life that despite it’s pain, sadness, loss and grief is matched with joy, happiness, fulfillment and satisfaction. A life where a wife has learnt how to live without her husband by her side, but not without friends.

There are the friends where nothing between us has ultimately changed. From day one, talk of dead husbands, the nuances of day-to-day young widowhood and the crappiness of the grief experience have been peppered into our regular conversations just as naturally as I used to talk about the joys and irritations of marriage. Gareth may not be part of our meals together, or new memories being made but he remains part of us. His absence is felt by all and acknowledged, whilst past memories are easily dropped into current conversions. These are the friends who have said ‘I’m here anytime’ and proved it. Friends where I’ve been able to turn up with only five minutes notice and sob in their arms, friends who respond to texts telling them about the mundane parts of my day, because Gareth isn’t there to tell. Friends that pamper me with small, thoughtful gifts and cards for no other reason than to let me know they still get that it’s heartbreakingly hard at times, and that they love me. These friends I couldn’t do without. They are a precious link to my married past and an unbreakable rope that I’ve held onto as I stepped into this new world. Ruth, John-Mark, Deb, Pete, Rachel P, Rachel B, Mary R, Claire C, Lisa S, Edwina and Neil, Gay & Nigel – I love you guys xx

There are the friends that when I was busily married and working, and due to our own life choices and business, we didn’t see that much of each other. But in the last 27 months, some long standing but peripheral friendships have become central and invaluably precious to me. Friendships that make me so glad that we stayed in irregular contact for years. Friends I’ve spent more time with, and talked for longer with and more intimately in the past  two years than in the last decade. Friends that I now hang out with often on a weekly basis, or arrange regular weekend visits just to hang out in each other’s company. Cat, Hannah and Rob – I’m so glad we’re in each other’s lives.

There are the friends I’ve made who are walking this same unwanted journey of widowhood. A unique group of wonderful people who have been thrust together by tragedy and in our most terrible hours find solace and comfort, laughter and hope through sharing our experience. The friendships where everyone can contribute to discussions such as ‘When is the right time to take your wedding ring off?’ and ‘Do you ever feel happy again?’ Friendships where we allow ourselves to laugh in the black humour of widowhood. Competitions such as ‘What the most insensitive thing someone has said to you after your partner died?’, or sharing hopes and dreams of finding love again. Friends from ‘Widowed and Young’ – who just get me, no explanations needed. In a world where living life as a young widow is a rare thing, the isolation would be unbearable without my fellow widowed comrades. And these friendships where our common ground is widowhood, as time passes, friendships deepen in their own right and become greater than that shared experience alone. Amy, Rose, Abi, Lisa, Matt, Sian, Emma, Chris, Darren, Tania – I so wish none of us had to meet each other, but in our present circumstances I’m so, so glad we did, and still do. xx

Then there are those friends that never knew me as Gareth’s wife; only as his widow. Friends I’ve made and kept in the last 27 months that learnt about Ga secondhand through me. Friendships that have already evolved and had different seasons over the past 27 months. A friendship developed so quickly and closely that I have the honour of celebrating her wedding as her bridesmaid next month. Another energetic and motivational friendship where six months discipline and time spent splashing in swimming pools and rivers has culminated in us swimming one mile in Lake Windermere this weekend. Golnaz and Sarah – thanks for all the chats, fun times, laughs both then, now and in the times to come!

There are Ga’s friends. Obviously they were my friends too when Ga was around but our point of connection will always be him. These friends who have categorically informed me I will always be their friends and we will miss Ga and remember him together for the rest of our lives. Friends who share with me little moments when they are missing him, and we share some poignant bittersweet memories. Friends that have welcomed me into their world in my own right now, and they too are excited and hopeful I will find love again. And I know if I do, will welcome that person into our friendship group, showing me the physical approval and pleasure I know Ga would do if he were here too. Jenny & Dave, Mechron & Lucy (and my godson Daniel Gareth), Gareth & Rachel – I love you guys xxx

Finally, other friends- Online Facebook friends that I don’t really see but you engage with me through commenting on my posts (especially my blog posts) and facebook messages. My CF friends that  still count me as part of the CF community.  Old and new work colleagues that allow and embrace who I am now because of who I was then, and who I will become professionally and personally in the future. I value you all.

On the flip side, there are some ‘friends’ no longer part of my life. A year after Ga died I had a Facebook cull of anyone who hadn’t got in contact with me in the previous 12 months (no matter how small that contact may have been). I could see no excuse for that from a so called friend.

I have also been disappointed by the those that suggested we meet up for coffee/a walk/______ (fill in the blank as you wish) and then never followed that vague invite up. (NB whilst acknowledging my gratitude and appreciation for those that did) I mention this here now, as talking to other widows, it seems this is a common experience. In the first few months I met up with so many people for coffee that I no longer was tempted by cake! In fact I had to decline many kind offers as I was getting too caked and talked out… and had other important grief work to process. It is actually months later, even after the first anniversary has past that I found intense loneliness began to set in and I wanted those invites from people. In 27 months I have had roughly 810 evenings to fill and 116 weekends to pass time where I otherwise would have spent it with Ga. I think I’m a pretty pro-active person, and am pretty competent at arranging and organizing nice things to do with people. But after the first year I was getting quite tired and weary at having to routinely be the person who initiated organising meet ups and events with people and activities to fill all my now spare time. It sometimes is burdensome for a widow to have to be proactive in her grief survival strategies all the time. There were times when I’d mention this to someone, or they’d catch me having a low, teary moment and would suggest meeting up for coffee soon (usually after telling me how amazing they thought I was). And I’d feel a lovely sense of connection to another human being and wait expectantly for that to be followed up with a specific date, time and venue. When they didn’t come I was left feeling confused, disconnected, more isolated and lonely and if I’m honest paranoid that people were really were losing patience with my open grief. But I was alright. I had all the friends I’ve mentioned above to turn to. But if you have grieving friends or acquaintances please bear this in mind. It  is not only in the initial few months of bereavement they need support and company. Even more so when widows are not only grieving their spouse but figuring out how to now single-handedly bring up their children. They have less opportunity than I to be proactive and get out of the house and develop new interests for they are tucking children into bed and spending another night alone in front of the telly. If you know of someone who is grieving please remember this in the months and years that follow the actual moment of death. My advice would be not to be afraid of asking that individual what they need from you… widow’s are usually pretty good at embracing new friendships when offered, and even if the initial response may be ‘not now but thanks‘ keep offering. And when you get an affirmative, please follow that through with a definite, specific plan.

A widow’s initiation; The first three months.

As I walked down that hospital corridor I also thought ‘I’m in for a crap couple of years.’ In the recesses of my mind I remembered a nugget of information learnt in my nursing training about grief – that on average that initial deep grieving for a broken relationship lasts 24 months. Not that I thought grieving your spouse was that simplified, or that I’d ever fully ‘get over’ losing him but I had no doubt that my life could be good again… one day. And dare I say it, would have good moments inter-dispersed within the crappiness of the days that were awaiting me. I’d never given much thought to what I’d do after Ga died; the prospect of being his closest support as he phsyically died always being the most frightening and scary aspect of the whole thing. For seven years it had been the scariest part of my future and I didn’t know how I’d cope with it. And now, today it was my past, for it was over. I’d supported Ga as best I could as his physical life slipped away. It was horrific and terrible but it was over. What was coming next could in no way be as bad as that I thought, for it was just my distress to worry about, not his.  And therefore I don’t think I was in much shock. In fact everybody else seemed more shocked than me; maybe as up until three weeks earlier we’d never made a big fuss about Ga’s CF, preferring to deal with it privately together and not let it interfere any more than it needed to with the rest of our lives. It meant in those first few weeks I sometimes found myself in the surreal position of comforting others in their shocked and grieving states.

