Seasoned Widow

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

The 12th of Never

Dear Simon,

It’s April and the sun has been shining for days. It takes me back to eight years ago when we got married, on that bright spring Thursday. The night before I sat on the front door steps of a pub, with my sister, drinking beer and looking forward to our big day. I’ve got so many wonderful memories of that time, from the beauty of the stained glass in the hotel, to accidentally leaving my flowers in the cafe after breakfast, and of course you dancing with your tie around your head. You were incredibly nervous at the ceremony but you spoke words of love with such sincerity. We danced and laughed with friends & family and I got beetroot on my white dress. I didn’t care as nothing else mattered. I hold the 12th April very dear to my heart and neither time or death can erase the memories made on this day. It wasn’t about the future, there was no tomorrow or any 12th of never.

Our wedding anniversary is tomorrow, another one without you. I don’t believe I will ever fully get over losing you, but I want to let you know that I am happy again. It took a long while to get to this place – with the odd stumble -and I’m no longer anger or overwhelmed with grief. I still feel the sadness for how our life together suddenly crease to exist and how my beautiful you isn’t here.

This week I’ve had panic and anxiety, as the world is not the same as when you left it. There’s lots of fear out there, and with it the conformity of lockdown. You would have hated being told what to do but it is necessary for the greater good. The last few weeks I’ve been concentrating on what’s going on around me and trying to look after those I love. Hardly anytime to reflect on you but please be assured you are not forgotten.

I know you wouldn’t want me to be sad but it was very traumatic what happened to you. But at the same time I have a lot of love in my life, with family and friends, even though I can’t see them in the current circumstances. I’ve also got romantic love, a gentle and caring partner and our connection is wonderful. I often think about how you two would have got on. I imagine you both propping up the bar and have a healthy (or heated) discussion. Putting the world to right, sharing experiences and appreciating the general chats of utter bollocks.

I was supposes to go on an adventure next weekend but the threat of C-19 virus has delayed my plans. My challenge was to walk around an island, scatter your ashes and take some time out from busy societal life. Instead I’m in lockdown, similar to my early months of grief, but at least this time it’s with more love then pain. I don’t know what you would have made of this country in its current state? You never got to see the shambles of Brexit, or who is in charge of country, or the virus that forcing us all to shut down. I do believe you would have packed lots of books, grabbed your camping gear and headed to the woods. You would have taken me with you, of course.

Anyhow, this is where I leave you for the time being. To mark our anniversary I can’t go out and climb a hill, or go to the pub where we met, so I’ll plants apple trees in my garden and scatter your ashes. I’ll try not to be too sad as our wedding day holds too many happy memories. I never want to be without them now. Instead, I’ll look back with a smile on my face, in the knowledge I did know and love you and we shared so many good times together.

• 

With love on this day,

Your Hermit

X x x

New Beginnings

I opened my eyes to the darkness of the room. I didn’t know what time it was or for how long I had slept. Turning my head, I saw lamplight sneaking in from under the door. I got up, feeling the cold floor under foot and opened the shutters on the windows. The indigo-blue sky had not found its sun yet, so I got back into bed and pulled the duvet up to my chin. I lay for a while whilst watching the sky turn from navy to cobalt, a mixture of pastel yellow, orange and red started to appear across the blue. The stars forever twinkling their dead light.

My dark room was in Morocco, a country of chaotic roads and busy souks, which clashed with the tranquil hotel oasis. This was my place of balance, as I needed calm to cope with the significant time of year, but I also didn’t want to be cut off from the real world. My ying & yang approach, because in order to find quiet there must have been noise. After a grief wave has struck it’s good to self-soothe, and it’s necessary to embrace joy when sadness has visited…

So to feel total loss I must have known true love.

