I’m so sorry

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to say this to you. Countless people have said to you “I’m sorry for the loss of your husband” but I know that you’ve needed to hear more than this. I know that you’ve needed a greater acknowledgement of what has happened to you as an individual since he died. I’m going to do my best to give you what you need and say the words you’ve needed to hear for so long. But you’ll need to forgive me if I don’t say it all. It’s just so huge that I don’t know if it’s possible for me do so.

I’m so sorry for all the suffering and hurt I’ve caused. I’m so sorry that having me as a constant companion has added to the load you have to bear. I know that it was hard enough juggling being a wife, a mother and working full time before your world turned completely upside down. But now you must juggle being a widow, a mother and working full time while also getting used to having me in your life. I’m well aware that you didn’t ask for me to be a part of it. I know that you don’t want me here. I know that you want nothing more than your life to go back to how it was in the autumn of 2019. To a time when you felt safe and secure. To a time when you felt you were living in the calm before the storm.

I’m so sorry that storm did come. I’m so sad and so sorry that having me as part of your life has meant that rather than waiting for the storm to pass, you’re having to learn how to dance in the rain. I love that you’ve had this saying up in your kitchen for years. Because it’s true. I’m sorry for how I make you feel daily. For all the times you feel completely exhausted. All the times you feel that you’ve literally got nothing else to give. All the times you feel that you just want to hide away from the world because living with me is just so hard. All the times that your family, friends and colleagues have borne the brunt of how difficult it is for you. All the times when your patience has worn thin. All the times when you’ve snapped at them. All the times you’ve yelled at them. All the times you’ve read a message and forgotten to reply. All the times you’ve had every intention to ring or message someone but actually then just sit. All the times you’ve walked away because you simply don’t have the energy to try to make people understand any more. I know how regularly you beat yourself up over all of this. How you worry about forgetting things, not contacting people, making plans, organising, or trying to help people in the way you once did. Please stop doing this. People understand why this is. People appreciate the additional strain you are under. But you need to remember this. I put you under extraordinary strain. I know that but I’m not sure you do.

I also know that for nearly two years now, you have sacrificed yourself because the only two people you prioritise are your late husband and your daughter. I know how all you really want is to make them both proud. I know that despite me being here all the time your number one aim is to honour his legacy while doing what’s best for your daughter. I know for the most part you don’t even give yourself a second thought. Because you can’t. Because the minute you stop and think about you and what me being here has done to you, it’s too painful. I know that with every tough decision you’ve faced, you’ve asked yourself “what would Charlie do?” Because this is one of the only ways you can survive this. Knowing that he would be supporting you. Knowing that he would do exactly what you have done. I know without question you just want to hear him say “You’ve got this Em. I’m so proud of you. I love you.” I wish I wasn’t here so that could happen. I really do. But I have no doubt he’s watching over you and willing you to know that he’s saying this to you. Every single day.

But I also know that not everyone has made allowances for you and for me being here. That isn’t easy at all for you and I’m so sorry for all the times you’ve been judged. For the decisions you’ve made because of the role I play that have disappointed or angered others. Ultimately you’ve had to make so many decisions that would be hard for people to do with others around them let alone when you’re on your own. I know how hard it is for you when people only see what they want to see. When they see you going out. When they see you living. When they see you achieving. When they think you’ve moved on. When they assume that you’re over me and your loss. People don’t realise that you will never be over what’s happened to you. It’s simply not possible for you to do this.

I’m so sorry for all the additional worry you’re facing. That you really don’t need me tagging along for the ride as you try to come to terms with that. For the deep sense of personal and sole responsibility you now have for your daughter. For your constant worries about her future. For how you alone will provide her with financial security and the love she needs having lost her daddy. But more than that. For the worry that any mother of a child her age has. Watching her growing up. Adjusting to the fact she’s becoming more independent. Adjusting to the fact she needs you in a different way now. This would be hard enough at the best of times let alone with having me front and centre. It’s just another thing for you to have to contend with. I sometimes wonder if people forget that as well as me, you still have all the regular worries and concerns that everyone else must deal with. They didn’t just vanish the day your husband died. If anything, they probably became more exacerbated. Because now you’re dealing with them on your own. And that’s a big responsibility.

It’s why I’m so sorry for all the times you’ve felt so completely alone when I’m by your side. For the times you haven’t wanted to call or message anyone because you don’t want to be a burden. For the times of a weekend, when you’ve not reached out because you don’t want to be a bother and trouble people in case they’re busy or have plans. For all the times you alone have borne the brunt of your daughter also having to live with me. For all the times she’s hit out at you because she doesn’t know how to cope with me being a part of her life. I know you know she doesn’t mean what she says to you and you’re just the closest thing to her, but it doesn’t mean it hurts you any less. It doesn’t mean you don’t sit and sob because her words on top of me being here are just too much to bear. I promise you though. She loves you. Without you, she wouldn’t be where she is today. Together the two of you will get through anything. It’s been a privilege to watch your relationship strengthen despite the toughest of challenges you have faced.

And I feel so privileged to have seen how you have responded despite having me in your life. How privileged I have been to watch you keep going. How privileged I have been to see just how many people want to be there for you and support you. How privileged I have been to see how your truth has helped others. How privileged I have been to watch you become a more robust version of yourself. A more vulnerable version of yourself. How privileged I have been to see you smile. To see you laugh. To see you dance. To see you continue living. These days are sometimes the hardest. Because you know I’m never far from your side. I see the guilt you feel. I see the despair that you just want me gone because you want to be able to go to the theatre and not cry. How over all the constant little triggers you are. How much you want me to stop being a part of your life because it’s just so tough for you having me here.

But I can’t lie to you. I will be a part of your life forever. You will never be rid of me. I really am so sorry about that. I watch as you learn to deal with me by yourself because nobody else will ever truly understand what it’s like for you living with me. They can’t. Because I am unique. I am different with everyone I encounter. I don’t have the same relationship with any other person. Our relationship is ours and ours alone. Yet I hope one day you come to appreciate having me here. I’m only here because of how much love you had. I’m actually a reminder of that love. A reminder of the love that you still have. The love that you will always have. I hope that one day you will come to realise that. That I’m the love you just couldn’t give to your husband in person. And I hope that I start to make you smile. Because I promise you, I’m not just here for the pain.

Your faithful companion.

Grief x