Monday, 16 December 2013
Dear Alex, Pocket memories...
Many tears have found their way to our eyes, from our hearts and spilled. I console regular sad kids, missing Oliver, our beloved dog and friend.
If you feel I am being over the top, then feel that way, because the pain I feel is real, and my best friend is gone, and the life you, Alex, and I had before was integral with Oliver, walks, he carried everything before kids, every movement in the house, every time I went to sleep, he was there, every morning I awoke, he would not come downstairs until I did, every time I got in the car to see you, faithful friend was there, waiting to comfort me and accompany me, and a part of me is missing.
The house feels empty, void of a huge energy.
I was not looking forward to telling you.
Yet, in his parting, Oliver showed me a piece of you that was still there, a piece of you I thought was lost, if only for a few minutes, till you had forgotten, and I had to remind you, and then didn't want to put you through it again, so changed the subject, realising I would have to deal with this alone.
I tell you the news, your eyes well, you shed some tears, but clearly reach for me, as I am sobbing,
'How come you're cuddling me?' I ask this question, hoping to hear what I long for...
And I do...
"Because I am here for you, always, whenever...
And because it wasn't one of the kids and at least I still have you.."
This would have been the response I would have expected from you before the accident. Emotional, yet practical and so accepting in death, as you knew things came to an end at the time they were meant to, and knew that beyond death, there was something so much more, beyond any of our imaginations in this life...
I had you for a few precious moments, as you stroke me and I cry into your chest.
The first time I have been able to do this, and I let go, and you remained strong for me.
Then I have to wipe my eyes as you ask me something completely irrelevant and I realise you have already forgotten...
I am not myself, I am not the same at the moment, and I am sorry I cannot pretend.
But I won't excuse it, I have been through an experience already that broke, and daily breaks my heart. I didn't deal with it the right way, I blocked every image of you from my memory, every detail, every word, your voice, your looks, your little ways, our family times, and now I struggle to reach any. Memory almost devoid of moments of you from before, and it makes me panic, as I now need them. Pocket memories, that you keep always with you, pull out from time-to-time. Comfortable and reminiscent, beautiful ones, treasured. I have learnt from this I think. I need to face it all, face it all now, fully immerse myself to honour who Oliver was to me, then there will be a time I will need to remember the smiles he gave me, the loyalty, the friendship, and I will smile and not cry.
But for now Alex, I cry.
The kids cry, they have all slept in my room since he passed on.
I cling on to the fact I felt his soul, his energy pass through me, that he showed me in passing we would always be connected.
Monty I now hear crying groaning 'Oh, Oliver' upstairs- I must go...
Posted by Manic Mum at 21:53