The sun had now fully appeared but I remained in the comforting layers of my bed. I didn’t have to get up for anything or anyone. I tried not to think about what had already been, or what was yet to come. Besides the sunrise was beautiful and shouldn’t be ignore. Nature at its finest and so important to life, but it’s hard not to get caught up in a busy mind, just like the crowded roads of the souks. I was okay in my Moroccan cocoon except for one niggling thought. It was there in the back of my mind, wanting to be heard. It was a faint cry and it was wishing that someone else was also there, to watch this glorious day begin…

Simon loved the sun. He would bask in it and absorb its warmth. Many times he would go out to greet the sun, and later climb a hill to watch it set. He was my sun, a radiant energy that I never thought I’d be without, but as I look out to my present sunrise –as alive as it was –I knew he was no longer with me, and this new year it’s just mine, and mine alone.

I got up and took a shower, viewing the sun above the Atlas Mountains from the little window. Stepping out from my room’s isolation I felt good, as I was ready for some company. In particular five friends, whom I’d got to know in such a short space of time. They also know grief and loss, yet their energy for life is amazing. We bounced off each other, with laughter and tears, with the rawness of a past, the experiences of the present and the fears for our future.

These last two years I’ve managed everyday stress and experienced the unfairness of life, but through it all there was an energy that forced me to move forward. At times I’ve not liked it and have even fought against it, but nothing can stop it. Simon believed in it and he taught me to appreciate its impact on the earth. My belief in it has been covered in grief but I’m starting to connect to it once again. It’s the energy of life. It’s the magic we cannot see.

The magic creates all new beginnings. Morocco was inspiring and I feel blessed to have seen its magic, but my niggling grief whispered that I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t lost Simon. This fact is true but I’m tired of hearing this and fighting a past that can never be changed. Being constantly reminded that my future doesn’t have him in it is too painful. Besides Simon wouldn’t want me to think this, so instead of saying, ‘I’m in this world without him’, I’ve changed it to, ‘I’m living and he is smiling at this’. I accept there will always be an element of bittersweet, but I don’t want my new beginnings to be overshadowed by old endings…

I do wish he could see the woman I’ve become. I know I’m a better human for knowing him and a stronger one for surviving his death. I just wish he didn’t have to die for me to discover these inner qualities...

So new beginnings are ahead of me but I still wrestle with my grief. Whilst trying to decide whether to remove my wedding ring completely from my hand, I discovered it gone. I don’t know for how long, a few hours or even days. I searched but couldn’t find it, so accepted that it may never find it. During this time I started to dip into depressive grief but I really didn’t want this incident to undo what Morocco had given me. It’s just a ring, I know, but the significance goes way beyond that physical fact. Luckily it was found but this didn’t change my mind to put it away. A new beginning is to buy another ring, one which symbolises personal growth and strength for my future. I’m sure Simon would smile at this.

As I head into my future it is with an element of enthusiasm for what is to come. But with this I don’t deny or fight my grief, as it will always be a part of me. Sometimes my grief will be strong and other times it will be a whispering voice in the back of my head. Loving and losing Simon are one but I refuse to let his death dominate the love. It’s a balance, my ying & yang and I hope the progress I’ve made so far has given me enough resilience to have faith in my new beginnings.

 

 

Simon, I wish you were here,

to feel the sun’s rays on your skin.

To see it rise on New Years morning,

and to meet the lovely new people in my life.

It’s pure magical energy.

Love your hermit

x x x

Second Christmas

To my friends at Christmas

I’ve been struggling to write these past few weeks, even though I’ve so much I want to express. But it’s all mixed up in a well of varied emotions. I’m still here and I’m still doing this living thing, day after day. The truth is I’m out in a world that no longer has Simon and that is a hard to accept, especially at this time of year. I’ve said that before, I know, and I’ve expressed my grief and loss so many times. So when it comes to writing something new what really is there left to say?

Well, an awful lot and yet nothing at all. I feel I’ve two options, either progress or get left behind. I’m trying to get on with things and I know Simon would want this. I’m looking to a future that has a new home and career. I’ve activities planned and will spend time with family & friends. There’s a lot to be thankful for and I’m trying to not take life for granted. I have all this and yet there’s a giant ‘but’ coming and it has Simon’s name all over it. The ‘but’ is I have the good of life, the bad of death and the very ugly grief. I’ve optimism with a dollop of fear, joy with a backdrop of sadness, and purpose with a hint of apathy. I’m the hermit that is fighting the extrovert.

If I was to describe my state of mind then it’s a cold exhausted soldier, who’s already fought a long hard war but still has to continue fighting. I’m probably being too harsh and dramatic on myself but that’s how I feel. I’m tired and it’s bloody Christmas FFS. I can’t find the enthusiasm to be jolly on that one day that’s over in a glint of a bauble. When I think about Christmas my thoughts turn to him. He is not here and I miss him more then ever…

Is it possible to really feel the strength of his absent with nearly two years gone? The endless swiping hours have turned the days into years. Surely time has enabled me to adapt to life without him? Yes it has, and yet with another year comes an awakening of my actual reality. Death took Simon, it really did happen, but I’m so desperate to deny this.

There are many moments in my day when I forget him, or even force him out of my head. It’s no good interacting with people and having Simon on my mind. When a grief trigger happens I usually freeze and just ride it out, as I know it will pass. The more time goes by the better I am at faking it, even though the grief is always lurking in the background. I take it wherever I go and wear an internal scar of widowhood. I know I’ll always be Simon’s widow. I was one hundred and three weeks ago, I still am as I write this today, and no matter what happens in the future I always will be…

Even at fucking Christmas!

So I write to you as I approach two years to Simon’s death. I want to let you know that I’ll go a little quiet. I’ve done my best so far and this festive season was better, in some ways, to last year. I’ve managed to get through the shopping crowds and even have a mulled wine or two at the Christmas markets. I’ve be able to work and serve customers, all deciding on gifts for their loved ones. I’ve bought presents too but the whole panic buy stills eludes me. I’ve dedicated a tree to Simon, instead of sending cards. This isn’t laziness but my gift to him. I’ve even been caught singing a Christmas song, even if it was just a few lines…

So my family & friends, thank you for your support and friendship. It’s such a blessing to have you all in my life. Christmas should be about love and kindness, not stress and gluttony. Don’t loose sight of what’s important. Be happy, be jolly, be good, even be bad as there is no one judging you, not even Santa. Most importantly please love with every millimetre of your being, as there is no greater gift in life then this.

With love and best wishes this Bah Hum…Sorry, I mean this Christmas x x x

My Simon

Merry Christmas

Love your Hermit

x x x

 

Winter is Coming

Winter is coming…

In the chill of an early Autumn morning. Daylight makes a pastel pink appearance in the sky, but the cold keeps me under the covers. My cat, who’s wedged against my legs, is not in any hurry to stretch and make his demands for breakfast. I want a hot drink but that means moving from the warmth of my bed. The heating starts to make a clicking sound, a sign its also slow to wake up. I close my eyes for a second and I hear his voice…

‘Jeeves, make us a brew,‘

He doesn’t get an answer so Simon concludes that our imaginary butler is still away on R&R. I suddenly open my eyes and I’m back in the room. A snippet of my past forced its way in and made me remember…

Winter is on its way…

Which means a second Christmas without Simon. I can’t do anything to stop this except push the thought away. If I let the grief in then I’d question everything. For example, did last Christmas really happen without him? How can time move forward yet he is frozen in the past? Did I even celebrate a decade of Christmases with him? If this is my reality now then how in the hell am I supposes to response to another festive season?

Last year was fucking horrible, it really was, but to be fair it wasn’t even 12 months to his death. I’ve had another 10 months to recoup and adjust. I’ve had more time to process, reflect, analyse and, dare I say it, move on. I shudder with the latter as this widow doesn’t believe in the concept of moving on. It’s not because I’m stuck but experience has taught me that so called ‘moving on’ doesn’t cure grief. I can’t keep approaching this time of year with a bah humbug attitude, but the candy-cane jolliness isn’t there either. It’s only October, I know, but this is when the commercial bullshit starts.

There’s no stopping winter…

And with it more changes in my life. The next big one is to move house. I know this will be good as it will get me out of this transitional place and provide the breathing space to…well breathe. I’m also going to be working somewhere new and I know I’ll need to have an element of ho ho ho in my performance. Perhaps it will enable my internal bad-tempered elf to be positive again? Who knows, maybe I’ll once again sing carols around the piano whilst drinking eggnog, as the reflections from the roaring fire glitter off the baubles on the giant tree…Yeah, fucked that!

