Tag: coping
Wine Glasses, George Benson and Tears
Wine Glasses, George Benson and Tears
I’ve been a bit up and down this weekend. I need some new wine glasses as most of ours had smashed so when I was in Morrisons I picked up a new set, you know those enormous ones that can fit half a bottle in each class. We’ve got a set like that in the caravan that the two of us used to share when we went away and little trips, and drinking a glass of wine on Saturday night from my new mega-wineglass reminded me so much of what I was missing with Claire. A simple wineglass moved me to tears.
Then on Sunday night I fancied listening to some music whilst I cooked dinner, as I was browsing through the records I came across George Benson so on he went. Within a few minutes the music was cranked up loud and I was singing and dancing to “Love Times Love”, and then I caught myself. I caught myself singing and dancing and remembering that George Benson was the first CD I overbought twentysomething years ago just after we got married… And again I was in tears.
I think it’s the sharing of memories that is so difficult. We all have memories of things we’ve done in the past and normally I would have just said to Claire “Hey, these wineglasses remind me of the ones we’ve got in a caravan” or “wow, do you remember dancing around our tiny living room in our first house to this track 20 years ago” and the conversation would have been over. But it would have been a conversation, and now I have those things to say but there’s no one there to Say them to, it’s almost like they are pointless memories!
I get these ‘moments’ quite often. Moments of memories that are triggered by the most mundane things. Moment of complete sadness, complete loneliness and complete desperation. I so desperately want to have a conversation with her. Just to share those memories again… We were together for nearly 30 years so there are quite a lot of memories!
What I am very clear about however is that I’m not going to punish myself over it, I know she’s not coming back, I know that I have to find a way of coping with those memories (which are all good by the way).
![20131014_083928[1]](http://testlostwithout-com.stackstaging.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/20131014_08392811-300x224.jpg)
So here’s what I’m going to do.
At Claire’s funeral we had some memory cards printed and asked people to write down their fondest memory of Claire, I have them all treasured in a box in my wardrobe and from now on I’m going to add my own memories. Each time I have a ‘moment’ triggered by a memory I’ll write it down and add it to the collection and watch the collection of happy memories grow…
Is it a dream?
Is it a dream?
It still feels like this is a dream, like its happening to someone else, almost a complete existential experience somewhat like those dreams where you think you are dreaming, but aren’t quite sure and then wake up with a start and are grateful that what you just experienced wasn’t actually the truth.
I’m still living in a vague hope that this is actually a dream, I’m sure it’s part of the coping process that my unconscious mind allows me to believe that I might wake up. So in that sense I’m grateful for the protection.
My biggest challenge at the moment is working out what I want from life again. When Claire was alive I knew exactly what I wanted, I knew how many days a week we wanted to work, I knew what we wanted to do with our time off, I knew where we wanted to live and to support all of that I knew how much revenue I needed to be generating from my business, how I would go about doing that and what the profit would be in order to support what we wanted to do. Oh yes, I knew what I wanted.
Take Claire out of the equation and the entire thing falls apart. Claire was the WHY in my life, which gave me a clear sense of the WHAT I needed to do, all I did then was work out the HOW. Take away the ‘why’ and suddenly there’s no reason for the ‘what’.
Whether this is the actual truth or not doesn’t matter, what matters is that it is my truth.
I’ve spoken to a good friend who is trained in the same coaching style as me, she wants some coaching too and so we have agreed to beat each other up, sorry I mean coach each other for a couple of days in October (thanks Emma).
I’m really looking forward to it, I’m apprehensive at the same time but I know I need to rebuild my future taking everything that was good and create a new life. At this moment in time I know that the beliefs I held to be true have been shattered and the things I valued in life have changed incomprehensibly, Emma you have an enormous task ahead of you as you put me back together!
On the one hand I want to keep that old goal, Claire and I had spent 22 years working on it, like an exquisite oil painting of our lives together. But on the other hand I’ve lost the artist that helped me paint that picture, however what I can do is look at that picture and take everything that was good about it and use that learning to paint a new one.
Two Pictures
Two Pictures
life is a real battle at the moment. It seems as though every day has a series of hurdles to overcome and each day I feel like I’m running 100 m through the thickest treacle imaginable.
It seems as though the treacle just keeps getting thicker and thicker, it’s relentless and getting deeper everyday. Just a great big sea of treacle.
