You will be ok

Happy Birthday.

Right now, it doesn’t feel like your birthday. You’re living in the middle of a global pandemic. Your husband was taken by ambulance after a panic 999 call in the early hours of this morning. Your 10-year-old daughter asked you if her daddy was going to be ok and you honestly couldn’t tell her yes. Because he has fallen prey to this pandemic which isn’t selective with its victims. You’re trying to juggle 1,001 things right now and don’t know which way is up. You’re going through a vast array of emotions.

But. It is still your birthday. You need to cling to that. Later today your daughter is going to save your birthday for you. She is going to make you open your cards and presents. She is going to put 39 candles in your cake. She is going to do a video call with members of your family to get them to sing Happy Birthday to you. And don’t forget. This morning you fried an egg for the first time in your life and cooked a bacon and egg sandwich because it’s your birthday. That sandwich represented hope, and you need to remember that. Because hope is everything. It is the one thing that is going to get you through what lies ahead.

The next three weeks are going to be some of the most challenging and difficult weeks of your life. The rollercoaster you’re now on is going to be a heck of a ride. But the theme of a rollercoaster is going to play a huge part in your life. Keep it in mind. You’re going to be reliant on phone calls for updates about your husband. You’re only going to be able to see him via Skype calls. You’re going to have some of the most heartbreaking conversations with your daughter. You’re going to face impossible decisions. I simply can’t pretend any of this is going to be easy. It’s not. But. You’re also going to smile during the next three weeks. Tomorrow Jason Donovan is going to be on Gary Barlow’s Crooner Sessions. He’ll start following you on Twitter. You’re going to be the recipient of so much kindness from so many people. You’ll feel overwhelmed by it all.

And then. On 19^th April, your entire life as you know it will be over. You won’t start using the term on this day, but you’ll become a 39-year-old widow. Your husband will die without you by his side and with the amazing NHS staff holding his hand. You and your daughter will be watching a film when you get the call to say this has happened, but you’ll never be able to agree on which film it was. Shock, quite probably. You’ll very quickly go into survival mode. You’ll think about everyone else because it’s too painful to actually think about what this means for you. The pain is merely too great for you to process. You can’t. And you won’t be able to for a very long time.

You’ll physically and metaphorically need picking up. You’ll struggle to get up off the sofa. You’ll fall apart on the kitchen floor when you realise you’ve got food in the cupboard you won’t eat. You’ll shed more tears than you physically thought possibly. You’ll plan a funeral in a pandemic and be asked questions about it that you simply have no answer to. You’ll struggle with the concept of how to return to work, be a mother and juggle your life. You won’t really think about what you as Emma will need. As an individual and person in her own right. You’ve never been an adult on your own. Who even are you without him? Again, you’ll hide from this because you don’t have the answer.

Your mental health is going to suffer in a way you’d have never thought possible. You’re going to find yourself hitting rock bottom on more than one occasion. Sadly, this isn’t the only shock bereavement you’re going to face. I can’t bear to tell you the other person you’re going to lose, mainly because I’m still trying to make sense of it. There is genuinely no logic as to who lives and who dies. But when that day does come, take advantage of the people who are now able to hold you. Who can wrap you in their arms, make you feel safe and just let you cry. You’re going to understand just how important physical contact is in grief. It’s not something you’re going to be able to receive when your husband first dies. Or for a number of months. The world isn’t allowing it. But when you can get those hugs again, soak them up. They are going to help you. More than you realise.

The trauma you’re experiencing today and over the next few weeks isn’t going to be something you can keep buried forever. You’re going to spend a huge amount of time in therapy. And while I don’t want to scare you, this isn’t going to be in the first year or so. You’ll have some later this year, then in 2022 which will last for just over a year and then you’ll start having EMDR towards the end of 2024 going into 2025. The latter will scare you when you first make the call and are told you need it. You’ll feel you’re a failure. You’ll feel you’re letting people down. You won’t tell many people. You’ll have spent just over four years with everyone telling you how brave and strong you’re. That you’re an inspiration. To admit you still need help will feel alien. But, let me promise you this now. That bout of therapy is going to completely change things for you. It is going to help you process so very much. Not just to do with the trauma of losing your husband, but parts of your life you’ve just learnt to live with and accepted as being your life. You’ll start to feel like a different person. Your mindset will shift. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to, but my goodness Emma, it’s going to be beyond worth it.

This all sounds very doom and gloom doesn’t it? If you’re still reading at this point, I imagine there is a sense of trepidation. Wondering whether you’re ever going to really laugh, smile or be happy again. Hand on my heart, you will. You’ll feel guilty to begin with, because how you can possibly enjoy life given what’s happened? You’re going to have amazing opportunities that are only afforded to you because of what’s happened. That will make you feel guilty. New people are going to come into your life. People who are currently part of your life will no longer be so. Or if they are, it will be on a different footing. Please don’t worry about this. Life and your experiences will change you. But you have to survive this however you can. For you. For your daughter. Don’t be afraid to trust your gut instinct. Do you.

