And just like that, we’re at six years since Mr C was taken by ambulance to our local hospital. Six years since our daughter looked at me and asked, is Daddy going to be OK? Six years since life as we knew it spectacularly imploded. Six years since COVID-19 entered the lives of his family, friends, colleagues and all who knew him in a way that they’d never forget. Six years since I turned 39 years old. Which, of course, means that today I turn 45.
That in itself might not seem like a particularly big milestone. It’s not a “big” birthday. Except it’s a milestone that has been sitting with me for a while now. And one that hasn’t been sitting very well. Because 45 is the age my husband was when he died. 45 is the last birthday we ever celebrated with him. Being perfectly honest, I can’t even remember what we did on his birthday in 2019, his last birthday on earth. I’ve gone back and looked, and it was a Wednesday. Did we go out for dinner? Did he go to work? I had no way of knowing that I’d been wondering many years later. That I’d need to try to capture every moment of it because it would be his last.
It feels weird to be turning 45. I vividly remember being 15 and thinking that 30 was old. Anything older than that didn’t really cross my mind. I think when you’re that age, you have no real idea of the concept of being a grown up. How it lasts for a really, really long time (if you’re fortunate, that is). To now be able to say “I’m 45” makes me think I’m a proper grown up. Someone who really should have her life together. And shouldn’t still be trying to make sense of what the hell has happened to her since her 38th birthday. Her last one before the day was forever marred by a panic stricken 999 call in the early hours of that day.
In the run up to today I’ve been asked what I’d like for my birthday. I’ve been asked what I’m doing today to celebrate. It’s been the same every birthday since 2020. All the photos above show my birthday every year. The video call in 2020. My 40th in the garden with visitors (and carboard Jason Donovan) in 2021. A curry after a surreal day in 2022. Going to the office and treating myself to a coffee on the train in 2023. The belated trip to the West Coast of the USA in 2024. A cheeky visit to the Haribo store in 2025. I wonder what today’s photo will turn out to be of.
Generally speaking, most years (aside from 2024) and certainly this year, my answer to those two questions has typically been that I’d like to pretend it’s not happening. That I’m not doing anything. Today though, as luck would have it, I’m actually going to hospital for an appointment for my daughter. Taking after her father there with making sure a hospital is involved on my birthday. After all, that tradition started on my 20th birthday when Mr C had his first chemotherapy session!
And as I’ve said. This birthday simply hasn’t been sitting well with me. I’ve not enjoyed anyone turning 45 since he died. A fear of that age. I’ve almost breathed a sigh of relief when people have turned 46. I wonder if this is more of an issue for young widows, I certainly don’t remember my nan feeling this way when she became older than my grandad. Or if she did, she didn’t say it out loud to us.
Perhaps, it’s another one of those almost unexpected milestones in young widowhood and grief. People always talk about the year of firsts, about important birthdays, things that will happen in my daughter’s future such as learning to drive. But this quiet little milestone of reaching the same age as your late husband isn’t one that others have factored in. And why would they? It’s not something I’d have really thought about before I lived through this experience. Yet more than that. Every year when I turn older on my birthday, it’s a little reminder that my husband doesn’t get older anymore. That this day of me getting older is essentially the day that time stopped for him. Granted, he didn’t lose his life on this day, but he very nearly did. The early hours of this day marked the last time he was ever in our house. The last time he heard the words “I love you” from our daughter. The last time he was properly conscious and cognizant of those around him. It’s the most bittersweet pill to swallow that I should “celebrate” on this day. My daughter hasn’t been able to say the words “Happy Birthday” to me since 2019. She struggles with birthdays generally and mine is particularly tough for her. I can’t say I blame her.
I suspect today is also slightly more jarring for me this year because for the first time since 2020, all the pertinent dates related to my late husband falling ill and his death are falling on exactly the same day. My birthday was a Monday in 2020. It’s a Monday today. The pertinent dates falling on the same day over the last few weeks has been plain weird. I genuinely believe that the body keeps score and reminds us even if we don’t consciously think about it. I hit 16 March this year and it was like my body knew. I was ratty, tired, apathetic. Last Sunday, 22 March, the day he came down with his temperature was a weird one. I had no energy to be sociable. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was over it. I suspect I was also slightly on a comedown after a fun few weeks for the Jason Donovan Doin’ Fine Encore tour. But still, these reminders and dates were feeling hard.
So, in typical Emma fashion and to avoid me being swallowed up by the overthinking and melancholy that could accompany the year of being 45, I’ve decided to try to do something positive. Admittedly, there was a bit of overthinking that led to this when I sat and worked out when I would be older than Mr C ever got to be. I suddenly got it in my head that it would fall on my daughter’s birthday in January. It doesn’t but I was very close with my thinking, it’s four days before.
And what is that something positive? Between now and that day I’m going to try to live a little more deliberately. Because I know all too well that life is short and can change in a heartbeat. Tiny adventures. Brave moments. Things that make me laugh. Things that honour him. A whole variety of things. A collection of 46 moments and activities between today and the day I become older than my husband ever got to be.
I’m a marketer by background so of course I’ve had to come up with a name for this. And make a pretty little social media tile. The Time In Between felt particularly apt, because that’s what the next nine months are. The Time In Between reaching the same age as and then turning older than him. And I’ll be documenting them all on my social media platforms, because then I’ll have nice memories popping up each year during this time. That’s important to me. Making positive memories to balance out the more painful ones.
I’ve already got some ideas of what I’m going to do during this period of time. Some incredibly simple, some a little bit more adventurous. Because that’s the thing with life, isn’t it? It can be both simple and adventurous.
But if I’ve learnt anything over the last six years, it’s that life is made up of so much. And we never know quite when or why it’s going to change. Or when we’re going to run out of time to do that thing we’ve been putting off doing. To open the celebratory bubbly we’ve been saving for a special occasion. To pick up the phone and make a call to someone we’ve not spoken to in a while. To simply live our lives. Before it’s too late.
Six years ago today, time felt like my enemy. It felt like I’d not had enough time with him. That time had been stolen from me. For the next few weeks, I had no real concept of time. It was all just such a blur. Of going through the motions. Time still does feel like my enemy a bit. It feels like forever and no time at all since that fateful day. I guess that’s why I’m choosing to make the most of The Time In Between.
Because over the past six years, I’ve realised just how very precious life is. How short it really is. How it’s a privilege to grow older, despite all the issues that come with being a woman in her 40s. And most of all, just why it’s just so important to make the most of the hand that life deals you.
My daughter might not be able to say it, but I can. Happy Birthday to me. Here’s to whatever the next nine months and future has in store for me.
Life is a rollercoaster 