Month: September 2023

A different WAY forward

Wow, it’s been a heck of a week. It’s been a full on juggle this week. Early starts for work. Dancing runs. Sorting childcare. Sorting doggy care. Travel. Three nights away from home. And the Widowed and Young (WAY) AGM and Annual Get Together.

This was the second one I’ve attended. Both times I’ve met some wonderful people with some heart-breaking and incredible stories. I felt more comfortable and confident this year. I knew a lot more people. I knew what to expect. It didn’t feel quite as scary to be walking into the room. And of course. I had my comfort blanket and angel there with me. The gorgeous other Emma, the brains behind Rainbow Hunting.

Over the past two years I think we’ve become each other’s biggest cheerleaders. We’ve become a bit of a dynamic duo and double act. Neither one of us really know which one is Emma 1 and Emma 2. We just kind of roll with it. We’re always there at the end of the phone for one another. And have so much fun whenever we’re together.

Emma was encouraging and championing me so much yesterday. You see, at the AGM the winner of the Helen Bailey blog award for best WAY blogger is announced. For the second year in a row, I was nominated. There are so many great bloggers who are part of WAY that I find it incredibly humbling to even be nominated. When I first started writing, I didn’t expect anyone to read my words. I don’t really write for others. I don’t sit down at the start of the month and plan what I’m going to write. I only really write when I have something to say. But I have grown to find it so incredibly cathartic. I often write before I go to sleep because it helps me get thoughts out of my head. It helps me to try to get a bit of clarity in my life.

Yesterday was triggering and emotional for a number of us in the room. When you have a room full of people who have been widowed before their 51st birthday, it’s inevitable that emotion will be high.

As we headed towards the end of the day, Emma was cheerleading and encouraging me about the nomination. It was so, so lovely. But I kept managing her expectations. “It won’t be me” I said. And I wholeheartedly believed that. Because despite what everyone tells me, I struggle to believe I’m actually good at this. That I’m good at writing. I went to university to study journalism but dropped out after three months because it wasn’t for me. Life took over and my path and way forward changed. The irony that I’ve now started writing and had an article published in the Metro online this year doesn’t escape me.

My friends and family always comment on my writing. They tell me how amazing it is. But the low self esteem and confidence that has plagued me for a lot of my life has often led me to wonder whether they say that because they feel they “have” to. After all, they’ve pretty much seen me at my worst, they must worry that if they told me my blogs were rubbish, whether they might tip me over the edge.

It’s why the nominations the last two years have meant so much. Because the nominations are made by WAY members. The winner is voted for by WAY members. These are people who get it. These are people who might have very, very different circumstances to me, but people who know the range of emotions to go through as a young widow. How utterly, utterly different your life becomes. In every single aspect. Everything about your life changes. Everything. So, when other widows tell me that they value what I write and it resonates, I always get choked. I just find it so humbling.

As the shortlist for the award yesterday was announced, Emma was holding my hand. As I had done to her just a few hours before when she was emotional following one of our speakers. And then the winner was announced. It was me. I had won it. The 2023 WAY Helen Bailey award for best blogger went to me and Life is a rollercoaster. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an element of disbelief. As I walked up to collect the award, the emotion hit. I could feel the tears coming. “Please don’t make me say anything” I said to Jo Sedley-Burke, the Chair of WAY. I knew that I simply wouldn’t be able to do this. Fortunately, she didn’t make me. She just gave me a really big squeeze and the actual award. Emma was next in line with the squeezes. I could tell how proud of me she was. And that also meant the world. Having someone champion you in this new world is beyond invaluable.

As I went back to my room to get ready for the evening, the tears were a bit more free flowing. There were people I knew that I needed to tell before it went public on social media. Certain family and friends needed to hear it from me. I wanted them to know and to tell them first. One of them was someone who has only become a friend because of this blog. That is the power of writing. That is the power of WAY. It brings people into your world who wouldn’t be otherwise. And my word. I feel so exceptionally lucky to have them into my world.

