Friday, 26 October 2012

Dear Alex, The silence echoes...

26th October 2012

Dear Alex,

Retreating back to the warmth of this house, the silence echoes. The bitter cold windy day has my hands tight, my nose red, my shoulders shrugged up, resting around my head bracing the Autumn air and rain.

I’m not writing much at the moment Alex. I’m having to go through what I am. I have no idea how I’m getting through the days. The ache, the throb of my heart broken just paces out loud.

Whatever anyone may think, I face the facts of the future, the facts of a past gone. No matter what your progress, however good or fast or small and slow. The facts remain. I am bringing the kids up, all four smiling chattering faces, kicking leaves on the way to school, holding hands, morning discussions and intermittent skips, without you. I gain so much strength from them. I am facing the fact that I have no companionship, you’re not there to parent with me, love me as a husband loves his wife, look after me, protect me.

This is one or two of the multitude of things I am grappling to come to terms with at the moment.

And in it all, we had a decade together of bliss, hard times, arguments, making-ups. Parenting together. Walking side-by-side in our morals, beliefs, thoughts, spiritual path and how we should parent.

This is over a year on. I think the year I have lived has sucked me through and spat me out, now saying, ‘right this is your reality now, and Alex isn’t there to wrap you in his arms and tell you it’ll be ok, you’re on your own with this one’.

I have the odd day I feel a bit better. But dragging around this weight inside, I find I cry whenever I’m alone. It bubbles up, unable to suppress it if a friend asks ‘how are you?’ in the playground, I choke, tears fall.

And I don’t feel sorry for myself, I hate ‘being this way out’. I do see the immense privilege I have in having the kids, a roof over my head, friends, family who care.

I just can’t stop the ache. Because you saved me, you were my knight in shining armour, 11 years ago you found me, 10 years you protected me. I could never live without you. And this is what this is-living without you.

Oh Alex, I hate being this sad. I wish you could talk it through with me, like we used to talk everything through. 

You can't even promise me you’ll come back, and that's the hardest part…..

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday, 21 October 2012

Dear Alex,Little ripples make big waves!

Yeah baby!!! Little ripples....

21st October 2012

Dear Alex,

There’s an acceptance going on I feel at the moment, within the kids and around you. They are far less agitated coming in to see you, not dreading it, not crying on the way in, not sulking and lashing out at each other. Monty engages with you, playing ball with you, throwing it to you, and you back at him. And whilst he does this I notice several small but significant improvements in you.

You ‘look’ for Monty, ask for him, ‘is he OK?’ you ask me. You ask about others. Therefore showing you’re capable of thinking through a thought process, and coherently following it through further by saying out loud what it was. I also notice that your ball throwing technique has vastly improved! You have had difficulty with the instruction ‘let go’ and throwing the ball wasn’t very possible, taking so many attempts to let go and throw it, the message just couldn’t seem to get through from you brain to your hand. But today it’s on the first attempt, Monty asks you to throw it, and you do, every time, immediately.

I am noticing subtle but incredible improvements. It feels as though the re-wiring is gently refusing, you’re regaining some vital mental skills. I’ve been getting you to drink your own drink all week. All too easy to give it to you, unable to grip very well or see where the cup is, and then navigate it to your mouth. But all week, several times a day we’ve done this. My harsh sense of humour has you tutting at me and making a fist and laughing! I tell you if you don’t do it yourself, you’re going thirsty! So I help guide your hand, and make you place it back down on the table, orientating you making you hold your head straight, release the cup, all these little things I usually let you get away with! I gave you 9 ½ out of 10 for your attempt today, it’s got SO much better! And Lola gave you 12 out of 12, to which you stuck your tongue out at me, Lola laughing has you reach out and cuddle her, kissing her head telling her you love her, and that I am mean!

We seem to be having little happy family moments, with you engaging, you talking. I make them come up to you to ask you permission for things, rather than you hearing ‘mummy, can I…?’ All the time, I want you to be at the back end of child-requests too! You to hear ‘daddy, can I…?’ So that you will feel needed as a dad, it’ll remind you what you need to keep working for, to come back to. There is method in my madness, you know!

We spend the whole afternoon with you, and when we have to leave, you call them all, each one, one-by-one, by their name and say ‘by Monty/Lola/Mitzi/Esmie, I love you’ to each of them in turn!

This is another first, a very significant one, you are noticing people and responding so well, instigating a bit of conversation, not just answering things. This is HUGE improvement, honey.

My toothache is roaring, the kids are fast asleep. I miss you tonight, but can distract myself and look forward to tomorrow morning, when I get to be with you again. I can look forward to little improvements, and as my sky in the week showed me- little ripples, make big waves…

Love you babes,

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx