An enquiry in to the usefulness of the male species.....

Before Dave died he wrote an A-Z of how to live your life for Emma and I and I was reading it just the other night. In the manual B is for boyfriends and discusses the male species in general. Dave said in the manual that "the thing about men and boyfriends is this: they can provide you with some of the things that your girl friends can't, and I don't just mean the obvious! Some of them know things about cars and boilers and plumbing, and decorating, and all that other useful stuff I ultimately was too bored to be good at." One of my missions over the last few weeks appears to have been to find out the hard way how true that is.

I have sometimes in the past (I am ashamed to admit)been quite disparaging at times of the male species especially with regard to the ability to multi-task. I have watched many females buzz around doing all number of tasks at the same time whilst observing the male of the household with a fixed gaze on the remote control concentrating on changing channels and at times have seen them struggle to drink a beer at the same time.

But in the last couple of weeks I have been forced to change my opinions and eat my words as I have discovered the problems of not having a ready male on tap!! And my extensive research has revealed that the men do come in very handy at times and as Dave says not just for the obvious. I have discovered that men are very useful when you need to accomplish the following tasks:

Moving furniture - after being nearly crushed to death by a bookcase I can confirm that another pair of hands and some brute strength are useful.

Hanging pictures on the wall. How do you do that when you only have one of hands? - it just doesn't work effectively as a solitary activity.

Using a drill - far too dangerous for most normal women to consider (and I used to be a feminist). If you do manage to drill a hole you can be sure it will be the wrong size and in the wrong place and you will have almost certainly fallen off the ladder.

Loading and unloading the cars for a trip to the dump. The dump is a smelly and unglamorous place and the recycling areas are always in the wrong order and it is ultimately very boring. And now it is very pc so you will be met with a glare any time you try to shove something in the "landfill" bin rather than recycling.

Unblocking the hoover pipe when you have managed to fill it with fluff from the new carpet you have just had laid and completely knackered both of your hoovers. Having to accost a passing Irsihman with the patience of a saint to undo all the damage you have managed to do.

Getting a chair out of the attic conversion knowing that it went in through the doorway when you moved in, but finding that it will now not come out and will definitely get stuck fast in the doorway. Embarrassingly the (male)carpet fitter got it out in 30 seonds flat after you have bemoaned the problem and told him you will have to saw the legs off.

Getting the lid off off a jar of jam. Are the French people at Bonne Maman sadistic?

Barbecuing - assembling the barbecue, cooking the food and cleaning the barbecue afterwards - all more suited to the hunter gatherer and the female of the species should just be tasked with drinking the Pimms.

Loading a holiday's worth of luggage in to a very small car boot. Much better to watch the male grapple with this one whilst standing by the car and offering advice. Also preferable for the male to herd all the luggage through the airport and off the baggage carousel whilst you complain how hot you are and drink your Evian.

Collapsing a table tennis table in Provence in order to put the cover on. This may just be me and Claire but it took half an hour and every ounce of our initiative when a random male could almost certainly have completed the task in two minutes flat.

So I feel I must apologise to all you lads out there - there are definitely times when you are very very useful! And your strategies for doing these types of things are far more effective then mine which tends to involve a lack of patience, ranting my bad temper and, if all else fails, crying and looking helpless. So is there anyone out there who wants to adopt a helpless female in York?

Going underground

Well, what a week. This one was always going to be tricky as it involved Emma and I being separated for 5 days as she went off on a school trip to Berlin. I really really wanted her to go and have some much needed fun but at the same time it was difficult as we had not been apart since Dave died. As those of you who have been reading the blog for a long time know we used to call ourselves The Three Musketeers when Dave was alive. Sadly now we can only manage to be the Dynamic Duo but we are so close after all our experiences that you can't put a credit card between us. We function as each other's best friends looking out for each other as much as we can. I dropped Emma off at school on Friday morning and did a very embarrassing thing that should definitely not be done when your daughter is 15 and you are standing outside her school - I cried my eyes out. I had no plans to do that but biting my lip failed miserably and the tears rolled. With my wobble came a wobble from Emma - started with a chin quiver and then a few tears so we stopped worrying about who would see us and gave each other a monumental hug! And then off she went......

