Moving Forward, Looking Back

Christmas Eve 2022

Today there is a silence I’ve been craving in a while. It’s morning and the trees outside are still, allowing the sun’s rays to beam through without interruption. There’s a pair of squirrels happily playing in the garden, their graceful movements barely touching the ground. My cat is purring on my lap and in this peaceful moment we are content. I hear the odd car outside on a nearby road – usually a constant stream of traffic – but it’s too early in the day for the last-minute Christmas shoppers.

I hear my breath and it’s steady, so I let the calm wash over me.

I’ve developed a weariness of late and it seems to be draining my energy. My tiredness isn’t solely down to the approach of Christmas, or the significant date of Simon’s death, but my body telling me to slow down. Last weekend I found myself in an A&E waiting area full of injured people. Many had slipped on icy conditions, and with a glazed expression I looked around at people with bandaged heads, arms in slings and being wheeled in with raised legs. I, on the other hand felt an imposter, as I had no physical signs to show why I was there.

The human body is amazing and I’m in constant awe of its ability to instinctively prioritise survival above anything else. Of course it does as without this basic mechanism we wouldn’t function properly. Despite not needing our flight, fight or freeze mode to survive something big, like a tiger attack, our bodies still protect us from any threats by giving us the essential components to stay alive.

In today’s society we can’t afford to give our bodies the same time and attention we do to our busy lives. Our worries keep our hormonal and nervous systems working harder and longer. We take these systems for granted because our body does it for us automatically, and we don’t recognise when we need to replenish our reserves before it gets to critical low levels.

My body’s normal process of delivering oxygen to my brain was temporary disrupted one night. A Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA), or a mini stroke happened to me. At the time I wasn’t sure what was going on – a panic attack maybe – so I ignored the need for urgent medical attention. After a hour of struggling to stand up, walk and at one point swallow, I went back to sleep, waking later that morning and going to work. It’s easy to say what I should have done, but at the time it was hard to comprehend the severity of my situation. Hindsight doesn’t help, in fact it makes me feel stupid, careless and then guilty for worrying my loved ones. Looking back at the ‘what if’s’ also took me to a dark place in my head where I wished Simon had been given a warning sign instead.

January 2023

Moving forward,

And into another new year without Simon. Some years I accept the sad emotions that goes with his absence, and other years I simply block them out. The emotions I felt at the start of 2023 was with a heightened awareness of what happened to him on the night he left, and as a consequence my grief shifted back to when it was in its infancy. The thought of, ‘he really isn’t walking the earth anymore’ played with my reality and I struggled to make sense of why he didn’t survive. Why didn’t Simon have a warning instead of death? I found myself looking to the past whilst struggling with not knowing what was going on with my body. At this time the TIA was still undetermined and I had to battle with doctors to stay on HRT medication because the benefits outweigh the risk. January turned into a very bleak month and this was nothing to do with the cold dark winters nights.

February 2023

Moving forward,

And before I had the chance to blink February was on the doorstep. Despite being relieved January was well and truly behind me, the bombardment of challenges continued. For myself, the cardiac investigations were ongoing and I made some lifestyle changes in order to better myself. This wasn’t without failing, as I tried to dominate everything around me but also desperately wanted to loose control. My dad had major surgery to remove a large tumour from his chest cavity. A sarcoma mass of abnormal cells and tissue that was 15cm long and 10cm thick. He dealt with it in the only way he could and named it Fred. During this time I helped to look after my mother as my dad is her full time carer. She’s now a different person to the mum I’ve known for most of my life. Alzheimer’s has robbed her mainly of her adult identity and she has difficulty communicating and coordinating daily activities. I can honestly say dementia is a cruel disease but I try not to dwell on what she has lost –what we have as a family – instead I’m getting to know who my mum is now. She needs verbal prompts to wash and dress herself and doesn’t alway know how to make a cup of tea. Yet she can sing the words from an obscure ballad recorded fifty years ago and likes lots of hugs. Both my parents have shown me how fragile and precious life really is.

March 2023

Moving forward,

My dad turned a corner in his recovery and my mum started to go to day care. For myself, a bubble echocardiogram revealed I’ve got a hole in my heart. Who knew at the tender age of 49 I would have this surprise congenital diagnosis. I require a further test and then possible surgery to fix it.

Looking back, and I had moment the other day when I cried…no I sobbed at the thought of Simon dying. I was so angry he never got the chance to be fixed. I don’t know why it got to me so much and I wanted to blame someone, something, but I believe there is no higher being governing what happens to us. Who goes and who stays is up our individual genes and our societal choices. Fear of what happened to me in December started to take over as I was still getting regular chest pain and palpitations. In the end I turned inwards to self care as growing apprehension for any future stresses became too much. Luckily the end of the month brought some much needed rest.

April 2023

Moving forward,

And the sun is beaming strongly through the window, despite it being early in the day. It’s creating a golden-shape square on the blue rug and it’s just enough space for one medium-sized cat to stretch out on. The signs of spring have been appearing gradually over the last few weeks, first with a few flower & leaf buds and now there’s small burst of colour everywhere I look. I love this time of year, as it marks the end of winter and a sense of coming out of hibernation. Life feels as young as an eager lamb, bouncing through the field of fresh tender grass.

Looking back and with this month I should be celebrating our wedding anniversary and Simon’s Birthday. It also holds my boyfriend Ric’s Birthday and my sister’s. Past and present all mixed together, bringing joy and sadness. I want to have balance with the memory of Simon without it taking precedence over the living, so I went away for the weekend with Ric. We camped near, but not too near, the place I once lived with Simon, and I felt nostalgia without being overwhelmed with grief. We walked in the hills and I scattered some of his ashes. I had lovely evenings in a local pub with Ric and broke my alcohol sobriety by toasting Simon’s Birthday with a single malt whisky.

I gave up alcohol for lent, not for religious reason, but it was the time was right for me to make this change. Easter came and went, and I realised I didn’t want to go back to my old relationship with alcohol. Simon drank because he was shy and like everyone had his own troubles. Coming from a generation of bing drinking, I never thought I could do anything different other than regular consumption for socialising and stress- coping purposes. The warning sign made me to step back and rethink what the fuck I’m doing in my life.

May 2023

Moving Forward, Looking Back,

My world was ripped apart six years ago, and it once felt no matter how hard I tried to sew the severed pieces back together, it only created further tears. I’ve been struggling with grief for a long time due to Simon’s death. I’ve been struggling with loss on a much bigger scale to what death has given me. I’ve had too many changes arriving so fast I feel I’m stumbling along. I’ve not always coped in the best way and fallen flat on my face many times, but I’ve got up and figured it out. The grief pendulum will always swing back to Simon but I now realise whilst sewing my quilt, the holes that remain show I’m not an expert in managing life. I’ve gained a deeper understanding of how the human mind works and how we’re naturally default to think, feel and react negatively, as this helps us to survive. We just have to take rests when we can in the gaps between the clouds of negative thoughts.

Simon will always be a part of me, and I miss him walking the hills and drinking a single malt whisky. Bad things are going to present, especially the older I get, but moving forward is the only path I can take. I’m not talking about ‘moving on’ in the sense of getting over Simon, as this fuels the need for closure. I’ll say this again, grief cannot be put in a box marked ‘complete’ and left behind on a shelf. It’s a work around, something that will always be here, and to ignore grief is to disregard the person who once meant a lot, and still does. Moving forward is evolving to the changes that happen in life, and adapting behaviour and reactions so it’s a little less challenging and painful.

Simon’s hermit has been essential tool in healing and has given me a place to express my grief. I’ve published over one hundred blog entries and written over thirty drafts. The reason I didn’t share these drafts is due to the fact there are only so many ways I can express grief before it gets repetitive. It’s true that grief is a chaotic tangle mess of emotions and affects everyone differently, but I can only give my interpretation, and hope it helps someone, in some way.

Sometimes the balance of attention I give to others sways in their favour, but as long as this is only in the short term then equilibrium can be restored. Moving forward means focusing on myself and recognising that self care has to be holistic. I love Simon, this fact will never change, and I’m more of an affectionate person because I knew & loved him. I’m also a stronger person because I lost him. It’s true that this wonderful, creative, passionate woman is self evolving with the knowledge that I’m the lead writer of my life, but without the people who have influenced, supported, love/loved and created so many happy times, I wouldn’t be the person I am today,

So to you all for the love, time and attention you’ve given me,

I thank you for being in my life x x

I will alway be with you, my Hermit,

and you will always want me,

but you have to let go of the need for me.

Love Your Simon

x x x

Individual You

Dear Simon,

It’s getting to the time of year when my thoughts turn to you. In fairness you’re never far from my mind when it’s a frosty winter’s morning and I’m all wrapped up in a scarf, hat and gloves. Your presence is with me when the first buds appear on the trees and birdsong is spring excitement. I’m reminded of you when the red summer sun is slowly setting in the blue sky, another long day done. But it is Autumn which hits me the most, with its crisp mornings, the nights drawing in and a feeling of wanting to hibernate.

As spiders spin their webs that sparkle in the morning dew, and the squirrels frantically bury as many acorns as they can, unaware they won’t find them all, I find myself smiling at autumn’s beauty once again. I’m here to experience the trees changing from green to red brown, and I try not to feel the sadness which comes with knowing you’re no longer here to see it. I really appreciate, after grieving for 5.5 years, that life is valuable and precious, but it’s also cruel when it decides to stops. I’m not sure if I’ve made complete peace with death as it took you away from me too early. I’ve accepted it only in the terms of the grieving process, but it is and always will be unfair.

I had a flash of a memory of you the other day and it literally stopped me dead in my tracks. In the memory you were expressing your love for me in the silly way you did, which included you moving around the room with your arms out stretched. Remembering it took my breath away and in that moment my body ached for you. Not in the same touch deprived intensity when I first lost you, but missing individual you, your touch and your laughter. It was missing how special you made me feel with just your eyes. It was us both wrapping up in warm clothing and heading into the autumn trees, sharing this season with all its browns and golds. It was, for a brief moment, feeling you in the room but within seconds you were gone again. The warm and loving memory is replaced with a dull emptiness when reality strikes.

I pause…

As suddenly guilt comes after expressing loss. I’m putting all this on you and it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t cause me miss you and you didn’t choose I go into this autumn without you. As quick as I pour out my grief I want to cover it up with words of joy.

So I will.

I am happy and grateful. I’m experience life and it’s so much fun. I’m meeting new people and spending time with those who really matter. Solo, our naughty little cat, is still loud and constantly demanding attention. I’m safe, secure and have shelter. I’ve even danced all night, playing air guitar to Bon Jovi and drank gin until the early hours. More importantly I am loved and I love too. Autumn will be here in a few days and already it’s cooler in the morning. Soon I’ll get my winter hats and gloves out and the fairy lights will be switched on earlier. Your cider apples trees are doing well. Not sure if I’m ready for the summer to end but I can’t stop it moving on. It is with smiles for life and sadness to do it without you, wonderful individual you.

Simon

I’ll make cider and call it Si D’oh

Love your autumn hermit

X X X

Soft Inside

I hold my breath and whisper, ‘go lightly’. That’s all I need to do now, as the significant sad dates have passed again. I let the lightness take hold, enabling me to break free of the chains of loss. My soul skipped in time with my steps and I felt as bright as the blue sky. I value these moments, as they’re so precious and don’t last. This particular day I was content and a truce was declared with grief. But the next day the thick clouds creeped in, and the wind became so strong it knocked me off my feet. The lightness became weighed as I heard the screams and the desperate anxiety. My body went straight to crisis mode, with no time to think or feel.

All is stone.

It took all my strength to keep upright but I didn’t flinch or crumble. I didn’t want the dark to see what I was hiding, to feel the knot in my winter soul. I push against it, protecting myself from the pain that was about to come.

Once dealt with I retreated and tried to calm my flight or fight mode. I was too far gone to achieve an instant response as my head had returned to the traumatic time when Simon fell ill. The following day I try to take my protective armour off but it remained welded tight. It wasn’t until a few days later that it hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t stop crying and I didn’t want to go out in a world that delivers pain.

All is soft inside.

Despite feeling like I couldn’t cope I’m a different person compared to three years ago. The softness inside won’t let me go back to a place of stone. Losing Simon and surviving it has taught me that self care is not just about physical wellness, but mental and emotional too.

I stood up and with each self care action I shed a piece of my invisible forcefield. I had breakfast and took a shower. I got dressed and tidied up. Not only did I acknowledge the state of my emotions but I accepted them too. I gained clarity and wasn’t harsh with myself that I didn’t bounce back straight away. I was then able to go out into the big bad world.

A week later I’m back to my normal self, even though it still hurts. I know there will be other times when the world dishes out stress, but life also provides times of lightness too. I am resilient, I’ve learnt to be and have the ability to get myself back on track. Once I’ve done this I can truly enbrace those moments of happiness.

I am stone but I am also soft inside

Simon,

You knew I would cope,

but it’s not enough anymore to just survive.

I need to also feel alive.

Love your soft hermit

x x x

Green Heart

My heart is big,

it knows no bounds.

It has grown from the nurture of my family,

and the love of friends.

As an adult it’s known unconditional love,

and because of this

it grew strong.

 

It also knows loss,

and carries the ache wherever it goes.

During my darkest hours

my heart stopped and turned cold.

Grief was so powerful that

 I never thought it would survived

the onslaught,

the trauma

and overwhelming pain…

 

But my heart did.

 

What was hollow inside began to fill,

as the blood of life

flowed through its chambers.

 

Grief is still present and it still hurts,

but my heart doesn’t fear it no more.

As love has warmed its soul.

 

The energetic vibration that is heard deep within

is the only sound a green heart makes,

when it decides to take a chance

to beat again.

 

Three years ago I stood in front of Simon’s family & friends, and spoke words of love for him at his funeral. It was a Thursday and the weather was cold but dry. I remember the music I’d chosen, the echoing piano of Debussy and a friend playing a Beatles song beautifully on his guitar. Two photos of Simon were next to his coffin and I clutched his rugby shirt, whilst listening to the celebrant read a passage from his favourite book.

After the service each person came to me in turn, to pay their condolences. It was very humbling to see so much love for Simon and myself. It was also overwhelming, so I began to shut down. My heart couldn’t take anymore, but in those early days I had denial. It was like a drug, a wonderful numbing narcotic but denial didn’t last forever. It started to wean itself roughly around seven months and at two years it no longer protected me. I became aware of what had happened to Simon and our life together. My heart had still not recovered.

I kissed someone new but my heart didn’t want to know. I began like someone other than Simon, wanting to be in their arms. My heart remained still.

‘Come on heart,’ I gasped. ‘Please don’t let this be it?’ But it wasn’t listening.

I thought about how it had once danced in rhythm with love. It was green, the colour of Chaka love, yet now wasn’t responding and remained black. It took some time, with the guidance of another but I realised it wasn’t my heart stopping me, I was protecting it. I was afraid of losing love again and the pain that followed. I thought back to the love Simon had given me, and I to him. To not feel this again is equally tragic, so I took a risk. At first I was blissfully unaware of my feelings, and this allowed love to sneak up and jumped into my heart.

I felt panic and excitement rolled into one. Shit! I thought. What do I do now? Do I ignore it or take a chance? The latter won. It’s been wonderful so far but not always easy. How can I still love Simon and be with another? How can another love me when I can be so consumed with grief.

What I’ve discovered is it’s not a competition and I don’t have to choose. Love and loss are not separate, they never have been. Love doesn’t erase grief either, I truly wish it did, so instead both have got to live together. Love has given me to strength to not be afraid of grief anymore.

My heart is beating again, and has enough love to shine the brightest green.

Simon,

I’ve talked to you about my new love.

I see you smiling and nodding your head.

There will always be a place in my heart for you.

Love your green hermit

ps, I can hear you calling me a ‘goddam hippy’ 😉

x x x

 

 

 

 

 

Cosy at Christmas

My eyes are open but I don’t see the twinkling lights of Christmas. There’s a faint sound of bells far away in the midnight sky, but it’s difficult to hear them clearly. I do want to be a part of it again but there’s still too much pain. December is dark and cold when it use to be warm. My flat feels bare. I’ve stripped the many layers of wallpaper and took it back to its shell. I’ve step back and had a moment to think…

Will it ever feel like home and will I ever be cosy at Christmas again?

Perhaps I’m stuck, unable to ‘move on’ from the grief and loss? I apologise for using that term as I know you don’t truly get over it. It’s just as we plough towards Christmas I feel time is rewinding back to three years ago. I’m better at coping with it now but the festive season makes it feel as though no time has passed. I remember our last Christmas morning and Simon being so excited. He didn’t ask for much, just to laugh and share each others company. That’s all I want, so I’ve been surrounding myself with friends to try to fill the hole that death caused. Plus I’m angry as it’s so unfair to his life, my life and our life together. Simon didn’t need to go so soon.

I’ve also been particularly hard on myself since December arrived. It’s three Christmases ago so why hasn’t time healed me? Time has also brought the realisation that this is permanent, he isn’t coming back. Yet my new version of life isn’t all sad, in fact I’m quite happy. I spend a great deal of time with friends and I now look at the world with awe and appreciation. But with all I’m experiencing I want to tell Simon about it, and that’s when a wave of grief washes over me.

This December so far I’ve laughed and I’ve also cried. I’ve drank, eaten good food but I’ve also felt a knot in my stomach that has caused me to loose my appetite. I’ve danced around, sang on top note and hidden under the duvet. During all this it’s at the back of my mind that I still have to get through Christmas Day , the anniversary of Simon’s death and into another New Year without him.

It’s not just me. I know many people who are grieving and finding Christmas very difficult. I want to wrap my arms around them and tell them they’re not alone. I want to take their pain away so they can enjoy Christmas once more. I want to tell them it does get better to cope with. I want to reassure them that it’s ok to cry instead of pretending to be jolly. But it’s also ok to be jolly. Wonderful guilt free joy and laughter.

So if you’re hurting this Christmas please don’t suffer alone, as you’re not. It’s also ok for Christmas not to be the most wonderful time of year for you. Feel and do whatever it takes to get through.

You never know, maybe one day you’ll find yourself not turning the radio off because yet another Christmas song is playing. Maybe one Christmas you’ll see the beauty in the twinkling lights and hear the distance sleigh bells echoing across the winter sky. Until then give yourself lots of kindest this Christmas.

Much love to you all x

Simon,

Bah Humbug!

Love Hermit

x x x

Open Up to Grief

I’m naked and cold.

The dark night is all around me, no stars to be seen.

I’m stood in the sea watching the luminous white waves crash into one another.

The water hits my body and I feel its turmoil.

I’m one with the sea and in conflict with it.

I feel its emotions and know it’s him.

 

His anger is great,

a torment with no control, no choice and no hope.

Unable to move I’m completely lost in the intensity of it.

There is no other light except for the glow of water,

on my skin, a salt taste on my lips.

 

I’m flooded

so I let him take me

 

I wrote this in July 2017, just seven months after Simon’s death. Back then my grief was very intense but I was also cocooned in denial. My whole life suddenly stopped. This was extremely distressing as I felt stuck, unable to find a path or purpose and all the while the world dashed onwards. For the first year I was soulless, not caring what happened to me one moment, only to feel rage the next. I had permanent brain fog, no concentration and little ability to help others. My anger was so immense I once described it as a thousand wailing banshees in the fire pits of hell. The five stages of grief were not in any order but a tangled mess with no end. Everything I did was an effort and I use to put pressure on myself to achieve more. The only strength I had was to get up and face the day.

The first year’s deathiversary was an emotional mess. Flashbacks of the night I lost Simon and the days that followed were dominating my headspace. I couldn’t get the image of him laying in the hospital bed on New Year Eve, knowing I’ll never talk to him again. No emotion acceptance was present as how could this beautiful life cease to exist? I couldn’t remember the life we had shared before death. How could I forget 10 years? Why couldn’t I see his face or hear his voice in my mind? A year to ‘progress’ and ‘get over it’ and yet I felt unable to move on and so very devastated with the loss.

Six months later, during the hot summer of 2018, I moved out of the last place we had together. I went back to my home town, one where I had family & friends to connect with. I’d been self caring for a few months and it helped me enormously. Eating healthily, no alcohol in the house, pilates, writing about my grief and going to bed early all nourished my body and mind. But moving in with my parents proved difficult to continually do this. I can now write about how tough this was, as my mum has recently been diagnosed with dementia. As a consequence I shelved my grief as I couldn’t cope with the emotional pain of both. I had no space to feel the loss of Simon and no control over the progressive disease my mum was unknowingly suffering from.

The two year anniversary of his death came and went. Denial had mainly worn off and acceptance was trying to creep in. I write the latter with hesitation, as part of me still doesn’t totally believe Simon isn’t walking this earth. I felt purpose once again and, dare I say it, hope for a future. My anger had nearly gone and I was enjoying life once more. But emotionally I wasn’t feeling anything. When stress did call I automatically went into robotic mode, to protect myself from pain.

Two and half years later I was use to living with my grief but emotionally unavailable. At the time I wasn’t sure of the biggest culprit of my shutdown, ignoring Simon or my living circumstances, probably both. I was resilient and in control, but also hardened to anything that life threw at me…

But to feel and connect, to laugh and cry, to talk and listen and to hold and belong is everything in life. I was just surviving but I needed to thrive.

As I write this I know Christmas and the third anniversary of losing Simon is approaching. I’ve moved into my flat and I have feelings for someone else. The combination of having my own space and an emotional release has resulted in feeling grief once more. I can no longer ignore Simon and the many boxes I still have to unpack. The hermit in me is demanding I run and hide. My socialite side wants me to live. Part of me wishes I could go back to numbness but my hard shell is cracked. I can’t stop my emotions from seeping out as I…

love a living being but I also love a ghost.

It’s grief awareness week and I’ve always tried to be open about my grief, even when it’s painful. Most of us have lost someone close to us and we don’t always talk about it. Grief can be confusing and we believe that it should be dealt with in order to have closure. Unfortunately it’s not a straightforward line with an end to it. It’s an emotional rollacoaster with no timeline. What I am able to do, three years on, is cope better with it for longer periods of time. It doesn’t go away, I’ve just learn to live around it. My heart has a piece missing that is forever lost, but it’s still beating. Even when I falter, I’m still able to love again.

#OpenUptoGrief

Simon,

You would be so upset to know the pain death has caused.

It wasn’t your fault. You had no choice.

I’m happy again but I also feel sadness.

Both are okay.

Love your hermit

x x x

My Hero

“Forgive me if I stumble and fall for I know not how to love too well.

I am clumsy and my words do not form as I wish.

So let me kiss you instead

and let my lips paint for you all the pictures that my clumsy heart cannot.”

By Atticus

There’s no time for grief, as the earth rolls forward. I do wish my grief didn’t exist or, if possible, I’m able leave it behind. But it doesn’t work that way. It messes with my head filling it with fog and affecting decisions I make. It’s moulded onto my soul and my life has had to wrap around it.

I’ve got no choice but to take it with me. Most days I can ignore it or find a distraction. On rare occasions I don’t even mind it, but then something happens and it appears with its evil grin. The hermit in me cries out and I listen to her. I feel her pain, her anxiety to be in a world that hides from death, afraid of its role. I know some understand when the grief monster takes command but for how long will it have such an influence over me? I guess with time I’ll find out?

Last weekend I danced in a room with 80 other widows and widowers. It was full of life, people chatting, singing and dancing. They hadn’t forgot what they’d lost, far from it. We knew the only reason we were all in the same room was due to losing our partners. Our husbands, wives, boyfriends and girlfriends. We were in a place where we could feel exactly how we wanted and everyone there understood.

At one point I felt like an imposter. A fake, as I’ve been so busy moving forward in life I’ve had little time to grieve. I don’t talk to Simon like I use to and I don’t hear his voice answering back. I want be enjoy life but I also feel the love and heartbreak for Simon. I can’t ignore what once was so real and now has gone but I can’t deny myself feeling life again, no matter how hard it is for me to cope with death.

The reality of moving into my flat is here, but it comes with the many boxes of my past. The truth of seeing someone other than Simon is real, but the joy is with overwhelming mixed emotions. The diagnosis of a disease of a loved one is here. Someone who has been with me my whole life and has nurtured, supported and loved me. It’s with a heavy broken heart to know there is no cure.

Living life whilst wearing a cloak of grief is conflicting and painful. Sometimes life rules and sometimes grief wins. There is no solution to it, but if I could talk to Simon I know what he would do. He would listen to every word I say, take me in his arms and whisper,

‘Do whatever makes you happy. Love without shame and live each day as though it’s your last. You’re strong and can cope with anything, but don’t be afraid to falter. You are my hero.’

He was my strength and biggest fan. I didn’t think I could do this without him but here I am. I’ve realised that it’s not just grief I take forward but it’s the empowerment he gave me to be my own best friend.

I’m forever grateful to him for that.

Simon,

thank you

Love your hermit

x x x

 

 

Rhino Skin

My skin is thick. It’s armour against negative life that’s beyond my control. My rhino leather covers my whole body. My eyes have turned to ice and my heart is stone. It’s necessary protection to stop the hurt from getting in. It’s not healthy as it also denies any emotional release. This is the cost of rhino skin.

(Hold on)

I never thought I’d be in the position I’m in now. I had a home, a husband and felt every emotion possible, good & bad. It was amazing to freely express, to embrace love and to breath freely. But now my mind always remembers the night I had to go to high alert. It remembers letting in the trauma and since then it switches on my defence mechanism when the bad happens.

(Everybody hurts)

Recently someone else’s hurt penetrated my rhino skin. I’ve tried very hard to keep my defences up, but a weakness was found and I crumbled. I spent days trying to patch my rhino skin, to stop my emotions seeping out between the seams. It was useless and I gave in.

(Everybody cries)

The ice in my eyes melted and my heart turned to soft clay with the tears. My rhino skin softened and I could breath once more. Relief did washed over but I didn’t feel in control. It’s scary, as my armour is about self-protection against all that can harm and I don’t have its full strength. What do I do?

(So hold on)

Do I have the choice to go back to my rhino skin now I’ve felt what it’s like to be without it? Do I continue to feel knowing the times ahead are going to be tough? It would be easier to put my amour back on and harden my heart, but this isn’t living. It makes me feel robotic and cold. I don’t have my brother-in-arms to help me through the long day. He isn’t here to take my rhino amour off at night and show how much I can love.

(Well hold on)

I fear chaos will consume me, so I have to hold on for a time where I can let my defences down naturally.

Then I feel emotions with every inch of my soul.

I can breath without effort or force.

Until then hold on…

When your day is long
And the night
The night is yours alone
When you’re sure you’ve had enough
Of this life
Well hang on
Don’t let yourself go
‘Cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes

Well, everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes
So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on…

by Kirk Franklin

Simon,

she’s hurting,

hurting herself & him

Love your hermit

x x x

Four – Here Come’s the Sun

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say
It’s all right

by George Harrison

 

My darling,

It’s seems a long time since I saw you. I don’t know where the time has gone, yet it has taken me a while to get to this okay place I now find myself in. The dark cloak of grief that was heavy on my back is lighter now, but it’s still very much present. I know how to wear it well.

I took an early morning flight and saw the sunrise from high above the clouds. I held my breath when I caught a glimpse of the island I’d gone to visit. The sun glistened on the blue water and the landscape was thick with pine trees. I let my breath out slowly and I felt a sense of belonging to return. I’m sure you would have loved it but death called time up before you could. I try not to have regrets on the many things we didn’t get round to do, as it was an endless list, and instead try to experience as much as I can.