Winter will be in full force…

And a New Year will arrive. 2019 will mark two years to his death. This is so fucking unbelievable, as I live in a world where he no longer exists. I’ve got to function and allow myself to enjoy, whilst trying not feeling guilty that I’m the one alive. To cope with the new year I’ll be going away, to my place of solace. The biggest question is what the fuck do I do with the lead up to it? Last year I wore a soulless black heart and had to hide myself away, but I don’t want to do that this year. I want to be with friends, old and new, and feel connected once again. I want to smile, laugh, dance, and feel the many wonderful exciting emotions I’ve got trapped inside. I also have to accept my limitations and be at peace with my sadness. I want Christmas to be ok again because…

Then winter will be over…

And it will be spring, summer will follow and with autumn not far behind. Then it’s back full circle to winter again. Time passes and nothing can stop it, but do I really want to stand still anymore? If you had asked me only a year ago I would have said yes, as it’s with a heavy heart to know that each minute, hour, day, month and year I’m always moving away from the life I once had with Simon…

So ask me this question now?

Do I want to be stay stagnant in time?

No, I don’t.

I want to experience and feel each moment as though it’s my last. I want to see the crisp snow fall as I walk in a Christmas card wonderland. I want to be with friends, drink mulled wine and laugh at the mad things they say. I want to experience new activities and embrace my passions. I want to do it all, for Simon and for myself. I know I won’t always hold this attitude, for every moment of every day. Sometimes I will just exist whilst feeling the burden of loss, but my tiny Christmas sparkle is now slightly shining. I want to be able to say Merry Christmas this year and all the years I’m fortunate to have.

Christmas is coming…

And I do want to be ho ho happy, but I know it comes with a touch of scrooge.

Simon,

Bah Humbug!

To death, to fate,

And a little to Christmas too.

Love your Hermit

with only one jingle bell

x x x

 

 

 

Breathe Out, Breathe In

And I wonder
When I sing along with you
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again
The only thing I’ll ever ask of you
You’ve got to promise not to stop when I say when

Dave Grohl

Dear Simon,

‘Breathe out, so I can breathe you in…’

This is what I want to do, especially at this significant time of year. Six years ago we officially became husband and wife. The following year we moved and created a new home. Four years ago we built a canoe and glided on a lake. Three years back we walked a long way, just for fun. Just two years gone was our last anniversary together. We never knew. Last year I spent it alone, in a hotel, trying to make sense of what had happened. This year’s anniversary I stayed at home, as I wanted to be close to you.

You see, I’m moving…

I know it’s just bricks and mortar, a structural place with rooms, windows and doors. I’ll take my stuff and your items – which mean so much to me now – and live somewhere else. Once empty, the house will become a shell, waiting for the next people to move in. But this house is the last you place you lived and breathed in. It’s where we laughed and cried, spent time together and lived as one heart.

Our wedding anniversary and your birthday have once again passed without you. The days before I felt a heighten awareness that you’re no longer here to celebrate. This was so different from last year, when my body protected me from the raw reality of loss. I was okay on the actual days, and I felt they had lost their significance to us. I don’t like to think about this, as it feels another piece of you has truly gone. Perhaps I slipped back into my surreal world, to protect myself from the pain? Or maybe I’m better at living with both joy and sadness in my life?

I talked to you recently about my anxiety of moving. I could hear your response in my head as clear as you physically saying it. You would want whatever’s best for me, and what makes me happy. Moving is the best self-care I can do, and it’s exciting. But it’s also extremely sad, frightening and stress provoking. How do I move away, knowing I need too, and yet I feel an emotional force that roots me to my current ground?

How do I breathe in unknown air, knowing your presence will never be there?

‘Just breathe,’ I hear you say. ‘As I’m always with you’.

And you are, my love. You are in the energy all around me, that follows wherever I go. You are in the words in your journals, and the books that you once read. You are in the sun, as it comes up and sets, and in the life of the plants. You are one with the air, as it moves through the trees, and as I breathe it into my body.

Wherever I am in this world,

You are with me, always,

As your love continues on within me.

Happy Anniversary and Happy Birthday!

My Simon.

Love always your hermit

x x x

 

 

 

The Day We Met

Dear Simon,

The sun is shining today and it’s also a Friday, it’s the date and day when my life changed forever. It’s a lifetime ago, as I was a different person back then. I was a little lost, damaged by life, and I didn’t know my place in the world. Then you came along, a little lost and damaged too. I thought I wasn’t ready for a relationship but it turned out that I was ready for you. Ready for you to come along, just when you did, to be with me and to show what unconditional love is all about. You were patient and said you would wait but that’s the funny thing, once the pressure was off then full commitment was easy.

It was easy to say ‘Yes I’ll marry you,’ only two months after meeting. It was easy to make a promise to stay together for a year and a day, to see if we were meant to be. It was easy to move in together, to get engaged, to marry, to live anywhere in this world, under hardship and any circumstance we found ourselves in. It was easy…

As it was easy to be in love with you.

You – an intelligent and interesting character – made it easy to love and be loved. There was no confusion in our relationship, despite my own puzzlement in my personal pathway. The one thing definite in my life was you, no doubt in my head how you felt about me, and how truly committed you were. Our marriage vows were easy, our wants and needs were basic and undemanding.

Why couldn’t the rest of life be like that, and why did death have to intervene?

When I think that you actually did die, I have a moment of complete melt down. It’s too much to bare and so I dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. You would think I’ve had a year to get use to it, to accept that you’re no longer here, but in truth I don’t. I’m barely holding on to our past together and the reality that you did once exist, so how can I cope with the truth of what happened to you?

Timing was everything with us. You arrived back to our home town just as I became available. If we had met earlier then neither of us may have been in a position to come together. That thought is unthinkable. Perhaps that’s all we were ever going to get, a set amount of time, to share quality love before death us do part?

So, my dear, eleven years ago we met but ten of those were as one. I don’t regret a single day of our life together, even the ones when we didn’t see eye to eye. For me, you were real, with your passion for life, as you made it worth living. I never wanted to change you, to mould you into something that would have extinguish the fire that you had. I just wanted you to be true to yourself and to know that you are loved so very very much…

And you are, my love, you still are…

 

 

Simon, I’ve loved you since we first met.

Love on this day and always,

Your Hermit

x x x

 

Vulnerability

The word ‘vulnerable’ was recently used to describe me by my grief counsellor. She used it in order to warn me that, in my current grief state, some people may take advantage of me. She wasn’t being critical but it did make me feel that I wasn’t capable of trusting my decisions. In truth it enhanced my self-doubt.

The dictionary definition of vulnerability is: exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally

The definition sounds quite harsh and when you think of ‘vulnerable people’ it’s usually related to age (very young & old), disability, or being in a position were the risk of harm is very high. When I’m seen as a vulnerable widow, a woman now coping without a partner, I fear and don’t trust anyone. It switches on my defence mode so no one can hurt me or take advantage.

What an awful, shitty way to be in the world.

The counsellor didn’t create the vulnerability in me, she ignited it and brought it to the surface. The vulnerability was already there, widowhood has just intensified it. Before Simon’s death, I was in many vulnerable positions. From working alone to walking into a strange bar. Girls & women are told to cover up on a night out so they don’t make themselves vulnerable to sexual advances. Now, I’ve never been a short skirt and high heels kind of girl but I’ve been in situations where I felt to blame for other people’s comments and actions. It’s like, well what do you expect if you act and look like that? What that does to your self-esteem & confidence is devastating.

Now, I feel like I have to cover up, metaphorically speaking, as I don’t want to expose myself to other people’s advancing actions.

Vulnerability doesn’t have to be this way. Being a single female in a man’s world (sorry but it is) doesn’t mean I have to compromise who I am and how I act. This strange life, without Simon, is very new and daunting. I recently went to a hotel, alone, and stay for a few days. I doubted every moment I was there. I can’t even tell you the amount of times I replied with,

No, not two people, just one.

I felt vulnerable as I sat alone with strangers looking at me. I felt vulnerable with the length of time it took for the waitress to take my dessert order. I watched the restaurant manager go to every table, and I mean every table, except for mine. I did get a glance from him as he disappeared into the kitchen. Sometimes I felt the need to justify why I was there, alone. In my head I imagined shouting in the lobby,

I’m a widow! It’s not my fault I’m here alone.

Then I pictured everyone nodding, saying to each other,

Ah! She’s a widow, that explains it.

But the longer I was there, the less intimidated I felt and the less I cared. These people didn’t matter to me. Besides, this could have been my perception and, in reality, they really didn’t give a shit whether I was there or not. On my wedding anniversary I had a relationship with my food, making pleasure sounds and smelling my wine, much to the disapproval of the older couple next to me.

Well, if I had to put up with their bland conversation of, ‘what shade of beige the walls of the room were’, then they can listen to me making sex noises to my duck cuisine. Brings a whole new meaning to the term Fuck a Duck (Simon would understand what I mean by this).

So feeling vulnerable about activities but doing them anyway, despite the niggling doubts, is very empowering. I went to the hotel & spa to chill out but I didn’t fully relax, as my vulnerability prevented me from doing this.  It did, however, educate me in my new life as a single woman. Having my first wedding anniversary, without Simon, was very hard. I could have hidden away, at home or even in the hotel room, but where would that have got me? I would have still been vulnerable but instead of it bringing out my strength, it would have shown my weakness.

As for people taking advantage of me, making mistakes is all part of life’s learning. If they did it once I guarantee they wouldn’t do it a second time. Besides, I think I’m pretty street wise to know when someone is trying to get one over on me. There is nothing wrong with being vulnerable and I’m not ashamed to be a widow. I didn’t choose to be in this position, life did that. It’s time to embrace my vulnerability and show that I am female, I am a widow and I have the strength to stand on my own two feet and take charge of my independent life.

view from my hotel room

Simon, you always knew what I was capable of. Thank you for believing in me.

Love Your Vulnerable Hermit

x x x

Dates

As I draw back the curtains of my hotel room window I find myself saying, ‘Hello world’. I smile at the comment as it transports me back to the 15th April 2012. It was a Sunday morning, Simon’s 40th Birthday, it was York and we were on our honeymoon. That morning Simon draw back the curtains and said, Hello York, as he stood there buck-naked with his hands on his hips.

‘It’s a good job the pub across the river isn’t open,’ I laughed to him.

Three days before ‘naked Simon in York,’ we got married. It was everything I wanted my wedding to be, family & friends coming together to a place that was informal and personal. I’ll never forget how our friends made it so special and celebrated with us. I never forget the only reason Simon wore a tie, so he could put it round his head the first chance he got. I’ll never forget our wedding dance together and then cutting into ‘The Bird is the Word,’ dance, with everyone joining in. Everything about that day was truly special.

February 2007, the day I met Simon but I’ve already blogged about that.

Simon proposed to me in April 2007, again in York. He got down on one knee, in a deserted market and I found myself saying yes, without hesitation. It was another 5 years before we actually did the deed.

18th August 2007, we were at Beautiful days festival with friends. We made a pledge to stay together for a year and a day, to see if we were meant to be. A year and a day later we knew it was our destiny to be together. Every year on the 19th August we talked, with honesty, about our wants and dreams. Practically, our discussion ensured we were on the same pathway in life.

The 30th April 2008, sent us on a 6 month trip to France. It was an adventure and a truly magical time of my life. We lived off cheese and ham baguettes, pain au chocolates and wine. We danced in thunderstorms and saw some spectacular sunsets.

We lived together in a total of 4 different places. Horwich cottage was in the summer of 2009. It was a quirky 2 room house but we loved it. It had an open fire, a twisting staircase, connecting the 2 rooms and stained glass windows. When I sat on the toliet I could look through the wooden floor boards and see Simon downstairs.