Because you’re pretty phenomenal. It’s going to take you just under five years to reach this conclusion, but without question you are. Those people that call you brave and strong? They’re right. You are. You won’t ever accept that you’re brave, after all, you haven’t chosen this life have you? But my word are you strong. You’ve had to be. You’ve shown so much strength. You’ll get out of bed every single day. You’ll continue to show up. Even on those days when you don’t want to.

But more than that. You’re going to achieve a heck of a lot in his memory and that will help others. For a long time, you’re going to tell people that you’re just doing what anyone would do in this situation. But not everyone would. Because not everyone is you. You’re going to install a Memorial Bench so that your husband can continue to be a part of your daughter’s birthday traditions. You’re going to sort out renovations on the house and finally get it finished. You’re going to come up with initiatives that will see you raise over £15,000 for various charities (and that’s only up to March 2025). You’re going to launch a blog called Life is a rollercoaster (told you not to forget about a rollercoaster, didn’t I?) It will go on to win an award in 2023. You’re going to write a book and start investigating the best way to get this published. You’re going to appear on various podcasts, TV programmes, in magazines and newspapers. You’re going to become an Ambassador for the charity Widowed and Young.

Yet the biggest achievement from your perspective won’t be any of this. It is going to be the moment you look at photos and see the twinkle and sparkle in your eyes again. It will take years to return. But it does return. Some might call them giddy eyes. More than ever, your eyes are going to be the window to your soul. And until you’re you again, they are going to show your pain. You will look at photos over the next couple of years and think you’re looking better. You are in a way. But it will only be as you approach your fifth birthday since your world fell apart, that you’ll be able to see just how much the grief and pain affected you physically. Not just mentally. Grief and pain will change you. But you’re going to learn to walk alongside them. In a way, they’re going to become your friends. Because they’re a constant reminder of the love you had. The love you still have.

And while I don’t want to give too many spoilers, mainly because you won’t believe some of them anyway, I do want to give you a little sneak peek into some of the other things that are going to come your way over the next five years. You’re going to have so much fun and laughter with a variety of people. You’re going to meet incredible people through the charity Widowed and Young. You’re going to watch your daughter receive coaching from Jac Yarrow (yes, that guy you saw play Joseph last year). You’re going to get a marriage proposal from Jason Donovan. You’re going to travel across the country to meet a random woman off Twitter because of that Aussie who is going to become one of the best people in your life. You’re going to be adopted by a Northern family. You’re going to get your middle out with a two-piece outfit, on more than one occasion. You’re going to go viral on social media. You’re going to get a dog. You’re going to take your daughter on holidays overseas. You’re going to fluke a free business class upgrade the first time you take her abroad. You’re going to brave driving abroad and find that you quite like it, even if you’re given a scary American muscle car. You’re going to grow your hair and go blonde. You’re going to change your role and teams at work.

I know being told this about your future sounds completely and utterly unthinkable right now. But please believe me when I say you did everything you could in this unimaginable situation you’ve found yourself in over the last week or so. There is nothing more you could have done or that would have changed the outcome. I know right now you can only really focus on today. And maybe even only the next hour. Anything beyond that and especially the future is unfathomable. That’s ok. Just focus on that for now. It’s the right thing to do. Stay in your pyjamas. Eat cake and brownies for breakfast. Just do what you need to do each day. For you. For your daughter. She ultimately is going to save you. She’s incredible. She’s the reason you’ll fight as hard as you do. Without her, it would have been very easy for you to give up. But she needs you. She loves you. And while you’re going to clash and have exceptionally tough times, the bond and relationship that you’re going to have is going to be unbreakable. Team Charlesworth is about to become pretty formidable.

As I sit here and think about the fact the world is still turning, that you’re lucky enough to be celebrating another birthday and you’re privileged to be growing older, I’ve realised something.

Pretty phenomenal? Scrap that.

Emma Charlesworth you are phenomenal.

Simple as that. I’m so exceptionally proud of you. I didn’t know you had it in you to be able to survive this on 30th March 2020. I didn’t have the self-belief. You’re going to watch a film in February 2025 that contains the line “it’s not enough to survive, you’ve got to live.” And that’s what you’re going to do over the next five years Emma. You’re going to live again. Not just survive, you’re going to live. You’re going to thrive. Against all the odds. Against the most unimaginable backdrop.

These words are the best present I can give you today. The reassurance, knowledge and encouragement that you need. That I wish someone could have given me on this day five years ago.

Emma Charlesworth, you will be ok. I promise. Focus on these four words. Please.

You. Will. Be. Ok.