I woke this morning long before I opened my eyes. Hearing the busy sounds of the traffic outside I knew it wasn’t any earlier than 8am. I lie in bed unable to move, not because there’s something physically wrong, but my mind seemed paralysed. I thought about what I need to do to get up and my thoughts turned to breakfast.
What about toast with almond butter and jam, and a strong black coffee? Maybe eggs this morning but how would I prepare them? Boiled, fried, scrabbled or poached? I’ve never mastered the art of poaching eggs, so I don’t know why this choice has entered the running. What about porridge cooked in the microwave? This would be easier to prepare than eggs and only involved two heaps of porridge, water, a dash of milk, one bowl and a spoon. If I’m going down the route of a simple breakfast then I’m back to toast, nut butter and jam again.
Perhaps I should start with opening my eyes.
On this day Simon would have brought me coffee in bed. We may have been at home, or may have gone away. Either way would not have matter, because we would have been together. Instead, I’m alone, (aside from my cat and he’s not able to use the kettle yet) and my thoughts of Simon are not helping me to function. So I think about the need for coffee. Is this enough to get me up? Let’s see.
I’ll need to get out of bed, walk to the kitchen and switch on the kettle. Once I’m up, I’ll stay up.
I open my eyes. Good start.
My cat is next to me asleep, and we are curled together like the ying and yang symbol. He’s been my constant companion for eleven years, and with him I don’t feel so alone. Now I’ve gone back to not wanting to move, as the warmth of the covers and his presence provide security. I could stay here forever, cocooned under the duvet with my familiar.
But I am a seasoned widow and I’ve done this day seven times before. In the practical ‘self-care’ sense I know what I need to do, but emotions are far more unpredictable and can trip me up unexpectedly. All I can do is draw from my experience from previous years. Being a seasoned widow means you have an idea of how these significant days pan out. You also develop the skills of distraction very well, can fake how you feel, even going into autopilot just to get through the day. Ignoring grief can work for me in this situation, or it can delay the inevitable. I don’t always know what is best for me but a seasoned widow knows these period of heightened grief eventually pass.
Until then, I may or may not have overwhelming sadness and I may or may not cry anymore. When this day is done, I will sit with an uncomfortable feeling, one I can only describe as a knot in my stomach, or a sinking dread, with knowing this is one more wedding anniversary without him. Getting through the day can be difficult for a novice widow but with sufficient time it does get easier. For this seasoned widow the harder part is accepting the emptiness afterwards, that longer for someone you know is never coming back.
But I get up anyway and have coffee.
Coffee is always good.
Simon,
You are always missed and remember, especially today
All my love
Your Hermit
XXXX
Simon's Hermit 