Once she was gone on the coach I was okay. Yet again my wonderful friends were there with plans to keep me busy and occupied for the duration and that plan would have worked but for a severe case of PMT and a couple of other things that happened unexpectedly that completely knocked me off balance. It is not appropriate to say what the incidents were on the blog but in my current fragile state they were enough to sideswipe me. This is the thing about this grieving business. You can take so much and look to others as if you are doing well, but you don't have the normal levels of resilience and can crumple like a house of cards and once you start to crumble you feel a bit out of control. The only way I can describe the feeling is by saying that you feel like you have lost your "groundedness" (if that's a word and if it isn't it is now). On one of the widow's websites I have looked at some of the people there describe it as entering the Goblin Pit - a place of misery and despair where the goblins are after you and you have to try to drag yourself out of the pit to escape them. Well this time I think the goblins had me pinned down for a good couple of days! I can tell you that there were lots of tears and a feeling of helplessness that I am only just coming out of in the last 48 hours or so. If you saw me during that time you wouldn't necessarily have known what was going on as I was using every ounce of my resolve to try to function normally only to collapse again when I returned home and was on my own.

When you go downwards like this there is only sheer grit and determination that can get you out. Sometimes I wonder how much sheer grit and determination one person can possibly have and whether my sheer grit and determination quota/ration will run out and I will be stuck down there in the Pit for the rest of eternity!

So I have had another blip and live to fight another day. I do feel a bit like I am running out of steam again after the last few months but who knows. Only time will tell. But before I go another story to finish.......

The only night free in my hectic "schedule" over the weekend was Saturday and I made my own plan for that. I decided to have a truly indulgent/therapeutic night and watch a weepie movie and have pizza and ice cream (not normally allowed on the Weightwatchers Plan I am currently following!). I tried to think of the saddest film I had ever seen and I thought it was a film from the 80s called Beaches. The film stars Bette Middler and Barbara Hershey who are two lifelong best friends and one dies of a heart problem called cardiomyopathy. I can clearly remember Dave and I watching the video in our house in Crowthorne and both Dave and I crying our eyes out as it was so sad (although Dave said in typical fashion that he only had something in his eye). I managed to get a copy of the film and gleefully shoved it in the machine with my box of tissues at the ready. Watched the film whilst stuffing my face but I was soooooo disappointed. Grand total of only 4 tears. It really wasn't even on my new Sadness Scale. My conclusion? If that's the saddest film ever I now need to write a film as well as a book because my story with Dave is far far sadder than that and it's actually true! Now the next question is - who to cast in the leading roles.......?

Joining the 'Hood

In recent weeks, one of the words on my mind has (for obvious reasons) been "widow". Prior to joining the 'Hood (Widowhood that is) I had not really thought about it but as I have had to start filling in forms and put myself in the "widow" category rather than "married" I have started to find the word more and more unattractive. The immediate image that comes to mind is of a rather old and crumpled woman wearing full length black Victorian mourning attire and despite the Scottish Widows advertising campaign showing a very attractive younger woman in the aforementioned attire, little has been done in the way of "rebranding" in recent years.

Having ventured in to a relatively large group of widows and widowers a few weeks ago at a gathering run by the WAY Foundation (Widowed and Young)in Leeds I can tell you the familiar images of a widow are very outdated! The WAY Foundation supports widows and widowers under 50 and they really don't look any different to any other human beings. I walked in to the restaurant where we were meeting with another widow from York and we were looking for a group of people with obvious "signs" of widowhood but no there was nothing obvious! Just a group of people getting together and sharing their experiences and trying to support each other through a truly horrendous experience whilst knocking back a few bevvies. And it has to be said that because this (widowhood)is such a truly horrendous experience there is very much something in the unsaid between a group of people who have all been unlucky enough to have the love of their life die unexpectedly at the prime of their life. I think this is because the emotions you go through are so hard to explain to anyone who has not experienced such a monumental event. But these people just KNOW.

So back to the word "widow". I notice myself wishing to avoid being labelled as a widow at all costs and I prefer to refer to myself as "a person whose partner has died". I have tried to analyse what it is about this word apart from its inherent unsexiness that I don't like, but I think it is because I don't want to be defined in life just by this word. The problem is that at this moment it is the thing that is most on my own mind and the thing that most people think about as soon as they see me! But when I was married to Dave people didn't just think of me as a married person and they didn't call me a "married" - my relationship with Dave was just one of the many facets of my life (although obviously a very important one!). So I guess that I hope in time, being a widow will become less predominant and that I can go back to just being Sarah again.

The PEP Tree......

A few people have enquired about the tree that PEP planted (with the help of Emma and I) in memory of Dave so here is a photo courtesy of Jane (thanks Jane).

