Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Dear Alex, Sleep.

Dear Alex,

And so I sleep, I sleep the hours I cannot weep...I sleep all of Thursday, not wanting to face the world without..


Without the energy and presence and comfort and peace and protection and loyalty.

I sleep the day.

Surprised at the hour when I wake.
Heart still in stomach, it is time to collect the kids, enjoy a school play, dry my eyes, put on a brave face.

I slept in the house, so cold and empty.

Two beds where their owner's are not. Two beds, Alex and Oliver's are empty.

Oliver's forever more, and I do not know when Alex, you shall be in yours.

Both cats sit at the front door, looking out all day...They have done since Oliver passed. Quite out of character, but speaks volumes of what soul he had.

I try and focus on some other things, but Christmas will be without Oliver, with you and a carer and how strangely I look upon 'celebrating' this Christmas.

It feels like a blur, a bleary day that I need to summon upon all my strength, muster up heartfelt smiles, real laughs, which I feel, for the first time, I have truly, truly lost.

I do not feel like me.

Scars and sadness and loneliness and loss, how do you plaster over that?

Only I must. For the kids.

I must, for you.

Only I feel it, really feel it now-all the past happiness, all our family times before stare at me, taunt me, I want to join them, but never will again. This is the first time I have realised this new life, embraced all the change and uncertainty. First time I fully grieve it, and Oh Alex, how much it hurts.

God give me strength, hang up my pain for a while, fill me with the need I long for, for comfort and a helping hand in being brave, because this heart aches, this body is weary and my eyes sting, windows of my forlorn soul.

me xxxxxxxxxxxx

Tuesday, 17 December 2013

Dear Alex, End of an era

Dear Alex,

When you had your accident, I could not mourn fully, it never felt right, I could dip in and out, like a pendulum bearing one way and another, from grief stricken to guarding endless hope and clinging on to how things would be different in the future...Now over two years on I know that things will never be that different. I now mourn our life of old, the man you were and the person you were to me.

Oliver passing on marks the end of that era. His old energy, the energy of our past has left this new life we now strive to carve out.

He came with us here to our house called Agape, and spurred me on, a faithful companion to the end.

This is the end of an era.

And, no, I am not alright.

No, I am not my normal smiley, seeking gratitude, making jokes, confident person.

I am torn.

I am lost, so hopelessly lost without either of you beside me.

Never, ever have felt so alone.

And it is spiralling down on me like arrows have been launched from afar, spitting down on me from above, I have no shelter, I cower.

I sit next to Oliver's bed in the evenings, struggling up the stairs at 3am, staving off panic attacks because I am so scared with out his energy, his protective presence here amongst my babies.

He barked at any noise, making me secure that he was protecting us all. He slept beside me on the floor by my bed, letting me know he was guarding us.

Now no one but me guards us.

Now no one but me protects this house.

NowI am vulnerable, alone and shattered and scared and I do not know where to go with this grief at the moment.

And sorry I am not in the Christmas cheer, but for now, I feel heaviness and don't know where to turn.

me xxxxxxxxxxx

Monday, 16 December 2013

Dear Alex, Pocket memories...

Dear Alex,

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...

me xxxxxxxxxxxx