I wonder when it will end. I can see the treacle horizon but the sea just seems to go on and on. I remember discussing with Claire once the idea of going on a cruise, she wasn’t keen because she didn’t like the idea of not being able to see the land. She told me that she could imagine being out in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight, only the watery horizon to look at and when she thought of that she got a rising sense of panic.
That’s how I feel now.
If I could see an island in the distance then it would spur me on, I’d get a sense that the end was in sight and an idea of how much longer I needed to keep going for, but the way it is now I keep wading and it just keeps going.
I think what I’m looking for is an end to the pain of the way I feel now. I’m looking for the light at the end of the tunnel or a glimpse of an island of respite appearing on the treacle horizon, but I’m not sure that that is a particularly healthy viewpoint to have.
I want the way I feel to stop, but the way I feel is related to the loss and by its very nature that loss can never be regained.
It’s so easy to give loss a meaning that it doesn’t have. To give it attributes like treacle, like the sea, like a tunnel with no end. But that’s not true is it? That’s only the way I am choosing to view it.
So reflecting on this now I can choose to view it a different way so let’s try this, let me start writing this update again with a different analogy.
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Life is a real battle at the moment. It seems as though every day has a series of hurdles to overcome and each day is getting easier.
All I feel at the moment is a deep red mist of uncertainty. The redness is a deep blood red painted along the wall of the corridor next to me, but as I go through each day the deep red that seems so overbearing at the moment begins to fade.
Each day, with less red paint to put on the wall, the intensity gets less. I can see that overtime that deep blood red turns to a soft pink and if I look down the entire corridor, whilst the redness is always there, at the end of the corridor it fades to a gentle rose tinted white. The redness never goes but it turns from something overbearing into something that is actually quite beautiful.
I wonder if the memory of Clare which leaves me in so much pain at the moment can also be turned into something beautiful in the future?
I wonder…
My beautiful daughter’s prom
My beautiful daughter’s prom
Last night was my beautiful daughter’s prom. It was tough.
The kids all met at a friends house for a pre-prom party, so many Mums were there having their photographs taken with their kids, a tough day.
It wasn’t easy for me to get there yesterday and I now know the full horror of what being a single parent is actually like. I’m trying to work a full day, look after the house, keep everything running and be there for the kids at the times when they need me. Thea told me that I didn’t need to worry about going to the pre-prom party and I almost didn’t go, but I moved some things around working a little later in the evening and I’m really glad I did.
The temptation to say ” Claire would have loved this” or ” it’s so sad that Claire isn’t around to see this” is mightily strong, but doesn’t get us anywhere. I could go on and on, all day every day thinking the same thing. Every new experience is something that Claire is missing out on. She won’t get to see her kids grow up, get married or have more children of their own. She won’t get to live by the sea or enjoy all of that time we had planned travelling around in a motorhome visiting the coast of the UK.
I’m not sad for myself, I’m sad for her.
The love that she had for us endures yet so does the pain of her not sharing these experiences with us.
This has been the hardest post to write for some time, I guess it’s because yesterday was such a ‘real’ experience made more noticeable by the presence of all the other Mums.
I’m not sure yet of the best way to cope with this kind of loss. The loss of those shared experiences, those experiences that we would have enjoyed together that now have been tainted with loss. I suppose one of the ways of coping is to just avoid those experiences, to never have fun again! I can certainly see why that would be appealing for some people, if we have lost someone dear to us and we just curl up into a ball then we won’t have any positive experiences which make the pain of loss feel greater.
Every time there is a positive experience we are reminded that we are not sharing it with the one we love. And that hurts.
But I’m not going to do that, I’m going to put myself in a position where I can have those positive experiences and when I’m reminded that I’m not sharing them with Claire I will experience the loss, the sadness and the hurt that she is not there with me – I will acknowledge those feelings, I will learn something from those feelings, I will apply what I learn to myself so that next time I experience it I can grow – and then I will move on.
And for me, that’s the way it has to be…
A New Chapter By The Sea
A New Chapter By The Sea
We went down to our new house over the weekend to have a chat with the guy selling it. Nothing is definite yet as we haven’t exchanged contracts, but as far as we are able to tell everything is good and we should be moving there late August or early September.