And so began my initiation into widowhood. In a matter of hours conversations about antibiotics and physio regimes were replaced with discussions on burial sites and funeral plans (was this really happening)?! Family and friends went into emergency mode and I found it ironic that whilst my life had become significantly more empty, my home was bursting to its seams with concerned relatives and friends. I only cried in front of a close friend Ruth, as she drove me to the GP, then her sofa and then later on Ga’s death day back to my house. The thought of him never, ever being here with me again was overwhelmingly heartbreaking. But with everyone else around, I couldn’t cry. And there came a point a few days later where I asked everyone to go home for I knew I couldn’t begin to grieve the way I needed to until I was alone.

Easter fell in late March so it was three weeks until we buried Ga. Reality so different to the plans we’d made to be in South Africa with his two best friends. I watched the anticipated wedding via Skype, so immensely happy for the life Jenny and Dave were starting together but in physical pain that mine and Ga’s was now over, and that he wasn’t experiencing being their usher. Instead of excited flights to Cape Town, romantic walks in vineyards and enlightening nights staying in a township B & B, I was on first name terms with an undertaker, choosing which clothes Ga should wear (sorry Ga, I kept all my favourite ones!), and picking coffins from the Argus-type catalogue I was presented with. The organiser in me shone through, I was cancelling his direct debits and arranging to return his Motability car within the first week. Not as callus as it may first appear – each phone call and verbal acknowledgment they were no longer needed was the beginning of accepting that he wasn’t coming back.

His funeral was a positive affair, with large displays of his Africa and India photos, and family photos on slideshow. Mothers of Africa also had a table, highlighting the work they (and Gareth) were passionate about. I didn’t want people wearing black. I didn’t want people remembering Ga for his early death over his vibrant, fulfilling and inspirational life. In fact when the undertakers said they had to wear their black suits I asked them not to attend, and had close friends handing out order of services instead. This was allowed as we’d actually had a private family burial before the main service, so in effect their work was done. People arrived to Ga’s favourite African singer, Miriam Makabe playing, and the service ended with American jazz music whilst guests mingled and ate a multitude of home made cakes. This was a day for celebrating life as well as mourning the loss of one. We had postcards printed of one of our favourite photos of his – an african mother tenderly holding her baby and asked guests to put it up on their fridges to remember him with. Ga’s nephew , Tei, the Mothers of Africa Liberia team leader and myself all spoke, sharing our personal experience of life with him… and there was laughter, just as he’d wanted.

And then the day was over, my husband’s body in a place of natural beauty, ready for me to visit whenever I felt the need to. I didn’t go religiously. Maybe once a month to begin with but if I’m honest apart from the odd occasion when I feel compelled to be physically close to him once more, I don’t go there often, for one-way conversations are not that satisfying. But I’m glad he’s there, in a place of beauty and natural life going on all around him, without me having a formal plot to have to keep tidy!

This isn’t to everyone’s cup of tea but just because my husband physically died, doesn’t stop me being interested in what’s happened to him. In the first few months I devoured books on death and biblical heaven (having investigated years ago the truth of Jesus’s life, death and coming back to life afterwards, and being satisfied logically, scientifically, and historically in his claims I didn’t feel the need to explore elsewhere). I missed Ga terribly but was excited reading about what he potentially could be experiencing right now with Jesus. I also wanted to know what was happening to him physically, so did look up human decomposition on Google. The scientist in me could cope with the written descriptions, although I had no desire to look at any images! It must sound so wierd but I even found that comforting; that I had better insight into what was happening to him, even now.

The week after the funeral I had a self-imposed week in my pjs watching movies. I’d already been charity shopping and bought numerous DVDs to watch, each one bought another mini acceptance and embracement of my new ‘single girl status’ as I expected I was to have many nights in at home alone in the coming months, and films would be a welcome companion. I was so mentally exhausted I was longing for a chance to just stop. I ate olives and kettle chips watching movies and cried buckets but got bored and restless after 3.5 days so got dressed and turned the TV off. I never was one for sitting still for too long.

I couldn’t get enough of other widow’s experiences of this grief journey I was now on. I needed to connect with people who ‘got’ where I was at without any explanations needed. Within two weeks I was a member of Widowed and Young – the only U.K. charity for people under 50 whose partner’s have died. Being proactive I sought out others in Cardiff my predicament and within weeks had two new ‘widow’ friends, who were 6 months and a year ahead of me respectively. I also read other widow’s autobiographies. Autobiographies where circumstances and individuals may have been different but the core of the grieving experience was the same. It helped knowing I wasn’t unique in this horrible situation…that there were many who’d gone before me and survived it. Someone sent me a book; probably the best book on grief I’ve read. It was by a guy who lost his wife, young daughter and mother in a car crash in one night. That’s a man who knows about grief. He wrote honestly, from the heart… not sugar coating the vileness of his loss but also acknowledging positive things that had come out of that life shattering experience. He spoke of how when it gets dark and you want to experience the light again, the quickest way is not to run towards the ebbing sunlight (West is it)? It is to hurtle full pelt through the pitch blackness of night, until you emerge Eastwards into the bright light of dawn. So I decided that is what I would do. I wouldn’t be frightened of the darkness surrounding me. As with all things in life I made a decision to embrace it, cherish the experience in some way and learn from it. Allow my soul to grow in grief just as much as in joy. All the while keeping my eyes fixed on that dawn sunrise that inevitable would come in some shape or form. I also chose to go public and share my nighttime marathon with family and friends, in the hope they too  could embrace my darkness, cheer me on when I got weary and grow from it also. The plan had always been to write a blog at somepoint. Me and Ga had thought it would be about our adoption journey together. As it turned out, it would be about just us.

I was off work for 4 months in total. I needed it. Not just to begin recovering from him dying, but also as a chance to stop and rest after years of wrestling with massive life changing issues such as cystic fibrosis and infertility, and caring for sick patients in my day-to-day job as well as the children’s work I was involved with in church. It was  a sweet relief to go from having so many things to have responsibility for, to just thinking about myself. Our dog, Ben went to live with my parents and has remained their permanently. I gladly stepped out of all my responsible roles and relished the freedom of days ahead of me to relax and recouperate in whatever way I needed to. I was so incredible thankful to work in the NHS, which gave me this much needed sick leave on full pay.

I spent a week alone in a friend’s holiday apartment on the Gower. There I slept-in and then swam each morning, before writing down every memory and thought I’d had from March 1st. Over that week I wrote 75 pages, whilst looking at Ga’s picture in a photoframe. At each point I had the chance to actually spend time crying and grieving for each horrible thing he/we’d been through. For at the actual time there was no opportunity to do so. In the afternoons I went to the beach (and was blessed with gorgeous sunshine for my whole trip). I read my grief books and spent time reading God’s word in the bible and talked to Him. He talked back, and incredibly amongst the anguish, filled me with overwhelming joy for the gift I’d had that was my darling Ga. It was during this week that plans began takign shape for the best survival strategy I had – writing a blog that chronologically told mine and Ga’s story, whilst simultaneously sharing my new experience of young widowhood. The title came to me one day on the beach; ‘Under the Influence of Six.’ For as I sat there reflecting on the past seven years I knew I was a more fuller person for those influences. For Ga’s love for me, for the curse and blessings of Cystic Fibrosis in our life,  for grace – God’s and our own undeserved favour towards each other, being united in our pain of infertility and sharing in Ga’s daily creativeness. And now, well time would tell how widowhood would influence me.

