livinglifeafterdeath.com/blog

It’s predicted to be the hottest week this year.

I’ve doing things the Mediterranean way this morning, keeping window blinds down to shut out the sun, watering the new plants first thing, and waking Hettie to walk her round the park.

She’s like a grumpy teenager at first but then with the early fresh start to the day, she suddenly bursts into life and gallops around with more enthusiasm than ages.

I’m on Grandma duties after school today, but otherwise no other events on the calendar. I’m sitting writing with birds singing and insects buzzing in a gentle melody of nature. Pigeons coo a love song duet high in next door’s ash tree, and in the distance lambs are bleating for their mothers milk.

Predictably I’ve the urge ‘to do’ and not waste my time idly thinking and soaking in the pale blue of the sky and colours of the courtyard, but I’m trying to suppress it.

Roses and geraniums have done particularly well this year, or have I really just not looked properly before?

My gardens, the cobbled courtyard at the back and the lawn with new borders at the front have been a huge solace, filling in my life and helping to make the big hole a little smaller.

Busy is my default, a coping mechanism in grief for many in my situation. Still is not quite so easy, it takes more effort. I have to force myself.

Ken loved the sun, always outside, turning a conker brown with no effort, much to my disgust, whilst I battled with prickly heat. The last few years though his skin was pale, little opportunity without my visits to get outside, and smothered in factor 50 when he did, certainly no chance of taking off his shirt.

I see his hard work everywhere around me. The cobbles barrowed from the farmer’s field at the top of the village, the hobby house he built me with love.

Every stone wall or ground touched by his hands, and meticulously positioned.

Days like these were exactly what we were planning for in retirement together, at last being able to sit back and enjoy what we had achieved. I feel a profound sense of loss, but also huge gratitude for what we have made. I know he would want me to carry on without him, and make the most of life.

I am surrounded by physical signs of his presence;he has left me tangible memories few others can understand, his DNA is in this house, (and the one he built next door).

Today I’m not rushing anywhere, it’s too hot anyway, I’m going to reflect and appreciate what I have.

( Of course once I’ve done my big pile of ironing)!

Father’s Day, I’m accustomed now but for the kids their first without a father.

My daughter comes up with a good solution to celebrate Dad, a pancake breakfast – once his culinary specialty.

Ken always said it stemmed from his Saturday job at the ‘Little Chef’ in his teens. Jubilee Pancakes were all the rage at the time.

For those of you with a more discerning taste I’ll explain. Basically they were crepes with morello cherries and vanilla ice cream. A bit like ‘chicken in a basket’ it was the ‘posh’ food of the seventies. I’m pretty sure only those of a certain age like me will remember them on the menu.

We had pancakes of a more up to date version, mine with Greek yogurt strawberries and granola. Very good they were too.

Sitting in my daughter’s the kitchen with The Jam playing in the background and hugs between three generations, Ken wasn’t forgotten. We all decided it would become our new family tradition.

The past three Father’s Days have been very different. Visiting Dad in the nursing home, never sure what version of Ken you would get, or how the other residents were going to be. We decided of course we missed Dad in the flesh, but our celebration today was decidedly less stressful for us all.

It was happy a mixture of sadness and love. Ken would have approved, we may not have had him in person but he is in our hearts.

Another ‘first’, potentially a tricky milestone, but I think we all handled it well, next time will be easier.

Okay I know I sound a bit like I’m a Merry Widow, I rarely have had so many social engagements in my calendar all at once.

Last night it was the Charity Summer Social event to acknowledge the hard work the staff do every day and three Trustees including me joined them.

The Trustees have traditionally often been remote, but we are trying to change that, and it was genuinely inspiring finding out a bit more about everyone and the job they do.

Of course it was also an opportunity to find out about me. Being a local lass I had a couple of tenuous connections, and they knew my situation. ( I had to postpone the training I was to facilitate on dementia when Ken became end of life).

There was also genuine interest in how I am adjusting to my new life, lots of talk about travel and our bucket list aspirations.

I was asked twice would I consider a new relationship in the future? It’s something that seems to crop up regularly, not quite sure why, I gave my stock answer that I couldn’t risk falling in love with someone and walking dementia path again.

I also realised how I now value my freedom above most other things. It is still a novelty that I can’t quite grasp or believe. Not directly accountable to anyone, except perhaps Hettie, though she seems quite happy with anyone who walks and feeds her.

In April my life was completely different, I had huge responsibilities to advocate for Ken and support him to live the best life he could. I don’t regret a moment of it, I gave my best, but maybe I haven’t understood just how much of me was invested into his world at the detriment to mine until now.

These are powerful feelings, I wonder how many others in my situation have felt this way. It’s like a door that was firmly shut to the future has been unlocked and with some trepidation I can get a glimpse of what life could be like.

I just need to be brave.

