Friday, 22 June 2012

Dear Alex, tomorrow's a new day...






22nd June 2012

Dear Alex,

Grieving is such a strange process. You’re told you go through the denial phase…but I was convinced I wasn’t. Just hoping against hope you would just be healed, it would all just be over, you’d come running back in from a surf. Wedding ring round your neck on the chain I got you for your 30th birthday, as you feared you’d lose it off your finger. You’re unable to wear it now, it presses against your little finger and middle finger as your hand is in the splint trying to stretch out the fingers you cannot move, so they do not seize into a fist position.

I have caught glimpses of people, looking a little like you, and caught my self thinking, ‘oh here he is…’ only, thud, sharp pain, no, it’s not you, realisation that wakes me back bolt upright into my reality, no you.

I am facing what I never thought would ever be, you are not here as you used to be, you are not who you used to be, and it is like that, and I still have to carry on. I am finding it impossible to ignore...

I am not, have not been ready to acknowledge it. That rainbow hope that things will not be as they say they will, this is a sprint, not a marathon, not the rest of our lives…but, the sprint is still going, and , yes, it’s feeling rather like a marathon. My body tires, my thoughts flash up pictures of you laughing, running, playing with those love-kids of ours.

A glimpse of you stroking my face and kissing me before you leave for a surf…

You are not here.

Life is so very, very different.


My medicine is my gratitude journal, seeing what I do have, only my writing of late has slowed. My thoughts swamped with memories of you as you were. You are not as you were.

I do not know where I am. I am more lost  than I have ever been. Mourning, refusing to acknowledge how long this is taking, how long this will take…

All I want is you. All I want is my strong man, husband, father of our four, so capable, so physically strong, scooping us all up, your family, your children, me, in your manly arms and cuddling us all through this.

But I am me, just little me, doing all this, raising these blessings, all four of them, without you.

Guilt, grief floods, trespasses on your once able to follow a thought process though mind. It seeps in, it takes over, loss, memories, needs, wants of you, as you were.


This trails and it trails. It reaches forward, it shows me we are moving forward, but oh, how long this takes. Hoping for a miracle.

This week, my loneliest yet, people have just shown up. Been sent. Friends, family to support, repair, offer me tissues.


I have been overwhelmed, feeling a canvas of love from those who surround me. I cannot say I am alone. Everyone seems to want to be there. They have not let me shut the door, wallow, stagnate, and have pulled me up without even realising it.

All I want is you. I want to shout ‘come back to me, Alex, be here with me, where are you?!' But I am facing what one of my worst nightmares is, that you’re not.

Thank you all who have been here for me, even without knowing. I have been sliding, but held firm by you all.




Me xxxxxxxxxx



Thursday, 21 June 2012

Tuesday, 19 June 2012

Sunday, 17 June 2012

Dear Bobo (Lola)...you're 7!!!



Lola and me, her birthday party at the hospital...


Dear Lola,

Your seventh birthday my big growing up fast girl. It feels like yesterday I wrote a letter to Monty for his seventh…and now its your turn.

This has been the hardest year of your life, and for one so young, how hard it has been. After dad had his accident, you were distraught at not being able to see him when he was in the coma, and then when you first saw him (three months on), just wanted to be next to him, talking, cuddling.



You have had to move back to England, a country you do not know and make a life without your dad in a strange country. Leaving your best friends you’ve known since you were 2 ½.

You have jumped a year at school and had to learn to read and write in English very suddenly.

Yet you have excelled, you have managed, even made many friends, and kept your French up too.

Lola Grace, you astound me.



You have had to move house again 4 months after leaving France, and we have no stability. But you are happy, full of joy, of life, of love, compassion.

Your nature is so caring, considerate, not wanting to upset anyone, and you are a big sister with two sisters looking up to you, asking you for help, and you give it, all the time.



The way you are with dad blows me away every time we are with him. You hold his hand, lean on his chest, talk to him, wipe his mouth. You never leave his side. If you have to go somewhere, you make sure someone else takes over handholding duty, you worry and see he likes the contact.

You laugh with him, make him say things, and let him feel your face, as you realise this is how he sees now, although this is, as yet, too painful for you to accept.



His beautiful angel daughter Lola Grace, full of Grace, brimming with, overflowing with love. Dad lights up in your presence, the first word he said was ‘Lola’.

You have your moments when you just want your daddy home, it all to be alright again, you want his goodnight kisses and cuddles, and grieve his presence.

You are tall and elegant, love picking out your own clothes, and nabbing mine!  You like to be grown up, do your own hair, to help me. Always the one to organise the others getting the breakfast things out, helping me make the tea time sandwiches.



You love to read and write and draw, and are so proud of yourself (as well you should be) for the books you are able now to read in English.

Lola, how I came to have you as a daughter, I will never know. I thank God every day I wake that you are mine, and pray I bring you up in the right way over these difficult years. You flourish, despite. You are an inspiration of grace and love.

Mature and affectionate, you often place yourself in front of me for me to play with your hair and cuddle you. Almost as tall as me, this will not be a forever opportunity!


I cannot express that how you are with dad, it is medicine that will spur him on. The love and acceptance of the fact that daddy is not like he was before, is a gracious attitude to be aspired to.

As a seven-year-old girl, you exceed me in so many ways, your capabilities, ease of acceptance and familiarity with the other patients, in for various reasons, in the same centre as dad is inspirational.

You are an astute, intelligent, unbelievably loving and responsible girl.



Seven years I have watched you grow, I am blessed every day I have with you. I hope as a mother I fulfill my role, I am trying hard. But please, if there ever is a day I do not, tell me, I would do everything in my being to rectify it my angel…


Witnessing you grow, is an honour, one I have to pinch myself to believe that I have.



Be confident, know who you are, you are good, one in a million, and your attitude in life and natural way of dealing with things, being with others is simply an inspiration.

Your smile is contagious, those dimples deep, like your daddy’s…

I love you Lola Grace, you are an incredible human being, and you have so much more to offer as you grow in this world. Don’t be disillusioned by it, keep looking at where you came from, how well you are doing, and draw confidence, and advance…



I love you my angel,

Happy Birthday,


Mummy xxxxxxxxxxxx