An excerpt from Emma Hopkins-Curry’s blog, Widow Mountain.
I know it sounds a little sick, but the novelty of losing a loved one wears off on most people.
It’s not that I ever wanted it to be a novelty in the first place! But when you’re the first concern in people’s minds they remember to ask how you are, offer their help, visit you, keep the lines of communication open, etc.
But nearly fifteen months later, they have moved on well and truly, and unless your thoughts are bought to their attention (which is very hard to do… who wants to bring up sad shit all the time?) then I guess you keep up the facade.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I really am great. There are whole days now where I don’t lose my shit, but I know it’s because I have filled my minutes with life.
If all of the hours of my days are filled with work, therapy sessions for the kids, meetings with Ruby’s teachers, school runs, food shopping and getting the kids up in the morning and down at night (both which have become harder and harder) then I can get myself through a entire day until I sit and regroup late at night and allow the days/weeks/months to sink in. At least it leaves the privacy of my lounge room for me to release the emotions that build up.
I know I miss him more at night, because I’m also aware that was our favourite time to sit and chat about the day… snuggle and catch up on shows, have a sneaky treat… just the usual daily crap we take for granted when we still have it.
The girls have grieved so differently that my latest challenge is to turn my normally very full attention from Rubes, to Pops who is really struggling through at the moment. She has hit the “apparently” normal part of the grieving process where she is emotional as hell, has three year old tantrums that last for hours, punches and kicks things to release her frustrations, and won’t literally let me out of her sight. She believes I will die if she does.
So getting out once a week for dinner, or leaving her with Dad or her Nana… it’s just become a challenging affair.
She says things to me like “How old was I when Daddy died?”
Which kills me every time because it was only last year… but she was only six, and a year is enormous in a six year old’s life. She is starting to forget what his voice sounds like. I sometimes find her with her “Daddy box” asleep in her bed, or crying hugging it.
She will talk about it more than Rubes who has told me frankly not to mention him at all, because she “won’t survive her childhood if I do…” Although I have been told by her teacher that she has been found googling “blood clots” at school, and worries when people have pains in their legs etc.
They couldn’t cope more differently if they tried. Where Poppy has started to try and breathe me in and out, Ruby has distanced herself, become more abusive and cutting with her words and has even become less affectionate (if that’s at all possible) and it’s tough either way.
I guess I should be grateful that they are mourning differently.
This losing a hubby thing really is a tough gig. It affects every single little thing that would have happened in your life together, because you choose to spend your every waking minute and day with that person, to have children with them, to plan holidays and a future with them… everything you were “going” to do included their presence… and now it suddenly doesn’t.
I will eventually be expected to re partner… and believe you me, I’m disgusted at the thought of it right now… as I am when people bring it up.
But I also know that it’s unlikely at the age of 36 that I’ll never love again.
It’s just that it will never be the same, and it will always feel like a runner up prize. The kids will likely loathe him, and if he has kids life will be all the more challenging.
Yay, I can barely contain my excitement at the thought of it all!
Something else to look forward to in this non-chosen path in my new life.
Life really is not predictable is it?
To read more from Emma, visit Widow Mama