A neighbour popped round this morning while I’m admiring my garden, the sun is shining the birds are singing and I’m feeling pretty proud of my labours.

One of those moments I rarely allow myself, typically I’m caught out.

I’m interested on his thoughts on my new blog and he tells me something surprising. He hadn’t realised how society labels women who loose their husband, and the negative connotation ‘Widow’ subconsciously has.

Men who loose wives aren’t stigmatised in the same way – it made me think.

The first thing that popped into my head was spiders!

Spiders in the genus Latrodectus are commonly referred to as widow spiders. They belong to the family Theridiidae and have shiny black or dark brown bodies with red, orange, or white markings on the underside of their abdomens. Distributed widely, these spiders live in various parts of the world, the are females are venomous and their bites can be medically significant.

See what I mean?

Anyway the thought for the morning.

A wise widowed woman told me recently,

‘Hold onto every ounce of joy that comes your way, don’t let guilt try to dilute it, because it and grief will try to’.

There has been a lot of joy this week.

First the annual bedrace spectacle in the town brought locals and visitors together, raising thousands for charity.

A spectacular local spectacle.

I’m proud both my grandchildren took place in the parade, playing their parts in this community tradition which is simply so bonkers you have to be there to understand.

The theme this year was the ‘60’s, incidentally the 60th anniversary of the first ever. Fancy dress, decorated ‘beds’, bagpipes, dancers and brass bands.

This totally eclectic parade winds its way down the high street while the crowd four deep cheers it along.

For my part I volunteered with the youth club staff. We were in charge of ‘lost children’ (thankfully non on my watch), but the amazing bubble machine and chalk pavement art proved a big hit with the families passing us by.

Next the serious stuff, the ‘beds’ are stripped down to skeletal frames on wheels. Teams of six (plus one passenger) race the challenging undulating course which includes a river crossing. Pride is at stake for some, for others just getting round in one piece is reward enough.

The community spirit is what makes this event so special, it is a great day out and almost a rite of passage for everyone who loves our town.

I had such a brilliant day.

The second time I have felt joy this week was seeing MamaMia performed on stage. The West End company on tour.

Of course I know the words of every song, this music brings memories flooding back, some happy, some sad. There is no doubt Abba has always been the anthem to my life.

The sheer energy, the costumes, the voices, it was simply outstanding. I think the Leeds audience was perhaps a bit more appreciative than those in London, the cast really enjoying our Northern hospitality.

The encore was sensational, I don’t think the actors wanted the performance to end, but when it did we all left the theatre with a huge grins.

I was invited by a neighbour in the village to join her. We may be a generation apart but she is very much young at heart. Widowed herself for some years she has been a very valuable support to me, encouraging me to look forward and plan for the future.

Singing with my choir, uno after breakfast with the grandkids, sitting in the garden with a dear friend, having a pub tea with a special couple.

All occasions where I simply forgot my recent status.

I felt very much in the present and more like my ‘old’ self. I’ve proven to myself that I can still have fun, enjoy my life and that feels like a very positive thing to do.

Quashing guilt is going to be an ongoing process, but I’ve had the upper hand this week. People’s opinions also make me doubt, do I appear too happy, am I doing too well?

Time will tell.

Isn’t it funny how everything seems to breakdown at once?

So far this week my kettle has blown up, my outside lights refuse to turn off, and this morning my back wheel got a puncture five miles from home.

I’ve deliberated for ages on the subject of kettles, should I replace it with another designer one I like the style of or a far cheaper one that probably would do the job just as well, but aesthetically would annoy me every time I switch it on?

I can hear Ken’s voice in my head telling me don’t waste money on the budget brand only to replace it sooner rather than later, especially as it is probably the most used appliance in the kitchen, and is always on display.

He always gave sensible advice, I’ve ordered an identical replacement.

As for the outside lights, the electrician is an old friend who worked with Ken.

Once again I am having to change like for like, but because technology has moved on and the original components are no longer available it turns out to be a bigger job than I first anticipated.

I make a three o’clock brew and we chat about the old days, it’s nice to talk to someone who still remembers Ken as a skilled tradesman and project manager. He tells me that he went home after work and told his wife about the Robin that had followed him everywhere whilst he changed the light sensor on the corner of the house.

He definitely thought it was Ken checking up on him to be sure he was doing a good job!

Absolutely on cue the Robin appears as if to earwig into our conversation. We look at each other in astonishment, this bold little bird has an uncanny ability to make us smile.

As for my bike, I hit a pothole, but thankfully I’m with a friend.

She rings her partner who goes out of his way to rescue this damsel in distress. I realise my tyre is perished, probably having done too many miles without a proper service. Seeing his pickup arrive is like the cavalry arriving.

I’m incredibly grateful, but it seems they are both genuinely happy to help.