Then in August 2012 we moved to the Pendle area as Simon got a new job. Our first place was the worst house I’ve ever lived in. The carpet smelt of wet dog and no amount of shake n vac would get rid of it. We made up for the bad parts by watching M*A*S*H whilst wearing Hawaiian shirts, straw hats and drinking vodka martinis. I got to see Edinburgh for the first time in Christmas 2012, because we didn’t want to celebrate it in the house. Edinburgh was one of the many places Simon lived and he loved it very much. I’m forever grateful I got to see how excited he was to be my tour guide.

In April 2013 we moved to fairy troll beck. We truly loved it and made a home for two cats. When I think of the memories we created there I get very emotional. I’m still there, without Simon and sometimes it’s hard and other times it gives me comfort. There are times when I want to lock myself away and be a hermit. Then there are other times, like today, when I can’t be there.

Christmas 2016. Who would have known it would be my last one with Simon. We didn’t do anything extraordinary, just stayed at home with cats. It was special and Simon’s disguise of ‘Bah Humbug!’ was again blown away by his early wake up, school boy, christmas excitement to open presents. I have flashbacks of his cheeky grin and smiling eyes and his ram impression whilst he head nudges me out of bed. He was an aries.

Ten years of dates and memories, that’s all I have. There were times when it wasn’t all good and we did let the monotonous of life get in the way. This, I realise now, is normal. It’s so easy not to make the effort and to take things for granted. If I had my time back I wouldn’t change what we did or the decisions we made. I would, however, inhale on his enthusiasm for life, see the world more through his eyes, hear his words of intellect, listen to his breaths and make his touch last a lifetime.

Simon, Happy Anniversary

I love you

Your Hermit.

x x x

Dear Simon

Dear Simon,

I’m writing to you as it feels like you have gone away on a trip, without me, which in itself is very unusual. I feel it’s far away, somewhere that doesn’t have modern-day technology, so I can’t text, call or message you. I need to contact you as you were a very big presence in my life, for ten years and then you suddenly disappeared. How can that be? One minute you were here and the next gone. It’s only been 14 weeks & 4 days and I’m slowly getting use to being on my own, which upsets me. I was so use to telling you about my day, sharing my fears, worries, ideas and excitement. Now I don’t have that anymore.

So my darling Simon, I get up and try to stick to a routine. The house is getting very tidy as I sort through things, mainly your stuff. The cats are missing you, I really believe this. Loki is near enough wild now. He goes off for days and hardly comes back. When he does he just sleeps or growls under the bed. You did say he’s your cat (the wandering not the growling) but it’s as though he doesn’t belong at home anymore. Solo demands so much attention that, without you, Loki has no one. I now feel like I’ve lost him as well. I just wish we were a family of four again.

Our wedding anniversary is coming up and I feel like I’m forgetting something important. For a brief moment I think it’s a gift and then realises it’s you. I can’t get my head around not having you here to celebrate it with. It was the best day of our life, you said that and I agree.

Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved…

A quote that is true but doesn’t stop the pain of losing you. I’m truly sorry we can’t be together for it and for all the days afterwards. I can’t believe I have to spend the rest of my life without you but at least you got to spend the end of your life with me. I’m thankful we found each other in time.

This week is also your Birthday, how am I going to get through your special day. I know you didn’t like the thought of getting older but to die at 44 is an excessive length to go to, to stop the ageing process. You always took the time to celebrate Birthdays and now they feel meaningless.

I know this letter won’t get to you but I’m writing it because I miss our contact. If you really still alive, but far away, then I would wait months, even years for you to return. There’s so much I want to tell and share with you. How can I ever watch Firefly, the Princess Bride, Better off Dead, Ferris Bueller’s Day off, M*A*S*H, and even Star Wars without you? I want you to watch Rogue One, the last film you saw at the cinema, one more time and say it’s not as bad as you thought. I’ll even watch Paint Your Wagon and any war or western film you want. Even the terrible John Wayne ones, just come home.

So, I’m coming to the end of my letter. I promise I’ll do one thing to make me smile on our anniversary and one thing to celebrate your Birthday. I can’t wallow but you can’t ask me not to be heartbroken. I’m not capable of pretending to be something I’m not. In the years to come I’ll try harder to be positive but this year, our first year apart, let me be a little sad.

I miss you today and the last 101 days.

Love always

Your Hermit

x x x