Emma and I will shortly be sponsoring a little copse of a dozen saplings just outside Leyburn in Wensleydale one of Dave's favourite places for walking. It will be nice to watch them grow.....

Try a little patience.....

Well it's a couple of weeks since I last blogged. Seems like longer as Emma and I have jumped through lots of hoops and been riding the rollercoaster of emotions at an even more terrifying speed! Somehow when I was in the early days immediately after Dave died the predominant emotions were ones of numbness and shock (even though I had known he was going to die, it was still a shock when he actually did). The brain seems to be very clever and somehow protects you to a degree from feeling the terrible pain when you are on your knees and waits till you have recovered a little and then on a regular basis allows very painful emotions to surface at times when you are better equipped to deal with them. The predominant emotion for me currently is just an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss and an almost constant feeling of missing Dave. As a consequence of this, there have been a lot more tears. Emma has also been very sad and this has resulted in a feeling of powerlessness for me as as a parent all I want to do is make things all right for and this is one I cannot solve. Her "journey" through this will be her own as will mine and there is little that I can do other than be open and available to listen.

I have still been keeping myself busy and fighting any hermit-like tendencies. There are still quite a lot of things to sort out with regards to Dave's affairs and I have also been de-cluttering the house, although at this stage I still cannot bear to throw out any of Dave's clothes and personal things as it just doesn't feel right yet. I have also been sorting out the interrment of Dave's ashes which is taking place in June ( our wedding anniversary). If you ever want a sobering experience, go and put yourself eye to eye with your husband and best friend's ashes when they have been cremated. I did this the other day at the undertakers. Viewing the most important person to have ever been in my life so far as a pile of ashes in a brown plastic jar really brings home the fragility of life. I would love to be able to show them to anyone who thinks they are oh so important or significant or takes themselves far too seriously!

I have also been reading a lot to try to make some sense of what has happened although I am not sure whether that will ever be possible! This week I have been reading an excellent book called "Life lessons: how our mortality can teach us about life and living" by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler. The authors have worked with people who are dying in hospitals and hospices all their lives and have written some very interesting books on the dying process and the grieving process. This book, however, is different as it is all about the lessons they have learnt about living life from working with people who are dying. One of the most interesting things I found in the book is a part where they talk about how there is a tendency for people to only want the "rosy" side of life, for only good things to happen. Yet if you reflect back on your life it is sometimes the saddest and most difficult things in your life that have taught you the most and shaped you as a person. The message being that not all lessons in life are enjoyable to learn, but they do enrich the texture of life. Most people are just thrown to avoiding the difficult stuff and playing safe, but it is only in facing huge challenges that we grow. I know this to be true and have a feeling all this difficult stuff I am facing is leading to a life I would never have imagined before, although what that life is currently eludes me!

Related to this future, one of my biggest challenges at the moment is in facing what David Kessler and Elisabeth Kubker-Ross call the lesson of patience. I have never been a particularly patient person. I have always been pretty smart and got annoyed with people who were not as quick on the uptake as me. One of the things that has happened to me since Dave died is that a lot of negative feelings have been surfacing: sadness, pain, loneliness, anger, frustration, annoyance at other people etc etc. This is very hard to be with for someone who is normally relentlessly cheerful and upbeat, who cannot stand people who moan all the time and for someone who normally breezes through the things in life that others find difficult. I am also well known for being (as my friend Helen always puts it) "totally irreverent" and unserious about life. I know that both Dave and I have, in the past, probably really annoyed certain people on a number of occasions by simply not taking them seriously enough or attaching the right amount of "gravitas" in dealing with them. So now I find myself having to, as I put it, "wade through treacle", life most of the time is very significant and it really isn't much fun! I find myself wanting to breeze through this "grieving thing" but it does not seem to be something that you can just breeze through (not without causing yourself some permanent long term damage anyway). So, here I am being taught my particular lesson of patience. There is nowhere to get to, nothing that can be done to fix the situation and so I have to sit in amongst all these negative emotions and just dwell there in my very significant life! Waiting and wondering what course or path life is going to take next. So, as a discipline, I am inventing "the possibility of being curious" about all of these difficult emotions which are surfacing and enquiring in to what the universe is trying to teach me.

And in doing all of this, I will bear in mind another quote from the book from someone called Ronnie Kaye, a two time breast cancer survivor who said "In life when one door closes, another door always opens.......but the hallways are a BITCH!"

Two steps forward, one step back.....