Last night, I danced the night away with Emma. With people I’d met at the AGM last year. With people I met this year. It’s one of the most uplifting and positive evenings. So much heartache and tragedy in the room, yet so much positivity and smiling. And then I went back to my room and reflected. I reflected on the win all the way home. Which was quite a lot given it was a four-hour drive. Before picking my daughter up, I headed to Mr C’s Memorial Bench. I sat there with the award for a little bit. It might be my name on the award, but the win is very much for him and our daughter too. For everything the three of us have gone through and will continue to go through.

This new world and this new path are not ones I would ever have chosen. I would give anything to swap them. But, without wanting to sound blunt, I can’t. This is my new world. My new now. My new way. I am beyond grateful and thankful to every single person who has taken the time to read my words. To every single person who took the time to nominate me. To every single person who took the time to vote for me. It might sound trite, but it genuinely, genuinely means the absolute world to me. I don’t and won’t ever take it for granted. Thank you. A million times thank you. By doing this, you have also helped me.

I sit here tonight, not only thankful, but also proud. Proud of everything this blog has achieved. Proud of every person it has helped, whether directly or indirectly. Proud that my words have been able to do this. I am now finally comfortable to say, “I’m good at this” and “I can write.” I have plans for my writing. I have things up my sleeve. My life has taken a very different WAY forward, but it’s taking me on a new and exciting path. The win yesterday was just the beginning. I have no doubt of that. And I know with the WAY crew, as well as my family and friends in my corner, I’m capable of achieving anything I put my mind to.

Have you noticed if I was wearing a ring on my thumb today?

Today I did something I haven’t done in a very long time. I tried to put a brave face on and chair meetings. I cried in the office. I cried on the tube. I cried on the train. And why? Because at just after 1pm today, I looked down at my thumb and couldn’t see my late husband’s wedding ring on it. It’s where I’ve been wearing his ring for a couple of years now. Admittedly, not every day, but more often than not.

Logic dictated that it had to be at home and that I’d just been so busy this morning that I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t wearing it from the off. I logged a Lost Property claim with the train company. I retraced all my steps in the office. I emailed Security at work to see if it had been handed in. I asked my colleagues the most stupid question “have you noticed if I was wearing a ring on my thumb today?” Of course, they hadn’t, we’ve all been busy, in meetings or on calls and it wasn’t like I was asking them something obvious like what colour dress I was wearing when I came into the office. But immediately they started rallying around me. I was reminded once again of just how lucky I am to have this support and care at work. To the point that one utterly amazing human even went through bins for me while I went on calls. Other colleagues brought me tissues, a glass of water and tried to persuade me to go home to look for it.

But what I couldn’t properly articulate to them though was that a part of me just needed to be there and to do calls. Because to go home and discover it wasn’t there would have made this real. I needed to cling to that one word that’s kept me going through the last three years. Hope. All the while I could maybe pretend my mind was playing tricks on me and I simply hadn’t put it on this morning, I could try to rationalise that it must be at home. Hope with everything I had that it was at home.

As I walked out of the office I was crying. I knew I was edging ever closer to finding out once and for all if it was gone. I messaged on the Widowed and Young WhatsApp group what had happened. I just needed people who “get it” to empathise. Their messages of support and understanding helped. They knew what this would mean if it was lost. I messaged my sister who also tried to calm me down. I corrected her grammar as I’m known to do, I felt I could be let off, I was trying to keep myself busy after all, but I knew I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. This pain was real. Absurdly real. And raw.

It absolutely blindsided me. I kept trying to keep myself calm and tell myself it must be at home but all I really wanted to do was sit and sob. Yet I couldn’t really understand why. The ring isn’t him. If I’m perfectly honest, he was a complete nightmare with it when he was alive. He’d fiddle with it, take it off, not wear it and forget where he’d put it. So much so that when the Funeral Director asked if he was going to be buried with jewellery I said no, I simply didn’t see the point of him having it. I felt like I’d probably end up wearing it more in the future than he had over our 14-year marriage!

Today though I realised it was much, much more than that. This ring was proof of our relationship and our marriage. Now, that may sound silly to some people but one of the more random things that has happened to me since being widowed is this bizarre feeling that I dreamt him. That I dreamt it all. And that none of it was real. It’s beyond difficult to explain, mainly because I don’t really understand it myself. I know he was real. I know our relationship spanned over two decades. I know we had a child together. I know we owned different houses together. I know we made a gazillion memories. But how much of that is tangible? How much of that is real? And outside of my head?