So. Here I am. At the point where my parallel blog posts join up and 9 years of my life can be told in linear form. The absolute bestest seven years followed by the two most painful and agonizing ones. Boy, what a story I’ve had to tell! What a rollercoaster of a ride I’ve been on! Were the first joyful seven years worth the pain of the last two?

ABSOLUTELY!

ABSOLUTELY!!

ABSOLUTELY!!!

I’d do it all again in an instant with my incredible Ga. xx

NB: Going forward to the past – this widows journey can continue to be read in chronological order from the beginning of my blog posts from June 2013, entitled ‘Fast Forward to Now.’

Fast forward to now

But it isn’t the end of my current 2015 blog posts just yet. I still have some final words I’d like to say. Two more posts left. And then this blog is complete.

NNB: That great book I read on grief is called ‘A Grace Disguised‘ by Jerry Sittser. Another book I found incredibly helpful to work through was ‘Grieving the loss of a loved one; a devotional of hope.’  by Kathe Wunnenberg.

The end of us (and the beginning of just me again).

It’s funny how things you’ve been frightened of happening end up not being as you imagine they will be. Since a young child, when a policeman woke my parents up in the middle of the night to inform them my elderly neighbour’s wife had died, I’d been frightened of getting a similar nocturnal phone call or door knock with such news about someone I loved. But when it actually happened, at 1am on Thursday 21st March 2013, my overwhelming emotion was relief. I desperately didn’t want Ga to die. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye; for this to be the end. Six and three quarter years just wasn’t enough time with him. But I desperately didn’t want him to physically suffer any more than he already had, nor needed to unnecessarily. So when the nurse advised I come in as he’d deteriorated, in a very real way I was glad his suffering was coming to an end. I kissed the air and said goodbye to him there in my friend’s room, certain he’d have died before me and his sister could get there. But he hadn’t. He was slipping away but he was still alive.

I know I’ve shared so much of our journey together, and actually this post marks the end of that journey ‘Clare and Gareth -the dynamic duo’. The last three weeks of his life were so public, with daily Facebook updates and many people praying for us, and wanting to know how he was. But when the end came it was a relatively private affair, only myself, the two friends I was staying with and Ga’s sister and brother-in-law were aware. The busy hospital where I worked and was recognised by so many ITU and hospital staff as I sat by Ga’s bedside was at it’s quietest and emptiest. I was glad of this privacy at this point. Glad for the intimacy of these bitter-sweetest of moments. And therefore I’ve decided to keep the early hours of that morning private too.

As I walked down the familiar University Hospital of Wales, Heath Hospital main corridor (one I’d walked down thousands of times before, and would do so hundred’s of times afterwards) I acknowledged the day had come when I had to walk out of hospital without him. As I walked out into the starry, black night I walked out alone, no longer Ga’s wife but his widow. The last time I felt married was 30 minutes previously, when I’d tenderly kissed his lips one last, loving time. At this point in my life, and in this blog ‘our’ journey together ends, and from now on it returned to being ‘my’ journey, deeply influenced and shaped by ‘our’ incredible journey of the previous seven years.

I’d like to end our journey together with the Facebook update I posted later that morning.

‘I’m very sad, but relieved to say that the man I had the privilege to call my husband, Gareth David Kingdon died last night. Me and his sister were called to the hospital and were able to be with him as he died, and it was very peaceful. I KNOW he is more alive now with Jesus than I have ever known him, but my heart aches that we’re now separated for some time. There are so many things I wish to share with you about this inspirational, kindhearted, fearless and selfless man, which I will do in time. But for now I’ll sign off with a popular CF quote – ‘Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.’ And Gareth had many of these. And I’m so glad I got to share so many with him.’

Thoughts on dating again; Part Two

Back in September I wrote my first blog post about thoughts on dating again after losing my husband ( http://www.undertheinfluenceofsix.wordpress.com/2014/10/06/thoughts-on-dating-again-part-one ) I have always known there was a necessary ‘Part Two’ to go along with that post but I was never comfortable in writing it until now.

I could have written Part 2 last summer, when I was taken by surprise by my first unexpected crush on a man. A crush that encouraged me, that I could be mentally, physically and spiritually attracted towards someone else other than Ga, and I wouldn’t be resigned to a life of self-enforced widowed celibacy. A crush that brought a welcome change to my heart racing and adrenaline coursing through my veins due to negative circumstances. A crush that made me feel like a 15-year old girl again, giddy with the possibilities that may lie ahead of her. A welcome mental holiday from the daily working out of grieving for my much loved married life. As with all things in life, change starts in the mind. It is where battles of all shapes and sizes are ultimately won or lost. As I let my mind ponder on these new found feelings and what they meant, what I wanted them to mean, a time came where my thoughts turned into action.

I could have written Part 2 late last summer when I tentatively decided to dip my toes into the world of online dating. I wasn’t ready to actually date a real live person, but I was ready to consider it as a possibility for the future, and was intrigued to experience this online dating world which I’ve found seems to be quite a normal place to meet a prospective partner in this day and age (and dare I say it, as a professional woman in her mid-thirties)! So with the encouragement of a few trusted friends I set up my online profile, clearly stating I was only looking for ‘friendship.’ Online dating is a weird, weird, world. You get a few photos and lines of text to make your mind up about someone; reducing an intricately complex human being into one option amongst many on show. But in the two years since I have been released from my marriage vows, despite making a fair few male friends through church, work and social activities, there have been no dating opportunities as far as I can tell, so online dating seems like the next best place to go, It was odd how quickly I made judgments, writing certain profiles off because of one photo, or a grammatically incorrect paragraph. Am I really that vain? And throughout it I kept thinking; what if Ga had put his profile on here? What if he’d picked a bad photo, and not had help writing his description, would I have cast him off without a second thought (spelling wasn’t his strong point)? Wierd, wierd, wierd. But I was there for a month, and as with most things in life I thought that since I was there I should put some effort into it. I saw a few guys I could imagine having a decent chat with over coffee, and hands poised, I pressed send and ‘waved’ at them. Eeek, I ‘waved’ at a guy that wasn’t my (dead) husband. Get me, I ‘waved’ at a guy that wasn’t my (dead) husband. I can do this! I can ‘wave’ at a guy that isn’t my (dead) husband. Sadly those guys at the receiving end of my ‘waves’ didn’t appreciate the huge step I’d taken. The first guy actually blocked me from his own page (how rude!), most didn’t reply and one sent me a ‘thanks for waving, but after giving this a lot of consideration I feel I would be going against my conscience if I went any further than sending you this message!’ (Alright, alright – I ‘waved’ at you, not asked you to marry me)! So not a great success in one respect. But on another level, a positive experience in my mental adjustment to admitting and accepting that I want to have a new relationship with someone else other than Ga.

I could have written Part 2, focusing on the more physical side of marriage, that is now so blatantly lacking in my life. Being a Christian, and trusting in Jesus’ advice on how to live out relationships (it worked with me and Ga!), I still choose to remain physically celibate until I am married again, but that doesn’t stop me missing what was such a vibrant, fun and essential part of my relationship with Ga. Oh how often my talk with widowed friends has focused on relationships and then this area of them! If truth be told, there have been moments when I have no desire to get caught up in the complexities of a committed relationship with someone, but would have happily have a few fun-filled, no-strings-attached hours making out with a cute guy! And I know I’m not the only widow to think that! Like a werewolf must hide from the monthly crescendo of a full moon, there have been times when I have been fully aware that it wouldn’t have taken much for me to give in to those desires so I’ve had to deliberately keep myself out of temptations way! Apart from one time when I was so keen for a decent snog, that on my way to a Halloween party I told myself I would kiss someone that night, and fully intended to. Oh the irony that all the single men were gay! (and actually, by next morning relief, for I know that short term physical pleasure will never truly satisfy what I miss from my marriage, and should I succumb I’ll feel really yukky after).

And so here I am, 2 years and 2 months into widowhood, and today feels the right time to write Part 2 on my thoughts of dating. For my thoughts and initial actions have continued to develop over time and experience, and now I’m in my 3rd year of living without Ga, I can wholeheartedly say that I do wish to spend my life with another man. My heart’s desire is to be married again. Marriage to Ga was awesome; the best time of my life. He’s left me with a sweet taste of marriage in my mouth and I want more of that. I’m praying and asking God to give me the desires of my heart, trusting he’s in this as much as my proactive efforts in connecting with someone else. I want to be a loving wife to a future husband. But to get there I’ve got to rewind right back and be a nice girlfriend to a future boyfriend, and before that rewind right back to being good friends with a great guy. So I’m back to that online-dating site but this time my profile says I’m looking for a relationship as well/or friendship. I’m signed up for 6 months (there was a good deal on at the time I joined) and have spent 4 hours writing a heartfelt and accurate profile about myself. No mention of me being a widow though – no need for every single guy reading about me to know that! My widowhood has definitely shaped me but it doesn’t define me. This time I have sent out little messages to guys I think I could develop a friendship with. Not many of the one’s I’ve messaged have replied, and most of the men who’ve messaged me have left me quite unimpressed and disinterested. Horrifyingly I’ve had to claim my age bracket as 34-39 and accept that guys under 29 are probably going to see that and run a mile! (As Ga was 30, and the last time I went on a first date I was 26, I ‘feel’ younger than I am in this dating world). But there has been one guy who got in contact and sent me a nice, engaging, funny, complimentary message which I did feel like responding too, and since that initial contact 5 weeks ago we’ve been messaging quite regularly and last week I actually went out and had an enjoyable meal out at a restaurant with him. It was weird beforehand, and to begin with. As I got ready to go out I ached for the ease of past romantic meals out with Ga. But I can’t have any of them any more. What I could have was an enjoyable evening in the company of a nice guy. So I took a deep breath, and did just that. I’m not saying this new found, online friendship will definitely go any further than that. Either way I consider making new male friends and enjoying spending time with them a positive success from all this (I currently have relatively few male friends that I’m comfortable hanging out with alone and one of the things I miss most is male companionship – my best friend for 7 years was a guy!) I’m not saying I won’t progress from a meal out with a new friend to an actual ‘date’ at some point, nor that one date may turn into several and I will wear the title of ‘girlfriend’ once again in the future. Maybe I’ll actually meet such a person in a more conventional setting that an online website. At some point I hope I will, but whether that is next month, next year, in 2030 or actually never, I do not know.

And that is why today is the right time to write Part 2. For as I am bringing this blog to it’s end over the next few weeks it is fitting to leave you wondering, as much as I myself am wondering about this aspect of my future. I do not know what it holds. But I believe the God of the Bible does. And therefore I’m trusting him, and choose not to stress too much about it. And whether I get to enjoy a second enjoyable gift of marriage sooner, later or not at all, whatever happens I intend to make the most of the experiences I have between now and then.

Serving our local community (a THEN and NOW post).

Up until now, I haven’t really mentioned much about the work Ga and I did in our local community of St Mellons. If you read back to my first ever post ‘Back in the day’ you’ll remember it was actually on a converted double decker bus Ga and I first met, loving and serving the local youth every Thursday night. We continued doing that whilst we went out, and together ran holiday clubs for local children in the summer, and eventually became committed members of an active ‘kids klub’ that ran out of a local church called Bethania. I have fond memories of me and Ga, and my housemates at the time walking children up through the estate we lived on, singing songs, holding hands and playing games, making sure they got to the club safely. Ga supported me in running the Sunday school in the Beacon church I went to then, and when we got married, after much prayerful consideration we began our life as husband and wife in Bethania church. That church is less than a 15 minute walk from our house – one of the factors for buying where we did. After a year’s deliberate break from children’s and youth work (it takes time, effort and energy to build a healthy marriage, and we were thankful for the wisdom of Bethania church members who advocated we prioritize our marriage in that first year), we returned enthusiastically to help out regularly with the ‘kidz klub’ – a Friday night event for primary-aged children that involved loud music and songs, messy games, biblical truths being taught and applied and lots and lots of fun being had. Ga loved it, and it had the added bonus of being run by one of his closest friends (who also was our best man). Over time we also enjoyed spending time with the small number of youth who’d outgrown kids klub themselves but were now venturing out into helping run it with us. In fact, in February 2013 Ga came home one evening, very pleased, as they’d had a competition to see who could do the most press-ups in a minute (the kind where you have to clap your hands in between each push). Ga had managed 42! Way more than the other leaders and even 16-year-old lads! (His strong arms had been one of the first things I’d noticed about him back in the day!)

In the latter half of 2012 Bethania church had been hosting monthly ‘Taster’ sessions for local families, loosely based on the premise of ‘Taste and see that the Lord is good’ through the medium of creative activities, song and drama. This was right up mine and Ga’s street and with no uni work now taking up Ga’s time, nor foreign travel planned for several months, he wholeheartedly got stuck into this. As I was exploring my own creativity through knitting, each month I had an area where I taught people to knit little flowers and book marks embellished with ribbon and buttons, whilst Ga ambitiously taught kids how to make their own paper from scratch (aka from a large pulpy mess)! And leading up to December, me and Ga enthusiatically volunteered ourselves to coordinate and organize that year’s Christmas Taster’s afternoon.

We calculated afterwards that between the two of us we put over 40 hours into preparing for it, both big believers that failure to prepare is preparing to fail. But here’s the thing; working on this together wasn’t taxing, tedious or hard work because we were doing it together. In fact is was so much fun! From the trip to Caerphilly Mountain woodland to collect numerous black bags of fir-tree branches, fallen pine-cones, red berries and green holly so that 25 traditional yule logs could be made (Ga supervised the necessary hammering that was involved with that craft), to sitting watching a film whilst I cut out numerous cardboard circles to make Christmas pom-pom snowman’s with, and Ga prepared piles of cut-out felt ready for families to get creative designing their own Christmas stockings with. We had fun devising and practicing a 5-minute drama using puppets, where we’d share the really great news of Christmas (that’s Jesus, being born in-case you weren’t sure). We loved sharing our enthusiasm with other Bethania friends, who each were shown before the day what was involved with the craft station they were designated to. And Ga enjoyed time on his Apple Mac, making the bright and cheerful poster for the event that’s shown above.

It was such a great afternoon, local families and my neighbours came along and it was awesome to be part of facilitating such an event where mums and dads were right alongside their children, relaxed and having fun being creative and celebrating the build-up to Christmas. Where church members and local families were getting to know one another more in a fun and safe way.  We were all exhausted as we tidied away after it, but buzzing!

And Ga had plans for the future of ‘Tasters’. He’d bought several books and in the beginning of 2013 was already planning and budgeting for organising crafts such as soap-making and candle making. We’d had meetings with other church members about our vision for ‘Tasters’ in the year to come. He’d already made more invitation templates for the next few month’s sessions, even though the next one we were responsible for organising was the one after Easter 2013.