So we did it. Emma and I survived the Easter Break and her birthday. Emma's birthday worked out okay although it was tough when we first got up as in the past she always came and jumped in to bed between Dave and I to open her presents. She still came in to bed this year, but I have to confess it was me who couldn't hold back the tears as she was being so brave. The afternoon was more enjoyable when she had 5 of her friends around to hang out with movies, popcorn and takeaway pizza. My brother arrived from Worthing and we abandoned the house for a few hours so that the girls could really let off steam which they did. Fortunately the house was still standing when we got back.

After Emma's birthday, the plan for Easter weekend was to head off on Saturday morning to Dave's mum's house in Croydon for a couple of days to include a visit to Uncle Ronnie's 80th birthday party. This plan went sadly awry when Emma had a tummy upset on Friday night which kept us both awake for most of the night. We're still not sure if it was a tummy bug or anxiety related to leaving home after all that has happened, but whatever it was is really irrelevant as it was very painful. On Saturday morning, we attempted to load the car with Uncle Steve and get ready to set off, but one look at Emma's complexion told me that setting off then was a very bad idea! As we had no idea whether we would be able to set off at all that day, I despatched my brother to the train station so that he could start making his way to the south coast. I felt quite despondent that our plans were not running smoothly as the thought of the trip and the drive was challenging enough without having any spanners in the works.

Anyway, after a sleep that refreshed her, Emma did feel better and felt able to undertake the journey so we set off late in the afternoon and arrived in Croydon around 8pm. Dave's mum was very glad that we had made it and was very pleased to see us. I had, however, not anticipated how hard it would be to stay in her house without Dave. There are so many memories associated with the house over the last 27 years of knowing Dave and as a result another sleepless night ensued! Running over and over in my head was a conversation we had had the very last time we had stayed there together as we had stayed awake chatting until the early hours.

We made it to Uncle Ronnie's party on the Sunday afternoon and it was nice to see so many members of the family for the first time since Dave's funeral. I managed to get through the afternoon relatively unscathed although I did disappear for a few tears at one point. Unfortunately Sunday night was sleepless again despite my best efforts so by Monday morning I was feeling quite ill - headachy and sick and tired from putting on a brave face for such a big audience. I still managed a visit to Stuart and his mum and dad at Biggin Hill and had a very brief foray in to my niece Kelly's birthday barbecue, but I was beginning to wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew mentally. I started to feel a bit disconnected from myself and the visits were a bit like out of body experiences as I felt not quite myself and very emotional and tearful. After another drive on the M25 to Bracknell, I arrived at Dave's Auntie Sheila and Uncle Tony's house. After popping some more painkillers, a walk with Auntie Sheila through the grounds of Wellington College and a bit of time to relax, I started to feel a bit better. Later Auntie Barbara and Uncle Norman and cousin Jane called in and I felt as if I had well and truly done the rounds of the French family! It was lovely to see them all.

I went to bed late and actually slept and Tuesday saw me feeling something like human! Another trip on the motorway and we were at PEP in Melksham (Dave's old employer) and Emma and I helped to plant a beautiful blossom tree in Dave's memory. PEP have also invested in two lovely benches and a table to go by the tree so at least as they eat their packed lunches in the summer they will be able to remember Dave.

After a giggle over a very nice lunch with the PEP crowd we moved on to Bath where Emma and I stayed in a very posh hotel. It was good to relax and have some time on our own after the hurly burly of the previous few days. We enjoyed the hotel spa and a meal out in Bath. And then on Wednesday after a bit of sightseeing we set off back to York. We were both extremely glad to get back home. Somehow leaving York feels like leaving Dave behind, which is a bit silly in many ways, but it is how we both currently feel.

My conclusions on the visit? Had it not been for the opportunity the party presented to see a lot of people, it was probably a bit too soon to go down and be with Dave's family as it felt like a Herculean effort to hold things together and put on my "mask" for everyone. In normal circumstances I pride myself on being very at ease with myself and my emotions and very self-expressed, but when your emotions are so predominantly sad it doesn't feel right to let them all out in the presence of others all the time. For one thing, it would be very monotonous to have someone crying all the time! People want to see that you are making progress and that you can cope as it makes them feel a bit better. Although self-created and all in my mind, the stress and strain of the visit did feel like it set back some of the progress I had already made in terms of getting back to (the new) normal and dealing with all my emotions.

