As I have talked about in interviews, I had three opportunities to use the blog as a basis for my book. One of the early approaches made to me some years ago came to nothing, partly because it was too soon to undertake such a project (my journey had only just begun), but also because I felt strongly that I wanted to include stories of despair and hope from other widows and widowers. The person I was talking to at the time disagreed with me, their stance being that by doing so I was diluting my story. I couldn’t agree. I didn’t so much walk away from the project as ignore it and go back into my burrow to continue to grieve.
I never felt that the blog was ‘my’ blog; I always felt it was a collective effort where I would write about a particular subject (shopping alone, going to parties as a widow, dealing with counsellors more bonkers than I was) and then throw it out for discussion. Writing about our feelings gives us a little space from our grief as we observe our feelings, not just live them, which is why I was so keen to include a section on the new website where others could write whatever they felt they needed to.
This particular story from Lizzie hit a chord with me because Lizzie worked with her husband as I did with JS, and having to go back to the office within days of getting home from Barbados, of having to deal with work-related issues before my husband was even cremated piled exhaustion upon exhaustion.
Lizzie asks if she might write on the blog again. Lizzie, I wait to here from you.
With love, H xxx
I am so glad to have found your site, purely because of the article in the Daily Mail recently, which I have in our waiting room. You have created something of such worth and value, and beauty which I so wish I had found sooner.
My darling, precious, brave, clever husband of nearly 34 years died 19 months ago. He was my only love, and I his. And I have amazed myself (sometimes) and I think our four grown up children as to how I’ve coped. We worked together, running our own business, and there were big chunks of that he dealt with; I used to get so frustrated that he spent so long in front of the computer each evening, but now understand why.
I so empathize at your silent scream of agony in front of the M&S meals for one cabinet, and your comment along the lines of a glass of wine not being a luxury but a necessity. (Don’t worry, only one!). Today, I’d felt happy dealing, as I thought, well with a couple of issues at work, only to come home and feel devastated to stop and think that they were issues HE would have solved, and that I shouldn’t feel good to have done so..confused. And then there’s the giant house spider under a pot on the landing floor I’m plucking up courage to dispose of.
May I write again? Thanks.