The house is in a small village in West Dorset and is about 0.8 of a mile from the beach. Claire informed me that we had been to the beach a few years ago, but I must say that with my man memory I have no recollection, and so I decided that we’d walk to the beach on Saturday to see how far it was from our new house to be.
We set off walking from a house and just 20 minutes later Thea, Millie, Toby, Olivia, Tommy (O’s boyfriend), Evie and myself were on the beach.
I was overwhelmed with emotion, both good and bad at the same time. It felt great knowing that we would probably be living a short distance from such a fantastic beach which we can visit at any time but at the same time it was so sad knowing that this was Claire’s dream, and she came so close to realising it herself.
Claire desperately wanted to live by the sea and we often spoke about when we eventually would. She saw our new house about a week before she died, so at least she died knowing that she would be moving to the coast fairly soon. It just makes me sad to think that she never actually made it.
Losing Claire has changed me so much. I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly and the only way I can describe it is as a “bollocks, I’m doing it” attitude! Facing mortality and death like this is bound to change our beliefs and values in our own life – and I think this is where the problem lay for people that don’t deal with their grief. The shift in our thinking changes so much that it becomes difficult to cope with.
Facing these issues head-on has become really important to me, I know that it would be easy to store up many negative emotions because it’s so difficult to deal with all of this change in thinking which has happened so fast. All that I know is that this is a process which happens slowly over time, each day we deal with a different issue and we move on. How long the process will take I have no idea and in fact I’m not going to focus on that at all. The problem is that we have no way of knowing that the process is finished and so why even bother asking ourselves the question, ‘is it finished yet?’.
If I’m working with a client as a coach that wants to be more confident or happy I will always ask them ” How you know that you are as confident or happy as you want to be, what will you see, hear and feel specifically?” – using this same logic on my own grief leads me to ask the question “How will you know that the grieving process has finished? What will you see, hear and feel specifically?” – unless I can answer that question with absolute clarity there is no point in me wondering how long will this will take because without clarity around that question I could end up feeling low for ever.
Moving house won’t sort all of this out I know that. But we started the process together as a couple, we were about to begin a new chapter in our lives and I’m looking forward to beginning a new chapter albeit in a rather different way to how I originally expected.
It’s Getting Tough
It’s Getting Tough
They say ‘It’ll be tough’ – so what is that ‘it’ that they talk about?
It’s getting tough now. But what is it?
Can it be defined?
Can we say what it is, or if it has gone.
It’s just a play on words isn’t it, surely?
And if it’s just a play on words, we can’t tell if it’s gone and we don’t know what it is… does it exist?
I’m confused now about it. Good, it’s gone!
The journey to a new routine
The journey to a new routine
Today I’m feeling rather overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed with a) The practicalities of running the house b) The practicalities of dealing with the legal side of Claire’s death.
The legal side of things I’m happy to delegate to willing volunteers where possible, and indeed I have done, but the house side of things is different.
We need to work out the new routine of how we do things, and the answer lies in ourselves as a family. People have been REALLY kind and offered lots of help, and if there is a special event or similar (it’s Toby and Theas’ 16th and Olivia’s 18th soon) I’m happy to accept help but for the everyday stuff we need to do it ourselves, we need our new routines.
Claire used to do the dog walk every morning and some evenings, now the kids have to do it.
The washing, cooking, cleaning, shopping, running about, arranging all now needs to be done by me – and on top of working it is a little overwhelming at the moment.
The only reason I’m writing this all down is to document how I feel NOW, so that in a few months I can look back and see how far I’ve come and how well we’re coping.
Today is a marker of that journey, a conscious “This is my current destination” – because, just like a SatNav, if I don’t know where I’ve started the journey can’t be navigated. With my current location set I can see what needs to be done and plot my route to somewhere new.
There is a new routine out there for myself and the kids, we just need to complete the journey to find it.
Yesterday was a low day
Yesterday was a low day
Yesterday was a low day.
I thought that after the funeral all the nasty ‘compulsory arranging stuff’ would end and that we could get on with dealing with things – how wrong was I!
I’ve now got a huge pile of paperwork to complete, as with many couples we had no life insurance for Claire, but she worked for Barclays 20 years ago and more recently in the local school as a learning support assistant. Both Barclays and the school had pensions attached (tiny ones, but still something) that I can now claim.
