Saying 'Yes' to Life

I feel as if half of me no longer exists. How do I carry on living when half of me is missing? Erratic heartbeat, shallow breath, painful body, eyes filled with tears, voice hoarse and soft. No-one can hear my silent scream.  

Grief is inexplicable. Grief is a constant torment, a constant emptiness. A constant open wound that does not heal. A missing of your half that is so strong you cannot see yourself carrying on. Your future has been wrenched from you, your dreams, your plans. There are no more decisions to be made together. There is no together, no us, no we, no ours, just me, but half of me and sometimes less than half. My muscles are weak, my bones ache, I want to wallow in self-pity, I want to stay in bed, eat, get drunk, cry and cry and cry. I want to die. I beg him night after night to come and get me where I can be with him once again.

But, I don’t die. He does not come and fetch me.

 I take myself in hand. I ask myself: ‘do I want to die or do I want to live?’ It’s a strong question. It frightens me. I know that I must make that decision and whichever one I choose I must see it through.

My thoughts drift towards my family, my few good friends. I want to see them all and be part of their future, I want time with them, I want to be here for them. Slowly a timid answer begins to form itself in my worn out mind. Then I think of my home that Tony and I shared and that he loved, I think about all the beauty that surrounds me, I hear the wind gusts in the trees, the soft rain on my roof, the warm blanket around my shoulders, the soft silk scarf around my neck. I think about breakfasts out with my daughter, meals with the family, coffee with friends, visits to France, noodles on a Thursday with my grandson, so many things are now pouring into my head. It’s as if the shy ‘yes’ in my head has suddenly developed capital letters. “YES” it shouts, “yes, I want to live.” But how I ask myself, with this remaining half of me, how will I do this, how will I be able to, how can I manage? How can I live without you?

That little voice in my head makes itself heard: “slowly, it says, slowly!”

And so I begin, saying yes, not only to life but to everything that presents itself to me. Talks and outings, writing retreats, writing groups, grief meetings, French conversation meetings, line dancing, gym, qigong, new people. Saying yes to all of these is totally out of my comfort zone. Most of the time I just want to run a mile before attempting any as I’ve never felt that I fit in anywhere, but I push on and I force myself and slowly, very slowly and surprisingly, I begin to find glimmers of peace in each activity and experience. I find that each experience teaches me a little more about myself and others. Sometimes it feels good and sometimes just overwhelming.

And yes, that is how I begin to live, slowly, crying and remembering, hurting and missing, but living. Some days feel like small victories and some days feel like full on battles.

I hear Tony’s voice in my head. “Good girl, Elizabeth”, it says!

“Live”, it says!

 And I do, and I will, ever so slowly!

 Love and miss you, always.

Feathers and Ashes

After nearly two decades apart we had started writing to each other from two different continents. I had found a feather which I included in one of my letters to him. Unbeknown to me, he had also found a feather which he had included in his letter to me. Our letters crossed and in our next phone conversation we were amazed that we had both received each other’s feathers at the same time.

Feathers were always important to us and we felt that we always found them at meaningful moments in our lives. We took them to be good omens and felt blessed whenever we found one when we really were at a loss in one way or the other. They helped in our decisions, sometimes good and sometimes not so good and somehow helped our minds to see our paths in a clearer way.

A feather is supposed to symbolize freedom, wisdom, honour, strength but can also be interpreted as a message from a loved one who has passed, perhaps saying that everything is as it should be and urging one to remain strong.

Now, Tony has passed, I find feathers everywhere. On my doorsteps as I open my front door or my back door, on the ground as I open my car door, floating down from the sky to land in my open hand, on the earphones wrapped in plastic that were given out in the aeroplane, coming back from Toulon, at intervals as I walk down a country lane, under the table while having lunch in France, and many others in unexpected places.

I feel strongly that they are signs from Tony and I accept that and feel blessed and comforted and motivated to find the strength to carry on moving forward without him with all the sadness and loneliness locked within me.

All I have left of you, my darling angel, are my memories, your ashes and a glass filled with feathers.

I love and miss you, always.