However, on the upside, the difficult first visit is now out of the way so doesn't need to take up any head space (wondering when is the "right" time to go) and it was nice to see everyone and, as they say, "feel the love". I have also got back to driving long distances again confidently and a few other firsts have been knocked off like seeing PEP without Dave and Emma and I staying in a hotel on our own. There were also many tears shed by me on numerous motorways - the M1, M25, M3, M4, M5and M42 creating much "surface water" but since there has been a notable absence of tears on my part since Dave died (unusual for me as I am normally an A grade blubber) perhaps this was something that needed to happen and it could be all part of the so caled "process". Who knows? - I for one have no idea what is happening with all of this most of the time, you really are just forced to "go with the flow" - which is murder for a control freak like me......

Hollow

The theme of this week has been people telling me I am doing very well. This is largely because I appear to be a fully functioning human being to the world at large. I am now able to dress myself (believe me in the first couple of weeks after Dave's death even this was a challenge), I am thankfully washing myself (and my clothes), I am managing to keep the house reasonably clean and I am feeding and looking after myself and my daughter. I am also getting myself out of the house and socialising with other people which means fighting, on a daily basis, the desire to be a fully fledged recluse. I dream of staying in my pyjamas all day with a pile of books and magazines, chocolate, wine and daytime tv, snivelling my way through a whole box of Kleenex and plumbing unknown depths of self indulgence. I didn't however count on the strength of character instilled in to me by my feisty mother (also widowed in her case at age 43) and the predominant message that the "show must go on" no matter what. The show of life that is. We Lewendons have standards and don't we know it! We are certainly made of very stern stuff, not like these other people who seem to keel over in a strong wind!

So what happens is every day I don the "mask" of a fully functioning human being. Put on a bit of make up and lippy and hope that one day I will actually start to feel like a fully functioning human being on the inside. Meanwhile, people (with the best of intentions) keep telling me I am doing very well, but this has a very hollow ring to me as I know in my heart that it is really a facade. The sadness is still overwhelming at times but I do my best to look as normal as possible for most of the time as it seems to make other people feel better! When Dave was alive and people told me I was inspirational and amazing, I could really take the compliment but now in this situation when people are saying the same things and marvelling at my ability to get on with life, it just doesn't ring true to me as I feel very empty inside. Hopefully over time this feeling will change.

The other thing that is strange is that occasionally people feel the need to tell me I will need to "adapt" to my new way of life. The word "adapt" suggests a gradual process that takes place over time. Becoming a widow is not really like that - you don't get any time to "adapt". I always used to say that childbirth was the most transformational experience because when having your first child you have lots of ideas about the kind of parent you will be, but the minute the child is born you just are a mother or a father. Something just happens to you in an instant. Becoming a widow is similar. From the moment that Dave drew his last breath I was a widow. My roles and responsibilities changed instantly. I became both a mother and a father to Emma, the breadwinner, the funeral organiser, the house maintainer, executor of the will etc etc. It was like being hit by a lightning bolt when you are already on your knees. So if you know any widows please give them credit for the fact that they take on all these changes overnight and adapt immediately at a time when they feel least able to do anything. I think there is later a process of adapting to a new life over time, but it is more perhaps about designing something for yourself in a situation that you wouldn't have chosen if you had been given a choice in the matter. You can take time over that but most of the other stuff has to be handled immediately with little time to prepare!

Recently, I was looking at a widows website (yes they do exist) and someone had reproduced the passage below. It is a suggested way of helping people who have been widowed. I sent this passage to a few friends who had asked how they could help and got a lot of positive feedback, many people found it very moving so thought I would publish it on the blog to give some food for thought. I can really relate to many of the points raised. I cannot acknowledge the author as no-one seems to know who wrote it!

HOW YOU CAN HELP ME

Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more
comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk
about him, and I need to do it over and over.

Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get
comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know
when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.

Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You
can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid
to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I
most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come
over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You
can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you
to know that."

Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I
feel only if you really have time to find out.

I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel
that you don't see me.

I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm
grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after
my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For
I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was
with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had for watching our
children and grandchildren grow, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled
and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my
loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and
love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be,
and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear.
Both are okay.

I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has
happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just
not acceptable.

When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and
alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't
make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.

Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start
dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides,
what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes
after will always be someone different.

I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get
on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on
many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think
it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So
please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and
support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget
and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your
hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need
to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in
my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you
because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could
do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you
some ideas.
(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the
anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't
make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the
opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach
out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I
may so no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me
because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up
then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples,
to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely.
Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel
deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm
experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't
be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to
slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't
tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my
life. What I need now is time to grieve.

Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding. Thank
you for praying for me.

And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need
me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be
with you.