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Each morning I look for you
Remember cycling behind you
Along roads we knew
I listen for your key in the door
Your footstep on the stair
The sound of your voice
“come to bed – it’s late!”
The times I didn’t hear you
Switched off and ignored you.
I feel guilty for losing you
Not taking care of you….
A phone call to say you’re Ok
I’ll see you today?
Coming back,
Not gone forever
The mirror is broken
Lost forever
And I’m alone.
I didn’t cry on New Years day.
I didn’t weep at all
I felt sad and tired
But I’d run out of tears today.
Screwed my eyes up…
Nothing came,
No lachrymose rivulets
Running down my cheeks
I drew a doodle
Of a woman crying
That was all I could do.
They give you flowers
To salve your loss
To show they care.
I feel so grateful
To be remembered
But the need of a vase
Can be a problem.
I found one at last.
Flowers setted
Rejoyce in their beauty
Not talking today, it’s just easier not to.
I could ring friends but why bother
They can’t change things
Having time to rest
Think about life
The future
Then I watched Its a wonderful life
With James Stewart
And I cried
And cried.
That feels better.
There is hope.
Dear Me
It’s been a horrible few days. I’m worried and scared, but I must try and cope. Remember to breathe, don’t hide away. Memories of other situations make me want to do this.
I remember my mom when my dad died, she sat on the settee in the darkness for three days, in the end I wrote her a letter and asked her to look after us, her children. I think that finally got through to her. She seemed to respond.
Writing this is just a way of talking to myself, but to share with others, maybe it is something to think about for other people?
Don’t be afraid
Knock on my door
I’m here inside
Just waiting to say
Be my friend still
A hug or a hand
Would serve me well
Don’t go away
Leaving a card
But nothing to say?
I need you to stay
Keep me company
I need you today.
Always by my side. Now I’m a widow. What a weird word. My fate was to be left behind. Yours was to leave first.
The cats keep looking for you. The house is quiet. No explosions of humour and excitement. Just full but empty. Echoing with your life. Your things are everywhere. Your books, your clothes, shoes, things. What do I do?
Lots of support, I’m organising and tidying. Getting advice. Looking for help. Trying to stay calm. Alert about my body, my health.
Time will pass, I will seek support, I must try and go on. Enough sadness for a whole lifetime has poured like molten metal into my heart, burning and breaking. But I must go on.
I turned to you to ask you a question. But you were not there. You cannot come back.
You were so knowledgeable, I could mention something and you knew the way my mind was working. You would ask me and be surprised by what I knew. We agreed that I had picked up a lot of knowledge from you. I recognise trains and tractors because of you. I could ask you about chemistry and physics. We would laugh and compete to answer TV quiz questions. Sometimes I would beat you, other times you would beat me. Most often it was a draw.
Thinking of you now I see a hole in the air where you were. A space unfilled by your spirit. You have gone ahead, like going to bed, and I don’t want to follow yet? My bonds are here on earth, close tied to friends and family. Don’t let me loose those bonds yet. I have obligations, how could I let the cats down? My family down. Please look over me and keep me safe in your heart as I hold you in mine.
Thoughts late at night.
Somewhere between here and there.
You’ve gone.
Lost in the space between dreams.
Departed, like the ghost of Christmas present.
Full of fun and grumpy too.
Never a dull moment with you.
Life will be so lonely.
Do you know how many hearts you have touched?
If I could hold your hand one more time.
Kiss your lips, say goodbye.
My one and only man.
My green man…..
After we were robbed a few days ago, some bits of trains and tracks turned up in the alleyway under the vegetation.
But so much has gone. Thirty years or more of memories. Trains, trucks, carriages, different sizes and shapes.
But most precious was a hand built bike my hubby bought in the 1970’s. The frame came first, 531 double butted steel. Then he had the wheels, chainset, pedals, handlebars added to it. That bike went to the south west, the lake district, all over Lancashire, and toured England. That has my hubbys heart infused into it.
There is a book called The Third Policeman, by Myles Magopaline? A pseudonym of Flann O’brien. It’s about how when someone owns a bike for a long time their molecules swap between person and bike so they take on characteristics of each other.
It is deeply saddening to lose your memories and belongings. He has lost his precious bicycle.
Mallaband-Brown