Friday, 3 May 2013

Dear Alex, Some of the time...





4th May 2013


Dear Alex,


Sipping Rooibos and vanilla tea I harbour a secret-a happy one, one that each time I tell you, your eyes fill with delight, you yelp out happy 'really? really?'s...This happy secret which I will tell the world in time. My smile sweeps across my face once more, imagining. Imagining new beginnings, hopes, dreams. Different ones, but still together ones, stepping out on a family adventure and my family unit reunited once more.


It is 19 months exactly today. Nineteen months since the man I knew and adored, the man I was protected by, comforted by, held by, was nearly taken from me for good. Now the man, who cannot stand in front of me, sleeps, head to the left side (as it still often droops) in a hospital bed which replaced our table and chairs in the Dining room.

I stroke your face, kiss you gently where the piece of skull was cut out as quickly as they could to release the pressure of the brain that fateful day.

I walk upstairs, carrying my cup of tea, my lap top and my thoughts.


Nineteen months on and my heart still aches, an ache still as fresh as the day I was told you would not make it. As raw and real as the second I lost you as you used to be. It is easier to live with some of the time now. Some of the time I may feel the throb of the ache less. The days of panic lessened, safe as we are now, out of that danger and the terrifying unknown. My unknown world now I am not quite so scared by some of the time. Sometimes even facing the day without the dark shroud of grief that cloaked me tightly the first year. I have begun acceptance, and have started preparing for our future-looking forwards, not just a daily fight, but looking at how I can carve out the future for our family together.

...'Our future together' The happy sentence echoes in my heart and I smile a broad smile again...


Alex, you are still the man of my dreams, my everything and my light. Your love for me envelops me still and I am such a lucky girl!


Sweet dreams my angel, see you in the morning.



me xxxxxxxxxxxxx


Monday, 29 April 2013

Dear Alex, Blue Eyes.

29th April 2013




Dear Alex,

Cricket season, me doing dad-job season, least that's what it feels like. Watching all the dads stand and chat, then pick up/drop off their sons at cricket. I haven't felt this sad for the kids in a while, but it's times like this that it sinks in, the reality that dad can't do those things.

I pick Monty up, his face is not the smiling one I dropped off, happy to be reunited with cricket friends. In tears in the car he tells me he is not on the team, he doesn't have any boys around to help him practice (averting mentioning you). And my little man sobs. I choke, quite literally, as I try not to melt down wishing you were by his side, doing dad things, helping your son learn the overarm he is so frustrated he cannot do well. I know others can pitch in, I am sure there are people who can teach him. .. But that will never be the point, Monty doesn't want to replace you, have a stand-in, he wants you.

I see a little boy, big blue eyes, it's like looking into a child version of yours, and I see his tears fall, I catch his chest as it heaves in sobs, and I do all I can, kiss his head and hug him, until I have swallowed enough times back my own tears and I can speak. I don't want to cry now, it's his time for sadness, if I cry he will feel bad for upsetting me, and it's not about my pain right here and now-it's about our little boy and the fact he can't do overarm...the fact his dad isn't there for him like his friends' dads are.


I don't cry.

I gulp so much my throat still hurts.

I have our little man snuggled up fast asleep next to me on the sofa, not wanting to be on his own, needing to be close to me. He cuddles his bear and breathes sleep-full breaths.



You are back at the Care Home, I had to send you back today, our time ran out too quick. The weekend went too fast, and you're gone again.


Hoping Friday will come around quickly.



me xxxxxxxxxx

Sunday, 28 April 2013

Dear Alex, Patience

28th April 2013


Dear Alex,


I walk back down stairs and I hold you till your tears stop and you know you're safe enough in my arms to fall asleep. Then I walk slowly, quietly back to my bed without you.

Surreal it all seems at times, I occasionally glance in on my life from a 'how it used to be' perspective and stand there blinking, rubbing my eyes, but I still do not wake.

It's the dead of night as I type, no one stirs, the TV drones from downstairs as the carer watches it through his shift. And I yearn to be cuddled up next to you as I try to get comfortable and cannot. I think it's a subconscious reaction, I need you so much, need to be with you so much but cannot, so I lie in my bed, separated from you unable to sleep.

When we all went away I tried to sleep in the same bed as you. It's going to be a long time yet till that's possible...


Still, at least we are in the same house!

I just have never been very good at being patient, if I have to get from A to B, I just need to be at B, can't do the getting there bit! It's been a life lesson watching you progress so slowly. Patience is now ripening in me, although I still want you stronger and better and all of that now!

.... And then I get some deafening news, a friend who was in a very similar situation to you, a year on and not much improvement is back in intensive care again... Everyone unsure as to what this means, but he's not very strong, broken and fragile...

And it wakes me up, a slap in the face. I get frustrated it takes so much time, is such an effort to just get out the door, and yet I am looking at it all wrong, at least we can get out of the same door together, at least you get to sit in the car, we get to go out together. How different, how very different it could have been.

Patience rushes back as tears flood out the ingratitude for where we are at, and gratitude flows.


I love you my baby, how very lucky we are...


Me xxxxxxxxxxxx

Thought For The Day #13