But we never got to run that one. As by then Gareth was dead.

And with his death something deep within me has died too.

For I no longer have that passion and commitment I had then to love and serve the families of St Mellons as I had for the previous 8 years. It is still vitally important and essential, and I know people still are loving St Mellon’s families as we once did, but I cannot presently be the person I was here, without my partner in service alongside me. That was such a significant part of our marriage, that I’ve come to realise that the pain of serving here without him is just too deep to even try; and that is something I’ve only recently been able to admit to myself.

I have only been back to Bethania church once since he died; several weeks after the funeral, to say my goodbyes to dear friends who had been the active participants that cheered Ga and I on in our almost 5 years of marriage. Being there, with the seat empty next to me, when for so long he was there beside me hurt too much to contemplate going back there since. As it happened me and Ga had already decided we would be moving churches in April 2013, for reasons mostly relating to the growing awareness of a need for fellowship with people of our own age group (the majority of our lovely Bethania family were young grandparents) and wanting to see more of Ga’s family more regularly… so a move to a larger community church (and joining their St Mellons house-group) was imminent anyway.

As it turned out that decision was confirmed the week before Ga flew to Liberia in March 2013, and that first week at house-group I introduced myself and explained how they would meet Ga in a few weeks when he was back from his photographic assignment.

Fast forward two years and although I am not longer actively involved with St Mellons church or serving the local families here, I have begun taking steps to re-engage myself with church activities. Not because I feel I ‘should’ but because I want to. I have only ever put so much time and energy into church activities as my own personal response to the overwhelming love Jesus Christ has shown me, and I will be eternally grateful for the people who gave up their time and energies to help me really’ get’ that love, back when I was 16. To give back to God, and be a facilitator in other people realizing how awesome God is and how unimaginably great is his love for them, it is a privilege and responsibility I gladly embrace. For the first year of widowhood I did nothing other than help out with a half-term holiday club (that involved nothing more taxing that having a huge water fight with the kids). After hitting 12 months I decided to take small steps so joined the church rota for putting chairs out before the Sunday service. I could do that whether I was feeling positive, hopeful or was holding it all together but just wanting to sob inside. I tentatively asked to sit in with the young children’s club (for children aged 5 -10), and at first it was enough to just be present within a world that on one hand was so familiar to me, but on the other was so alien as I now had to figure a future of it out without Ga sharing the experience with me.

And now, just beginning my third year of this widowhood experience, I am a regular leader in the Sunday group. I have tip-toed my way back into leading stories, prayers, songs and games. Sometimes it’s been easy, sometimes hard. Either way I always benefit from being there. But I’ve been doing that for about 6 months now and will continue to do so for now.

Quietly, quietly, week by week I’m continuing to find my feet in this new world of mine. I’m not completely there yet and haven’t a clue if I ever will be or what that will actually look like, but I’ll continue to put one foot in front of the other and ‘move onwards’ in this life without Ga.

A lot has happened as I moved into this third year of widowhood.

I feel like I have a year’s worth of updates for this blog, as opposed to the 6 weeks since I last posted about starting to take antidepressants. Since then I have acquired a temporary housemate –  a 22 year-old Latvian Healthcare student named Nellie who stays with me during the week, passed the 2nd ‘Sadiversary’, turned 35, attended two funerals and have decided to investigate online dating.

It’s delightful living with Nellie, as loneliness has become the overriding emotion of the latter half of the last year, and I know that I am not made for living alone in my 3-bedroomed house. We drive to work together, eat dinner together and occasionally have swam together or watched a movie. And on the evenings we’ve done our own thing, it’s a sound for sore ears to hear someone else make noise in my otherwise silent house. To have someone other than me to buy food items for, and have two toothbrushes in the bathroom again. The little things really are such big things… and even when she moves out next month I know that i’ll be wanting another person to share life with me in a similar way.

I made it to the 21st March again! The antidepressants helped, as did the few precious people who acknowledged the build-up and death date and were aware how it would bring back upsetting memories afresh, and I’d need more support than maybe I have at other times of the year. I’m realising that I perhaps have a small element of post-traumatic stress from what myself and Gareth experienced in those three weeks, and have a feeling that it may be many years before March doesn’t take me back to 2013 so effectively. I had an unexpected panic attack the day before the anniversary, whilst swimming lengths in my local pool. i’d felt fine and then suddenly; wham! Nausea, anxiety, panic and fear washed over me. I got out and made it to my car, vomiting, shaking and breaking out in a cold sweat before it passed. And what was uncontrollably going through my head then? ‘He’s going to die. He’s going to die.’ I mean, I KNOW he’s been dead for 2 years, but in that moment I was back there fearing the worst, and it came from nowhere. I went to bed for the rest of the day, exhausted from that outburst, and then pulled myself together and cooked dinner for 14 people (I’ve always found distraction therapy very effective)! It was nice to spend that evening with the house full of bodies, laughter and warmth. I didn’t want it to end, and have to face the build up to 3am. Later on my own, there were tears, there was numbness and then thankfully sleep. And interestingly, when I woke at 4am, it was as if something had snapped. I felt fine. The heavy, heavy black cloud that had rested over me for the previous two months was lifted and I felt those lovely emotions of hopefulness and excitement at what life has to offer me reclaim their welcome place back in my thoughts. I said to myself. ‘Right. Enough thoughts of dying and death. That’s over with for another year. Time to enjoy myself again!’ And promptly had fun with friends for the rest the day and happily danced until the early hours.

Then 48 hours lated my wonderful grandma died in hospital. She was 90, had trusted in Jesus for as long as I had known her and was confident where she was going and had positively influenced all her children and grandchildren in numerous ways. We reminisced over truths she’d taught us from our early years ‘There’s no such word as can’t.’ and ‘Only boring people get bored.’ Her funeral ended up being three weeks later, almost two years to the day of Gareth’s, so I spent Easter with my family in North Yorkshire, preparing.

But before getting through that I had fun celebrating turning 35; the dread of the beginning of March matched only by the exhilaration of having got through it and I was on a high. I ate cake with colleagues and patients on my actual birthday and then had a fun Saturday climbing up rope ladders and swinging off tarzan ropes and sliding down zip wires with good friends at my local ‘Go Ape’ Tree Tops adventure park. It felt so good to have the wind in my hair, to feel carefree and happy, and feel so alive outside! More of that this year please!

But as I made my way up North it was a sad but also anxious time for me as this would be the first coffin I would see since seeing my husband’s and I was scared of going back to that agonizingly heartbreaking time. In the end, it was fine. The coffin brought back memories of my lovely grandma and although there were tears, they were cathartic, therapeutic tears honouring and saying our temporary goodbyes to my grandma. It pained me greatly to watch my grandpa suffer as I have suffered, having some insight into what lies ahead for him now. I wish I could take that from him, for as I climbed into bed the night of the funeral, thinking for the second time in 3 weeks ‘Right. That’s over with now. Enough thoughts of death. Time to recover and think more lighthearted thoughts.’ I was aware it was only just beginning for him.

Then ‘beep’ from my mobile. And my plans were wiped clean away.

For that ‘beep’ brought the terrible, terrible news that my good friend Rose, who also knows firsthand the grief of young widowhood and was imminently about to give birth to her first, long awaited child now had to face the horrific reality of her full-term baby having died before labour was established. It is too much for one person to have to deal with. It is too unfair and cruel to comprehend. And myself and Rose’s friends and family went into shock at hearing this unexpected news, so terrifyingly opposite to the update we’d been excitedly waiting for. For us widows, it took us back into those early days of acute grief again. We couldn’t think straight, felt sick and anxious. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. I feel honoured to be one of Rose’s close friends that got to spend time supporting her, and meeting her gorgeous baby Raven in the hospital. He looked so beautiful in his bassinet, such a gorgeous mop of black hair and perfect, tiny fingers I curled around my own. And she so motherly, telling us all about him. I’ll treasure that special time we had together. And never understand why two weeks later we had to say goodbye to that precious boy as we buried him next to Rose’s husband, Nat. Life is cruel. There is too much death in it.

To emphasize that point, and introduce you to some of the ‘normality’ of life of young widows, let me share a scene from that day with you. For it came to be that baby Raven was buried five plots to the right of my husband, Ga in the natural burial ground in Cardiff. I didn’t expect that close proximity but have learnt not to be surprised at the surrealness of life as it unfolds (And yes it goes without saying that I relived Ga’s burial that day which wasn’t easy). Raven’s mum had organised a beautiful service and afterwards, for people to stay for a picnic in the picturesque grounds where we buried him, and as me and our joint friends from the charity ‘Widowed and Young’ were there together, it felt natural to suggest we set up our picnic blanket on the green grass and yellow dandelions six feet above the earthly remains of my Ga. Which we then proceeded to do and had a very lovely picnic together. It felt normal to me to include Ga in that day. It wasn’t weird or horrible. It was nice. What was weird was that it wasn’t weird. And as that was the first time me and Rose had actually been to our husband’s graves at the same time, our other close friend had brought with her, her husband’s ashes (in a box, in a rucksack) so that they could ‘meet’ my Ga and Rose’s Nat. For it was a very significant moment to have all six of us in the same physical place, when the reason three of us were such dear friends was because of the other three who had never met. Again, it was nice, and only weird that it didn’t feel weird. Although I wish it didn’t have to feel nice, nor that our special group of six is now seven, with the addition of precious baby Raven.

And right alongside my friend and her rucksack was her new boyfriend. A boyfriend who we all like, admire and have great respect for because he so obviously loves our friend in her entirety, and whilst she is very, very happy in her present with him and they have many future plans together, he is comfortable enough to allow her to embrace and remember her past alongside him. A man like that is worth his weight in gold.

And as I begin my third year of widowhood I think I’m ready to begin praying for, searching for, waiting for and wanting to share life with a man like that myself.

But I will elaborate on that in another blog post…

Admitting it’s time for anti-depressants

One of my reasons for writing this blog is to share what this unusual experience of young widowhood is like, and I have always sought to be honest. So here comes a particularly vulnerable but necessary post.

Last time I updated you in November I was riding the crest of a wave after my uplifting time in Uganda. To quickly fill you in since then, the run up to Christmas was surprisingly jolly, the day itself enjoyable with my immediate family in a coastal holiday cottage and ‘Come Dine with Me’ competition in full swing. New Year’s Eve was tough but remedied by a cold dip with friends in the sea on New Year’s Day…a fantastic way to start a new year I felt; symbolic of the possibilities and exhilarating  experiences that life has to offer me in 2015.

But in mid-January my lovely friend moved back to South Africa and hence out of my spare room and day-to-day life. I figured I’d spend a month or two on my own, readjusting before thinking about getting another housemate. Those four months together were an important transition for me in transforming the house from marital home to a houseshare. But once she moved out, the house immediately returned to my marital home devoid of Gareth, like a physical slap in the face. I hated being alone in the beautiful house Ga and I had created together. The place that had been our sanctuary, been my safe place in previous times on this grief journey was now a cold, mocking reminder of what I lack, What I don’t have now.

What. I’ll. Never. Have. Again.

I’ll never do life with Ga again.

This side of heaven.

Being quite self-aware I have routinely checked my mental health and said if I develop signs of depression I would seek medical help. And up until January I never did for a long enough period to make that appointment. But once Rach moved out I had 4 weeks of abject loneliness, misery, and disconnectedness from most people. I could still function; do my nursing job, cook and eat decent meals, make social plans with people. But in between those things, my heart was increasingly heavy and tears burned fiercely in a overwhelming fashion. Bedtime routines were even more hard going… looking at a picture of Ga when I once fell asleep in his embrace is miserable. I counted the days off in the week for the weekend to come, and then weekends seemed to last an age, as I’d count the hours down until they were over and returning to work might distract me from the stark fact that I do not have my own little family unit to which I belong anymore. Me and Ga were a family of two. One is a lonely number (even with loving friends and family).

So I checked out the MIND website and admitted it was probably right that I have mild depression (http://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/depression/symptoms/?o=9109). Then I checked out it’s advice on what to do and discovered I’ve been doing what they suggest for years; positive thinking, keeping active, connecting with other people, and caring for yourself. So now may be the time to add in antidepressants too… especially as March and the build up to the 2-year anniversary of Ga’s death comes straight after Feb and the thought of facing that in the state I was currently in was overwhelming.

To be honest, there is a part of me that to begin with was a bit disappointed with myself for resorting to taking them. THIS IS STUPID I KNOW! I think it’s got something to do with the fact I have faced years of infertility grief and the anguish of a marriage battered by fighting Cystic Fibrosis, and now 2 years of the worst grief of all; without needing tablets. Surely if I can get through that so far I shouldn’t need antidepressants now? God is with me and comforts me and gives me strength every day to help me right? I know how I work and how to cope in the mess don’t I? But maybe it’s precisely because I’ve been expending such emotional, spiritual and physical energy for so long to keep myself afloat that I’ve reached a place of weariness that means I’m ready to put my hands up and say ‘Enough; I want a break from it all please!’ For as long as I can remember, I have been actively putting things in place in my life to look forward to and focus on what I have rather than what I don’t. It is how me and Ga worked together and how I continue alone. That is great, but each activity/person I spend time with/challenge I set myself is like a buoy in a choppy sea, and the jumping from and hanging on to each one for a short time is a sweet relief and floatation aid that prevents me sinking underwater in between. If antidepressants could take away the extreme emotional swimming in the choppy sea bit, then I was ready to add them into my current ‘grief survival’ toolbox.

So off I went to the doctors  explaining what I needed and why. The perfectionist in me was inwardly chuffed when he congratulated me on my sensibility and appropriate request. So he prescribed me a 6-month course of low-dose antidepressants. Did I mention he was a cute doctor? Blonde hair and blue eyes… almost a Daniel Craig look-a-like. He had tears in his eyes as I talked. Would you be surprised if I told you that as I sat there asking for medication to help me cope with the loss of my husband I was seriously contemplating giving him my phone number?! A date with a cute, sensitive doctor suddenly was very appealing as he handed me my prescription! Obviously I didn’t act on those thoughts but they highlight the paradoxial world a young widow finds herself in. The experience did make me chuckle to myself for several days.

So I’ve now been taking anti-depressants for almost a month and I  noticed effects straight away. The difficult, sad thoughts are still there, but whereas before they could send my emotions spiralling heavily downwards, now it’s like the emotional reaction to the thoughts thinks about coming, but then disappears in a puff of smoke into nothing much at all. I have still had moments of heartbreaking dispair and the overwhelming ache for my old life with Ga, and I have also been able to laugh and enjoy myself at times. but the boat that was rocking so much it was in danger of capsizing in February is now bobbing along a bit more gently.

And it’s the middle of March. March, with it’s new(ish) associations with dying and death. The dramatic ripping apart of our wonderful life together more prominent than my birthday these days. The month that now scares me in it’s anticipation. But this year I had a plan and it seems to be working.

I’ve taken my antidepressants.

