8th December

So there I was thinking, yes I’m doing alright, but then of course all of a sudden I wasn’t as I burst into tears one more time. Which is frustrating of course, though not really a surprise. Well again, this morning, I felt pretty good emotionally and just a little weak physically, but I persevered with my household chores and set to work decorating my bathroom once again. And I completed my goal for the day of painting the woodwork, so that made me happy. I try hard not to think of the walls, floor, pipe-boxing, window-blind, sink-mirror and cabinet still to sort out… and then there’s the downstairs shower room and oh yes the mammoth hall and stairs, and then maybe the kitchen and definitely the lounge and then it all starts again. But I’m getting there and at least it looks clean and fresh now with most of the preparation complete. Anyway as I trot downstairs thinking all is well with the world I notice the postman has been. It’s ‘obviously’ a Christmas card and I begin to feel a little guilty at my own tardiness in organising my own. My cheeriness starts to slip only a little as I wondered about coping with that particular task. Jane was the Christmas card person in our house… it may sound bad but I’ve not written a card for many years, though I did help Jane with the address list! Ok, so then I opened the card and it wasn’t the expected Christmas scene that I was suddenly looking at, but it was certainly one of the most caring and thoughtful messages I’ve ever had. It was a hand written ‘thinking and praying for you at Christmas’ card from my church pastor and wife. Despite the sharing of grief with my family, and the very real shared experience of online widows and widowers, bereavement is ultimately very personal and for me horribly lonely. The lack of a close companion to share comfort is almost more than I can bear. Simply holding hands and occasional gentle hugs, that’s all I need and that’s what I haven’t got any more… not most days anyway.  So the card meant a lot, even if I did quite spontaneously burst into tears because someone cared. They’re not the only ones either; but nothing can replace the special place that a wife who loves you has.

Over the years I’ve occasionally found my emotional self and shed a few quiet tears. Sometimes it’s been in church meetings with a particular ‘atmosphere’ or occasionally whilst watching a movie. But right now I’ve entered a whole new dimension of emotional expression, nearly as intense as during the first few days after losing Jane. Perhaps it’s the result of my depth of feeling for Jane, I loved her completely, holding nothing back, giving her my all, especially when she needed it… and maybe now the permanency of loss is becoming more and more cemented in the reality of living out my life. Jane would quite happily pick up a paint brush to help with decorating for example and now it’s just me. And she was always so colourful in her choice of décor. I’m just practical… and predictable. And the thought of Christmas without Jane to celebrate with me just sucks.

Matthew 28:20 ‘And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.’ (NLT)