I think in part this is down to the circumstances of his death. The fact that none of it seemed real. It was two weeks before I even saw him on a screen and could verify that they had the right person. I didn’t get to physically see him in hospital. I didn’t get to see him in the Chapel of Rest. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. Everything just felt so, so surreal. So, I cling to anything now that proves he was real.

It’s probably why it’s been so important to me to have memory items made. We’ve had Memory Bears and Blankets made out of his clothes. Again. In the same way as the ring isn’t him, neither are they. But I can look at them and know that he did wear them. I can show them to family and friends who also remember him wearing them and we can talk about him. I’ve also had a ring made with his ashes in and my daughter and I both have a decoration for the tree made out of his ashes. It keeps him part of our future.

I’m also fairly sure that this upcoming Sunday was subconsciously playing on my mind today too. Sunday marks 18 years since we got married. My fourth as a widow. That’s another funny thing I’ve noticed the longer I’ve been widowed, I refer to things that I previously would have said plural as singular now. My daughter. My wedding anniversary. My house. I don’t actually know when I started doing this, but I’ve recently become conscious of the fact I’m doing it. And I don’t really know why. I guess as time goes by and our lives move forward, his absence feels more and more pronounced. That I feel even more on my own and without him than I did at the start of widowhood. The all-consuming pain and grief kept him very much part of me back then. And while I’m still relatively early on in the widowhood journey, I do know that I’m so much further along than I was. The pain and grief don’t consume me in the same way. But today, losing the ring, that pain and grief was strong. Because losing the ring simply felt like another loss. Another loss that I was unprepared for. In the same way I was unprepared for losing him. All of this going through my mind on the train on the way home. My brain working overtime.

Then the inevitable. I got home. And if I’m perfectly honest, I knew what was going to happen next. It wasn’t there. The ring wasn’t there. And while I did empty my handbag and laptop bag for the gazillionth time again and look in all the very obvious places, I didn’t turn the house upside down. But that’s because I didn’t need to. I know where I put the ring when I got home last night. It was with all the other ones I was wearing today. I know where I’d have picked it up from this morning. It wasn’t there. Or anywhere obvious. That gut feeling I had at 1:15pm was right. I knew the second I noticed that it was no longer on my thumb that I’d lost it since leaving home. I was just clinging to hope. The tears didn’t stop then. I just felt numb. Completely and utterly numb. I went into autopilot. I started cooking dinner. I started sorting things out. Because it’s my default. Rather than having to think about how I feel, I keep busy.

It’s why I then wrote a Facebook and Twitter post (sorry, can’t call it X). To stay busy. Ironically I tried to find a photo of the ring, but we didn’t get the obligatory one at our wedding of the hands. And in almost every photo I found of him, he wasn’t wearing it. Told you, he was a fiddler with it. I did find one though. But it’s not the clearest. But I also wanted to write these posts on the off chance that it might help find it. What I was unprepared for, however, was how quickly my phone would start going mental. How quickly my daughter would be saying to me “Mum, your phone is really annoying me.” And despite how rubbish, emotional and numb I felt about the lost ring, I was taken right back to when he fell ill and to when all I had was virtual support. I’d forgotten what it was like to have strangers sending good wishes your way. I haven’t actually been able to keep up with all the comments yet. It’s all a little overwhelming.

I feel exhausted right now. My brain still feels scrambled at what’s happened today. I don’t really know how I feel. Other than numb. People say things happen for a reason. I don’t always believe that; let’s face it, I’ve still not and doubt I ever will, work out what the reason for a global pandemic was. But if I’m going to take anything from today, it’s a reminder that there really is a lot of kindness in this world. That people care. That if you ask a friend to send you something to make you smile, there are hilarious videos on the internet to be sent. Which against all odds do make you smile.

Maybe this was a sign from Mr C to remind me of all this. Maybe this was a sign from him to tell me something else. I don’t know. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll work it out and I will know. And in the meantime, I’m going to pray for a miracle and hope that somehow it comes to back to me.