And I got out of the U.K. for the ‘worst week’ of memories for me. Last week I spent it in Switzerland, reliving my early twenties and going backpacking in youth hostels in Geneva and Interlaken. Making new, significant memories that over the years can help dilute the trauma of my memories from March 2013. I hiked alone in majestic snow-covered mountains, in awe at God’s creation, and met new people in the mixed dorms I stayed in. This week I’m back and going into work. The place I couldn’t face going into this time last year, as I work in the hospital where Ga spent his last 10 days on earth. ITU is three floors above my office. It isn’t necessarily pleasant but feels like progress I can physically be there this year. And in three days, it will be over for another year. Ga’s death day.

It isn’t a day I wish to mark in any way other than to say I (finally) got through it (again). It has been playing heavily on my mind for two months now. I hope next week my mind can start to fill itself with other thoughts again.

So there you have it. An honest update of where I’m at so far.

Thanks for reading and in some part sharing this journey with me. xx

Unfinished business and new beginnings in Africa

2009; Gareth’s photo of Grace-Faith in her home.

So I did it! I went to Africa by myself and had an amazing time in so many different ways. I spent most of my time with mine and Ga’s mutual friend Sam and his family, living in Namatala slum, in their house not too far from where Ga lived when he was there. I did the touristy stuff, visiting local beauty spots as well as being part of the community for a short time. I walked the bumpy mud roads like Ga did, rode on ‘bodabodas’ (the local motorbike taxi service) and got used to being called ‘Mzungu! (white person) and waving at excited children as I went past. I washed with a bowl of water and cup, and got apt at squatting to go to the loo (a hole in the ground). Just like he did.

One day Sam took me back to the places where Ga had taken his striking photos back in 2009. To outside a rice factory, where women spent 8 hours a day sifting through the discarded chaff, extracting rice grains in which to feed their families and maybe make a little money. It is back-breaking work, bending repeatedly in the formidible heat of the sun. I showed the women there my photos of Ga’s Namatala photos and of him and they stopped working and got animated. ‘We know this white man! He spent many days with us!’ some exclaimed. Sam explained I was his wife, and they asked me if he was well. So I had to break the news and they were shocked and saddened, but soon continued sharing their memories of him with us. There was one particular lady Ga photographed who wasn’t there, but we were given directions to her house, and later on after walking through the depths of Namatala slum, found her. When she saw Ga’s photo she immediately said ‘My friend, he spent many days here looking after me.’ I discovered her name is Grace-Faith and she has HIV. She wasn’t collecting rice that day as she wasn’t well. She showed me the medicines she takes daily. We talked for a time, and I was able to give her copies of the photos Ga took of her, and she choose a photo of Ga to keep. Sam took a photo of us both on her bed (her daughter was sick, lying on another bed to the right of this photo). Before we left I was able to pray with her.

2014; Me with Faith-Grace (who is holding a photograph of Gareth)

I cannot explain with words what a profoundly, powerful and healing time this was. In some way I felt like I’d come full circle; returning to the place Ga had told me so much about. Turning 2D descriptions into my very own 3D experiences. Returning images Ga created into the hands of those within them. Creating new images from old.

I’d expected torrents of tears during my time away but actually there were very few. I cried far more in Prague. Whatever was happening was on a deeper level than tears. Things were being stirred and healing occurring in the very depths of my soul. Such beautiful peace washed over me as I tied up these loose ends of unfinished business I had with Africa.

I met with Jesus and God’s Holy Spirit in a very wonderful way too. For the past 8 months or so since the first anniversary of Ga’s death I’ve been quite frustrated and angry with grief. Sick of having to deal with it and the tears so have mostly not chosen to spend time alone with God, as inevitably when I did, tears would inevitable fall. It was easier to not go there, even though I knew hanging out with God is always a beneficial thing (as to be honest tears fell enough times when I had no control over them). I’m thankful in his mercy he never let’s go of me, even when I’m struggling to hold on to him. But I had kind of made a deal, that when in Africa, and I had chance to relax I would be open to more grief work with him. There was a relaxing cafe I went to every other day where I spent time reading a Christian book on grief and inner healing, being open to the tears resurfacing and the pain of Ga’s absence to be prominent. But suprisingly what I found was that the tears didn’t come and I wasn’t doubled up in heartache. That beautiful peace the bible describes, that is available despite my circumstances flowed through me. I was sad but so joyful at the same time. Being in the continent that Ga loved, and it turns out was inextricably part of our marriage brought me healing at the deepest level…more than I was expecting.

Alongside this grief work, and the fact I went to Africa because of Ga, I was also beginning to create my own adventure, independantly of Gareth. Spending time with Sam’s family (who Ga had never met) was fun and although Ga was remembered, he did not dominate our time together. For we were in the present, in the rhythms of 2014 creating new experiences from opportunities given to us. And that is a good thing I feel.

Also, this year I have been rediscovering who I am without Ga. What are my interests and passions that are linked only to me and my character now? Ga has definately left me with a sense of adventure, but the way I seek adventure is not the same way he did. So I’d booked myself on to a 2 day White-water rafting trip down the River Nile; something just for me. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done…I revelled in the beauty of the water and nature around me, the sensations of the raging waters I got tossed around in (voluntarily!) as well as the calm still waters I gently floated down. It felt good to have adrenaline surging through my veins because of something fun rather than life and death scary. It sounds awful (but it isn’t) to say but I revelled in the fact I wasn’t missing Ga during it; for this was not something we’d ever done together, and therefore his absence was not as noticable. This was all about me. And that was profoundly healing too.

I want to finish by sharing with you  something beautiful that happened on my way home to the airport. Something I had not consciously planned or prepared for so am convinced it is of God. As me, Sam and his family were enjoying our last few hours together by Lake Victoria I felt a sudden prompting to be alone. So I walked a distance away, and sensed the Holy Spirit tell me now was the time to let go of what I’d been holding onto. I didn’t know what that was, but just as suddenly I realised in part, that although I’ve let go of Gareth my husband and trusted him into the competent care of Jesus, part of my frustrations of most of this year has been that I don’t want to be grieving, but I haven’t been able to let go of the dreams and future plans me and Ga had together in our marriage. Plans that included travel to Africa. I didn’t even know this was the case until this moment in Lake Victoria. But I felt safe enough to agree, and as the sun set on my final night in Africa, I willingly and symbolically handed those dreams and plans that will never come to pass now, back into Jesus’ care. They are safe there. Jesus says we can give our burdens to him. And carrying these around with me has been a heavy burden I’ve been carrying. As I went back to Sam and his family, and we got back in the car to drive to the airport, I felt like I was leaving, Ga, our marriage and our joint dreams and plans with Jesus in Africa. It felt good. It felt right. It felt ok. And since then I’ve been experiencing immense peace and joy. I was smiling all the way home on the plane!

And when I arrived back home in Cardiff, the absence of Ga was not the most prominent thing; the presence of myself in my present was. And that’s a significant shifting. I’ll stop here. Obviously there is no end point in grief and Gareth will remain part of me forever but I do feel something massive has happened in Africa and I’m now entering into a new phase on this grief journey.

And now it’s time to get back to mine and Ga’s story, as I’ve neglected it in recent months. For I have a deadline to finish it that is fast approaching…and one thing that remains the same with me is that I like to keep to deadlines!

It’s time to travel again.