As we have no debts, no credit cards, no HP and everything was in joint names I felt no need for a grant of probate, but these pension companies are insisting I have probate before they’ll pay out… so now not only do I have to complete their lengthy forms, I have to go through the probate system as well. As if loosing Claire and trying to find new routines to do everything she did around the house wasn’t enough, I now have this extra burden of form filling to claim pensions of £20/week!
Yesterday was a low day.
The loneliness is also starting to kick in. I know I’m not alone, but I really do feel lonely. Please don’t ever take for granted your ability to ‘share’ with your partner, sharing is such a powerful and meaningful thing to do, even the small things like “Oh look that cloud looks like a duck” have a whole new meaning when you’ve no-one to share it with!
I used to store up little things like that to share with Claire for a few days and then we’d have a little chat over a coffee or on a walk – but now I can’t and I feel so lonely.
Yesterday was a low day.
OK, so rather than wallow, what am I going to do differently next time that’s positive, for me and that I can learn from?
30 MINUTES LATER
If you’ve not experienced Time Line Therapy® before you may not fully understand what this all means – apologies but this means a lot to me.
I’ve just notice that my time line changed colour a few weeks ago, if I look to the past my time line is bright right up to Claire’s death where it almost fades out, then if I turn to the future it still remains faded. I can change it in my mind but at the moment it’s not easy to maintain.
Learning 1: Each day I must check my time line and ensure it’s bright, if not make it as bright as I need to make it the brightest and most brilliant time line.
Looking down on yesterday what can I learn?
I feel like an island, alone and not connected. But as I go higher I notice something… what is an island surrounded by? Of course, it’s a beach and the sea – even writing that down brings out the tears – Claire loved the sea, she felt alive by the sea she wants to be laid to rest by the sea.
Learning 2: As that lonely island I am in fact surrounded by Claire. If I keep that picture in my mind, even though it makes me cry, I feel the love and warmth of her all around me.
Today will be a little brighter.
Moving on and Grieving seem at odds
Moving on and Grieving seem at odds
I’ve not posted for a few days as we went down to Devon to spend some time with my sister and her family – thanks guys for having us – I must say I missed the therapy that writing this blog brings!
It was tough at the sea, being there without my Claire didn’t seem right. When ever we went we used to make a point of walking on the beach, hand in hand, often in the evening and talking about how nice it would be to live there – all a bit surreal.
We’re settling in to some new routines which, to be honest, doesn’t feel right. It feels as though we are re-writing our lives without someone who should be here.
On the one hand we need to move on and develop new routines, and on the other hand we need to… to…. to… I’m not sure sure what the words are. To respect, to grieve – yes that’s the one – ‘grieving’ and ‘moving on’ seem at odds.
So what is the highest positive intention of grieving for me? Protection>love>peace>amazing joy.
And what is the highest positive intention of moving on me? Surviving>belonging>peace>amazing joy.
So actually, grieving and moving on have the same highest positive intention for me of ‘amazing joy’ – so I wonder if I could allow all the resources that are available to the part of me that wants to grieve, to share those resources with the part of me that wants to move on. Perhaps they could share those resources in synergy and harmony, working together for the same highest positive intention of allowing me to have ‘amazing joy’.
Moving on and grieving have the same intention, so I can do both.
It’s OK to move on. It’s OK to grieve. Their purpose is amazing joy.
I can live with that!
A sense of dread
A sense of dread
Last night I experienced something really odd. A deep, painful and dark sense of complete and utter dread. If I think about my own death, about the eternity of not living I get that feeling, and last night, for the first time, I was thinking about Claire and all the lovely times we had and I got the same feeling. Deep, dark, black, heavy, in my chest rising and up & outwards down my arms.
A complete sense of dread. I’ll never see, hear or hold Claire EVER again. Even writing that down seems to elicit that state in me again, and I can feel it rising in my chest…
So what if that deep and dark sense of dread that rises from my chest happened in my little toe… can I still feel it, can I get that old state back?
No.
Well I wouldn’t want to do that then would I?
Each time I feel that deep and dark sense of dread that rises from my chest I’m going to force it in to my little toe, and for some weird reason I can no longer feel it.
This is weird shit, it works so I’m doing it.
The funeral is tomorrow. My little toe is going to get worked a lot.