Tired

I'm tired.

I'm tired of coping, of being strong, of being "an inspiration". I'm tired of pain and loneliness. Tired of making decisions alone and putting on a brave face. Tired of an empty house, an empty bed and meals for one.

I'm so emotionally tired my body feels heavy and drags with every step. How can nothingness be so exhausting?

Getting Up

A few people have exclaimed that they don't know how I get up in the morning.

José used to jump out of bed in the morning before his alarm went off. I could do with a little bit of that energy. I'm far more inclined to hit the snooze button, then turn off the alarm and still not manage to swing my legs out from under the duvet. I'll even take a little rest whilst I tunnel under said duvet looking for my bed socks (it's very important to find them before I get up).

What Next?

Probably the most asked question in the weeks following José's death. I think the question was first asked two days after the funeral. "So Katie, What's next?"

I had prepared myself for the emptiness which I remembered following Noel's funeral. For him, 9 years earlier, we had only had a week from death to funeral and that week had been packed full of quick decisions and arrangements. The days were busy with phonecalls and visitors, everyone as shocked and grief stricken as we were. Then we had the funeral and a jolly good send-off.

Holidays

A couple of months after José died I went on holiday to Canada. I didn't want to go, it felt too soon and too far to be leaving him. There's no rational reason for this, José was no longer in this physical reality he exists only in memories and I'd be taking them with me.

Forgetting

I admit it, sometimes I forget that José is dead. I know there are those that will say "I never forget, every minute of every day is tainted with knowing he is dead". I don't mean that some times I leave it all behind and don't think about the loss, that's something that will never leave, but sometimes I forget that José is dead.

I will see, hear or do something and without thinking pick up my phone to text José; or I will hear a car pull up outside the house and I listen instinctively for a key in the lock; or half awake I wriggle across the bed for a cuddle. Some times I forget that José is dead.

But each time I'm left starring at the phone in my hand, that door remains closed, and the bed is cold; then I remember that José is dead.

Family Reunions

Yesterday I said goodbye to my Father-in-law. He was shaken to the core when we lost José, and sadly took the decision to stop some of the medical intervention he himself had been receiving. Being a man with strong faith I hope he has been reunited with his son, in a better world.

Black Matter

People talk about the hole that's left when you lose a loved one.

It's not a hole, a hole suggests a nothingness.  What remains in me is something that contains its own gravity. Something so all encompassing it pulls at everything else, nothing is untouched by this dark matter. It's more a black hole; a heavy, powerful, swirling void that churns away inside trying to destabilise my grasp on life.