If grief were an undergraduate degree I’d be halfway through now and plans forming of what to do post graduation. But I figure this degree of life has no defined ending which can be wrapped up neatly by a cap and gown before I get on with the rest of my life. The introductory lectures on this course involved me suddently knowing far too much about the daily routine of undertakers, and modules such as ‘learning to live alone in the marital house,’ ‘returning to work,’ and ‘getting through significant dates’ made up the first year. If I’d had a choice I’d have uncharacteristically bunked off class and happily failed them all. For to pass this degree, you need achieve no set marks, just be present for each and every class.

I have begun a new second year module. A practical one that as a dutiful student I have turned up for, and in doing so realised that I am only just ready to face this one; had it been earlier in the teaching schedule I may have had to flunk it. The module in question is ‘Travelling abroad without your husband.’

The practicalities of foreign travel aren’t covered. I had travelled a fair bit before I met Ga, on family holidays to Europe, visiting my brother in Canada, numerous holidays in France with my longstanding school French-Exchange friend. Practicalities don’t daunt me; in fact I enjoy organising them. It is what travelling abroad had become during marriage to Ga, and the stark reality of doing it without him that makes up this course content. I developed a slight fear of flying after getting on a small rickety tin-can plane to fly me through Finland in 2004 to complete a 3 week nursing exchange in ITU, and it was the numerous flights I’ve taken with Ga (always confident and reassuring during turbulence) that got me over that; so I no longer need wine to calm me down! I never went abroad for long, usually a week, (it’s what I was used to growing up), but Ga repeatedly sold me the benefits of fortnightly holidays and hot destinations. Over the years I succumbed to his wisdom and am now a convert. Those relaxing holidays to Portugal, Tenerife and Gambia became incredibly important to us, as they provided time away from the normal daily strains of life with CF, and no matter what was going on at home, those restful, warm, cultural times were much needed respite for us as a couple, to enjoy each other  without distraction and focus on a world away from our reality at home. Then there were was the exciting trip to New York, to see Ga’s photos exhibited and sharing his success together.

And of course, there were Ga’s numerous trips to Africa and India. Trips I never went on with him, but I was so caught up with, in the planning, the packing, opportunistic Facebook chats and phone calls whilst he was there, the unpacking, and caring for when the post-trip chest infection set it, the first person who got to hear the stories that went with his photos. Being behind the scenes as Ga would then get the recognition he rightfully deserved for his hard work and obvious talent. International travel was an integral part of me and Ga. In the last year, seeds were developing; plans for me to travel out with him at some point and use my nursing skills at the same time he was taking photos. Who knows where and what that seed would have developed into?

Instead there has been no travelling abroad since Ga died (apart from a weekend in May to Belfast to see family which doesn’t count, apart from it meant I got through the first time of getting on a plane without him). But this week I made it to Europe again. Prague to be exact. I flew out (no nerves now) to attend my first work conference and tagged on 48 hours of sightseeing once it was over (with my mum who flew out to meet me). It’s been good. I learnt a lot at the conference, and had fun travelling and eating out in Czech restaurants with my colleagues. and once they all left mum and I have spent hours walking across Prague getting a feel for the city. I’m glad I came and have made new memories with people I care about. But here’s what I’ve only just learned;

I travel with a limp. Not a visible limp. One only I am aware of. I noticed it as I walked along Charles Bridge and up steps to Prague castle, among the throngs of tourists. I am walking unbalanced, as unlike the many couples I passed my hands remain empty. Where for so long Ga’s hand fitted perfectly into mine, his fingers interweaving with mine as we matched each other’s step and leisurely took our time absorbing foreign lands, now my hand remains limp at my side. I must relearn to explore alone. I’m afraid it doesn’t matter that at times I walked alongside others; for ultimately they were not Gareth. I enjoyed their company, but it was not ultimately the company I wanted there and then. In the nicest possible way of saying it, if Ga were still here, it would have been him I would have explored Prague with. How I wish I could. How bitter some of my tears have been here for what can now never be. And frustration and anger too. For I don’t want to be ungrateful for what I have. I don’t want to want to live in the past, but the past was so so wonderful. I want to enjoy the time I have with family and friends now without such intense longing for what I can’t have. As obviously what I’d want over all is Ga to be here still with me. Anger for the fact I’m even having to wrestle with these conflicting emotions and this trip abroad had been tainted by grief just as everything has in some shape or form for what seems like forever!

It’s to be expected of course. Did I really think I could travel abroad and grief not continue it’s work? Maybe because I’ve passed so many of the earlier modules, and the things that brought such intense emotions so early on are now less consuming (mostly). Maybe I had become complacent with the grief homework required of me in this present? At least I know from experience, the more I do things on my own (i.e. without Gareth, I may not be physically alone), on one level it gets easier to do as a new ‘normal’ sets in. I wonder how many more trips abroad it will be until that happens? As much at it saddens me to think there could be a day where Ga isn’t constantly on my mind when I travel, to continue healing this side of heaven, it needs to happen. In only 3 months I will have spent as much time getting used to not doing life together, as the amount of time it took from me first saying yes to going out with him, to us both saying ‘I do’. 22 months. It feels like I climbed to the top of a hill, spent almost 5 happy years walking it’s plateau and now am almost at the bottom again.

But life isn’t carrying on as if me and Ga never happened. In fact, in 7 days time I am making my own independent trip to Africa. In April 2013 we had planned a holiday of a lifetime trip to Cape Town, South Africa as Ga’s close friend was getting married and he was an usher. We were both excited that he was going to show me the country that he loved and spend a few nights in the local township, as well as have fun windsurfing on a lake, drinking wine in Stellenbosch and driving along the coast whilst staying in some beautiful B and B’s. We never got to go. When we should have been there, celebrating with our friends I was burying him. But one of the last things I hope he heard me say to him was that I would still go to Africa. I didn’t know what I would do (but it wouldn’t be photography like him), but I would go.

And in a week I am. Not to South Africa this time. I had offers from the many countries Ga had photographed; everyone thinking so highly of him and welcoming me through association with him. I prayed and thought about where to go and in the end have decided on Uganda. The first country Ga photographed whilst we were together, and the start of his precious friendship with Pastor Sam. I am going to stay with Sam, his wife and two young children, in Namatala, Mbale, where Gareth took his striking photos. I need to just ‘be’ in the continent that had Ga’s heart long before he met me, feel the sand between my toes and walk in the footsteps of my adventurous husband, getting a deeper feel for the man he was when he was out here. I need to stop and just ‘be’ there. After my experience in Prague I am expecting some heart wrenching tears, tears for somethings that I do not yet know I haven’t grieved for. Tears that once unleashed will bring continued healing. I am also expecting challenges like none I’ve faced before – cultural and spiritual experiences that will grow me as a person. And fun, smiles and laughter; oh so much laughter I hope! Being blessed through interacting with the people i’ll meet and hopefully being a blessing to them too. I’ll visit the school whose roof Ga and I raised money for via Ebay, and the concrete church floor my previous church raised money for that means the congregation no longer have worms burrowing into their feet as they worship there. I’ll go to the wedding of Sam’s neice, who fed Ga when he was a guest in Sam’s home back in 2009. We’ll hike to a beautiful waterfall and maybe do a small safari. And for a bit of unadulterated fun and adrenaline, I’m going whitewater rafting on the Nile. It will be a different holiday of a lifetime.

Loss changes you. I honestly would never have dreamed of doing something like this when Ga was alive. I was just coming around to the idea of travelling out together. But here I am. Continuing my grief journey and wanting to honour Ga in the best way I can. And this trip is one way of saying to him ‘You changed me for the better love. Look what I am doing now, all because of you.’ And who knows what travel adventures I may have after this one…

Seven days and counting… I’ll look forward to reporting back once I’m home.