Snapshots and stories –
– moving on with not from
I found my late husband’s watch in my bedside drawer last night. It smelt of him. I’ve been sleeping really badly lately. Last night I went to sleep holding his watch, imagining his hand on me. I slept well, waking with the alarm just before 7.
World Cup
It’s the FIFA World Cup – as if you hadn’t noticed! For me the World Cup will forever be associated with my son’s death – he died the day after England were knocked out in the semi-final in 2018. My daughter has always thought the one precipitated the other. She may be right.
Both my children had been down to see me for my birthday. She went back to Germany, he to his dry house. He and his dad watched the match and England lost. Nothing left to look forward to. He used. He died.
The Shed
My handyman is coming to mend the door on ‘The Shed’ tomorrow. My husband built it from scratch with a broken leg (it was broken for 4 ½ years). By the time he could have used the shed the following spring, and his leg was finally mended with an internal prosthesis, he was already dying.
With his blessing I turned it into an art/messy studio but the rain where I live is phenomenal and the whole shed was rotting and in need of renovation within 5 years of construction. The handyman did a good job but now the new doors are rotting.
I love it though and I’ve put a bed in it, a kettle and a pee pot. When my family come to stay they have the house, I have The Shed and we all have some privacy.
West Side Story
I went to see West Side Story with a friend on Saturday – the original film which, despite its 65 year history, I’d never seen. My friend, who’s seen it umpteen times, cried. I didn’t. The only thing that seems to make me cry these days is kindness (or when I hit my head). Otherwise, I’ve not really cried since my husband’s death – just little rivulets of tears from the surface, the torrent seemingly buried so deep it doesn’t emerge. Or maybe it’s a glacier.
I know I wept when my son died. I remember at his cremation flinging myself on his coffin, sobbing. It’s not as dramatic as it sounds: there were only 12 of us there and because we’d not been allowed to see his body, at the cremation we each had a private time with him to say goodbye. The next day, composed, I held his memorial service. And thereafter cared 24/7 for my husband who became much more ill after that.
Have I cried since? People say, “Oh you must cry” as if I’m holding back. “Don’t you think I would if I could!?”
Julian of Norwich
I’m holding a funeral on Friday and I’m opening both the service and the burial with these same words from Julian of Norwich:
“Death does not change love. In the end nothing is lost and all is harvest.”
I know this to be true. What has changed is physical presence into physical absence. Sometimes that feels like everything. Other times I know it is not.
All these little snapshots of my life are enriched because of the stories which feed them, stories of love. The work I do, relationships I’ve developed, the lens I look at my life through, all are as they are because of the ongoing love I bear those who have died. Now I understand the panicked wife of the man in bed 5 whose husband has a brain tumour; I feel for the woman whose husband died before she could marry him. I deeply appreciate the ever-flow of the river, the resilience of the fallen but still living tree. I treasure my friends, my dog and what remains of my beautiful family. Finally, I am able to have my own back and I have the courage to speak my truth and allow myself to be visible. This is me reaping the harvest of the love I shared and the love I carry forward with me. Truly, cliched as it may be, I think we don’t move on from our loved ones who have died, we move on with them.
With my love,
Nickie
PS If there is anything you would like me to write about, an questions, wonderings or requests, please do let me know by messaging me here.
NEWS
CREATIVE PATHWAYS THROUGH LIFE AND LOSS
Please join us for a nourishing and resourcing day in Somerset.
The wood belongs to Deb Millar who hosts many different groups in the wood and knows how healing it can be to be outside with the trees, the earth and the sky.
We will weave together creative expression, sharing and reflection and provide you with a simple lunch and refreshments.
Cost: £30 – there are one or two donation and concessionary places available if finances are an issue for you. Equally we are open to receiving more if you are feeling abundant and this will allow us to offer further concessions. Thank you.
This will be a small group and booking is essential. For more information or to book, please write to: deb@wilderwoods.org
Buy Me a Coffee
I have been writing this blog for 3 years now and for the last couple of years many of you have gifted me through Buy Me a Coffee. I felt shy to ask you initially, but I cannot tell you how much it warms my heart to have £5 drop in here and another £5 or £10 there. You don’t pay me for my writing, you gift me for what I offer and to me it feels as if our shared currency is love. Thank you so much. I am open to receive your love any time you feel like sharing it! www.buymeacoffee.com/nickieaven