‘Ken would have picked me up in his transit van if things were the other way round’ I am reminded.

He definitely would have.

He is still feels very much in my life.

I’m not sure if I have already mentioned my gardening project. AI Technology has given me the inspiration to transform my rather boring, poor lawn area at the front of the house into something more.

It’s about three weeks since I started, lifting turf around the perimeter, digging the bare iron hard earth beneath, adding a builder’s load of topsoil, before eventually planting out with herbaceous plants that like dry and shade.

This time around I have tried to be systematic and picked the plants that suit my conditions rather than picking the prettiest plants in bloom like I usually do.

It’s early days but the bones of a garden are very much evident. I am rather proud of myself, the tough stuff and sore muscles was worth it.

This project has definitely helped my mood. Fresh air, sunshine and rain, getting my hands dirty. It’s also very social, neighbours have stopped to chat and ask what I am doing, and seeing the results of my labour has been very rewarding.

Again ‘Rob’ has followed me everywhere, getting increasingly close seeking out worms every time I put my spade in the ground. I even find myself talking to him.

Gardening therapy is something that I definitely recommend.

There’s still more to do but this afternoon I sat with a good friend outside in the sun, and we agreed that the garden looks bigger and like it was always meant to be.

It’s a lovely balmy evening, there’s a golden light and promise of rising temperatures as the week goes on. I’m feeling more settled in a while.

Starting a new site has definitely confused WordPress, but I think the new link is working now after a frustrating age with a very polite online helpline.

So where are we now?

Being a widow has certainly brought me clarity in the eyes of others. 

I’ve been a wife, then definitely more a carer, then when Ken went into the nursing home became a wife again, though as we know to a husband who was a very different man to the one I married.

I’ve been in the shadows so long even I have felt my identity was blurred, not really married, not really widowed, definitely not single.

I have had a lot of forms to fill in recently, ticking the ‘widow’ box was a reality check, this is who I am now.

One thing is for certain though it will not be what defines me. I watched the Netflix series Victoria and saw how a beautiful confident woman shrouded herself in black after her beloved Albert died. I know that that was a very different time and everyone deals with the loss of loved ones in different ways, but it won’t be my way.

I’m sure I didn’t love Ken any less than Victoria her Albert, but dementia taught me a massive lesson.

Life is to be lived.

Livinglifeafterdeath isn’t all going to be doom and gloom. When I write things down in away it becomes a commitment. I’ve told you so I have to do it!

I’ve learnt the tough way to value everything, let petty matters dissolved before they become big issues. I’ve learnt to respect other’s opinions but value my own. I can fight with diplomacy when I have to, and say sorry when I’ve got it wrong.

Being Ken’s advocate has brought a courage I didn’t know that I had, I’ve faced people in authority, negotiated CHC and stood up for Ken in multidisciplinary meetings of powerful people to fight for what is right. Not just for us, for others.

Dementia is a leveller, an indiscriminate disease that really couldn’t care less if you are rich, famous, intelligent or are just an ordinary human like me. 

That has helped shape this 64 year old Grandma into who I am today.

I’ve said many times before that I believe in good. That the universe puts us on a certain path for a reason. Sometimes it can be very hard at the time to understand why life can be so unfair.

Things happen for a reason.

We all learn from mistakes, of course there are things I’ve got very wrong in the past, but I’m not going to repeat them again.

I was so lucky that Ken understood how his life would change when he got his diagnosis. He was incredibly generous and made it very clear how I was to be when he was gone.

‘Be strong, be beautiful, keep shining’ he once wrote in a birthday card. Probably the last one he ever had the ability to write, Little did I know what the future held then, but I understand that message now.

I’ve still a lot to process, but at my core I know I’m going to be okay. Grief is the price we pay for love, but to be honest I feel that my loss has been long and slow. Like many others I’ve spoken too in my situation – and believe me I’ve been to many funerals; death comes as a release and relief to those most honest about their feelings.

The trick is not to feel guilty, but that can be much harder than it sounds. I am the survivor in our marriage, with that comes responsibility.

Ken would want me to move forward, I’ve a lot of people relying on me to do that, and with you by my side we will see where we go.

Some busy days followed, a heat wave that a gave false hope of summer.

I made one rookie mistake though,

One night I eventually fell asleep reading in bed, but wearing my contact lenses I’m afraid. The left one I realised had hermitically sealed itself to my eye when I woke at 3 am. I got it out but had an eyeball like a tomato next morning.

An emergency appointment at Specsavers diagnosed an ulcer. Everyone thought I was crying, it weeper constantly, the bright sunshine didn’t help either, but I couldn’t see when I wear sunglasses, how I cursed loosing my prescription ones last year!

Eye drops antibiotics and three appointments later I’d learnt my lesson.