My darling,

This new life isn’t the one I choose but I do want to enjoy it. I want to see this world and its amazing places and sunrises. It’s not just the wonder of nature but it’s also spending time with friends, old & new. It’s hard to carry on with each day and missing you at the same time, but I’m not doing this journey alone.

I woke before another day’s sunrise, and with a friend we walked along the coast. The energy of morning sun beckoned for our attention and so I scattered some of your ashes on the rocks. I sat for a while and watched the island and sea fully light up.

My darling,

You are missed but I also feel you’re a part of everything I see and do. This island has magical energy that is in the water that laps the rocks. It’s present in the land and the people that walk on it. Its vibrant in the sun.

Now that I’ve left you there I shall always return to walk on the red soil, breath in the rich air and see the sun come up for a new day.

My darling,

Here comes the sun,

and it’s alright.

Your Hermit

x x x

 

Loving a Widow

Remembering you standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your fear

Remembering you running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

By The Cure

Do you remember the first time you looked at someone and thought they were the most amazing person you’d ever seen? Or maybe it wasn’t instant, instead a fondness grew when you got to know them better? Remember the excitement of wanting to see them again. Maybe you’ve kissed, feeling their warm lips on yours? Their touch sends you zooming through the clouds and into space. Their smell, not of perfume but familiarity, a primeval scent of belonging. Remember their love with all conditions and judgements removed. A pure euphoric emotion so powerful it cannot be suppress or destroyed. Remember all this, then add the pain of losing it and you’re left with a longing for that love. This is what widowhood is like. It comes with deep sorrow for what is lost but a desire to express the trapped love inside.

Loving a widow is difficult.

As I have a scar in my heart that will never fully mend. Don’t ask it too. Widows/widowers never choose for their love to end, it was taken from them. Society doesn’t teach that death can happen so early to love. I’ve always believed I would meet my prince, get married and live happily ever old. Only then – when our bodies are too frail to go on – does death come. This is Disney’s version, but reality doesn’t always play by Walter’s rules.

A widow’s love is with mixed emotions.

Of guilt, passion, confusion, joy and sadness. Some widow’s* may take a long time to let someone else in, whilst others may do it sooner. Few may never. A widow’s life after death is like putting on new skin that doesn’t quite fit. It feels tight, awkward and even though we slowly learn to tailor it, the badly stitched seams are always there.

Loving a widow is pure fire.

It’s a fierce hot flame of shameless pleasure. I’ll not beat around the burning bush here, it’s clothes ripping, hearts pounding, skin all sweaty Sex. My desire didn’t get extinguish by the grief hydrant. Yet it’s not just about the raw act of sex, it’s having a connection with another. It’s not a one night stand with a stranger but trusting the person and feeling secure in their company. A widow’s heart can either just exist or it can beat again with the energy of its flame.

A widow’s love is strong,

Through knowing Simon my love is now limitless. When I lost his love it strengthened what it truly means to me. Even though I’ve become more resilient and independent, I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone. I’ve an appreciation for the little things that sometimes are taken for granted. It’s the idiosyncrasies of every day life that make a relationship between two people totally unique. A widow values love because time is so precious and shouldn’t be wasted. Simon loved me for the whole of his life. I’m very blessed that he did, but sad it wasn’t for the whole of mine.

A widow’s heart is epic.

Despite being broken I feel I’m growing the ability to let love in again. During my darkest days I didn’t think this would ever be possible. Back then it was all about existing and getting through each moment of each day. To live this way is very lonely and sad, but it’s also necessary. Slowly, I’ve adapted around grief and began to breath again. My love for Simon is still with me but it has changed, as it’s impossible to have present love with a dead person. Besides, my heart didn’t die when he did, despite it sometimes feeling this way. It has enough room for the heartbreak and for potential future love.

A widow’s love is totally unique.

It’s courageous and knows no bounds.

When ready, it asks you for one thing…

You just have to love it back.

 

 

Simon,

You would have understood

Love your Hermit

X X X

 

 

*for ease of writing widows also stands for widowers