Half term the kids were away on a well deserved holiday in Majorca, James in London and Mhairi on a trip away too. I was a bit lonely and feeling sorry for myself, the odd sense of missing prevails.

Everyone is so kind, though I regularly greet people with the words ‘Please don’t be nice’, a coping strategy I suppose. I find a big hug works better than words.

Practical stuff and keeping busy, Hettie definitely understands, she has a knack of demanding attention at just the right time. A walk in the Park can definitely lift spirits.

After strong sun for a week we all paid the price. Thunder groans and protests, and steel grey skies dramatically unleash torrents of rain that are nothing short of biblical.

Good for the garden I suppose.

Stuck inside I’m working my way through the list of people and things that need attention.

Funerals are an expensive job but Ken deserved every penny spent, I know it went well, but it was all a bit of a blur. I watched the video link before it expired and cried when the kids spoke, something I didn’t do on the day.

People have asked how I got up to read. It was easy, I wanted Ken to be proud and that came after my own emotions.

I’ll also share my armour. I was always going to wear navy blue, the colour of my professional life. Wearing a nurses uniform people have expectations, and there is a code of conduct. Putting on my uniform at work changed my persona helped me feel confident even when I wasn’t.

The dress was from LK Bennet. A posh shop I’d never normally go into but it was closing down and had 70% off everything. It was the first shop I tried and was full of flowery frocks and just one dress in navy. It seemed it was waiting for me to go in and buy it.

One size too small but I thought worth a try. It was a snug fit and I had to get the shop assistant to help me out of it, but it was perfect. I thought Ken would approve.

I may never wear it again.

There have been so many chance things recently, I have made up my mind to accept any invitation. I’ll admit I have also struggled with rushes of nerves beforehand – becoming a widow isn’t easy I’m learning, my public face hides a lot inside.

I decided to break out of my comfort bubble the week after half term. Youth club, WI, two trustee meetings, choir, PT, plus extra grandma duties and a probate and finance matters to attend to.

By the end of that week I was shattered physically and emotionally, but also pretty proud of myself that I’d faced up to every challenge. I can’t describe how scary it felt beforehand but actually nothing was a hard as I’d imagined in my head.

It has given me confidence that I ‘can do’.

Last week things were so much easier, the long list of ‘firsts’ overcome. I’m definitely much more resilient than I thought.

Supporting the rest of the family is a big priority too, I haven’t just lost a husband, Ken was a Dad, a Grandpa, uncle and a brother. It is very interesting to see how the whole family is dealing with his loss, as always I am so proud of all of them. Talking about feelings matters, in this day and age the pace of life is so fast, people soon expect everyone to move on especially in work environments.

I’ve self referred myself to Just B the bereavement charity that is associated with the local hospice. I am very aware that I am not invincible. Crying isn’t really my thing, and a friend said to me recently that I wasn’t doing as well as I think. ‘You need a good bawl’ he told me.

I’m waiting for that.

Death after dementia is such a complex combination of emotions. We are in many ways prepared after years and years of loss.

I am used to living alone, but my purpose has changed and that will need a lot of work to manage properly.

It’s something that only time will tell.

Anyway I think that’s enough for my first evening of prose for a while.

Thanks for coming back on board.

So everyone I’m back.

A new journey, a new focus, filling in the huge hole Ken left in my life.

This blog is I hope going to be a bit different, sharing my experiences of grief but also I hope showing that there is a life after death.

Please hold my hand, there are challenges ahead.

I’m writing again because so many have asked me to. Seems my almost daily blogging was very much a part of the routine of others.

I’m not absolutely certain for sure that I’m ready, but as it was pointed out to me a few days ago my writing isn’t just for you, it’s for me too, and I have to admit I’ve missed it.

So where to start?

Probably with the poem I wrote to myself at the end of May.

Managing Time

There’s a strange sense of disquiet ,

That keeps sweeping through me,

I should be doing something. 

Years of routine, 

Clock watching, 

Managing time,

Suddenly there is an abyss.

And I’ve a desire to fill the void,

Yet a slump in energy.

Everything takes effort, 

And my resources are more depleted 

Than I realised. 

It’s early days,

Some seem to expect more 

But I’ve given all I can for now.

Linda be still,

Be patient, 

Feel what you feel 

I know I just have to let each wave wash over me,

The tides of time.

Progression from the past,

To present,

And into the future.

Every thing on the horizon a little hazy

But I suppose as expected,

I need to navigate slowly

Accept and adapt

Without fear.

………………….

Just reading this back I realise how already I’m making progress, more able than I could ever have thought a month ago. Already my brain is beginning to dilute the trauma and I’m feeling stronger.

I may not communicate as often on this platform. My story might not be of any interest to anyone, but just maybe it will help others in a similar situation know they aren’t alone.

Anyway I’ve subscribed for a year, so we will see how it goes for all of us.