Friendship

When your partner is your best friend, it can be all too easy to loose touch with others.  Especially when everyone begins to pair off and settle down.  So when you lose your best friend you can find yourself very alone. 

I was as guilty as the next person of not keeping up with friends – letting things go a bit.  What with working full time and living with your partner, doing things with family, friends often fall by the wayside.  When times are good and everything is right in your world you feel like you don’t need anyone else.  Having a loving partner who listens to your problems and shares in your happiness seems to be all you need.  But it’s a false economy because if you don’t look after the people who care about you in good times, you can hardly expect them to be there through the bad.

We all know that people come and go in our lives.  That’s fine – it has a natural rhythm to it.  In ages past you would probably know the same small group of people all your life, but these days we tend to spread out a lot more, whether for the best jobs or lifestyle, we all scatter and so a pattern of coming together and moving apart develops.  At every stage of life there are whole new groups of people to meet and friends to make.  But you can’t keep up with everyone on a personal level – in spite of facebook and twitter, email and facetime.  So the people closest to you changes and evolves.  When you have a partner you maybe share some friends, but also have your own and so widen your group further.  It’s all part of life and what keeps it interesting.

When hit with the loss of your closest friend – your partner, husband or wife – is when you will most need those other friendships you have developed, but it’s also a time when many of those friends seem to drift away.  You have changed. Like it or not, you are no longer the person you were – not entirely.  Grief changes a person – and it’s not just the partner and family that is affected – it’s the friends too.  Some friends may simply find it too difficult to keep in touch.  That’s fine.  Again – it’s just how things are.  But when facing the darkness of losing a partner you do need friends around you – to help pull you through.

I have been very lucky.  I had a few good friends who helped me through.  Came to visit and kept in touch.  Not all the time, but they did think of me and that meant so much.  But no one really lived close to me, so I did still feel very alone.

About three months after losing Robin I started post natal classes at my local health centre.  That was such a lifeline, because suddenly there were these lovely ladies who lived near me and who were all dealing with having a new baby – although at that stage they all had partners.  We would go out after the classes, and when they stopped we would still make a point of meeting up for walks, lunches and even the odd night out.  Leaving them was perhaps the hardest part of leaving Raynes Park.

When I arrived in Bournemouth I had a few old friends visit me, but because life (and distance) gets in the way, that dwindled.  I found it quite hard to make new friends at first.  Taking Sophie to play groups helped, but those mums had already formed groups and I felt like an intruder.  However, over time I got closer to some of the mums and started to feel more settled.  I then was introduced to a creative group and that opened a whole new world to me.  This was another lifeline as it was time for just me, away from Sophie – out in the real world!

I’ve been in Bournemouth for 7 years and 8 months now and Sophie has been at school 3.5 years too.  She’s been going to clubs and lessons – and all the while I’ve been meeting new people and making friends – some closer than others.  The street I live in has many lovely families and we have become friends – our children play together and go to school together and we see each other most days at least briefly on the school run.

More recently, since starting open water swimming, I have met yet another group of lovely people and this time we share something else in common – we are all at different stages of life and many have children whilst others are single, some are older and some younger, but all are friendly as we share a passion for the sea.  Now some of my closest friends come from this group of special nutters.

Friendship has been so important to me, and such a light in times of darkness – whether related to my loss or just to other problems.  Friends have been counsellors, comedians, cinema buddies, creative sounding boards, advisors, babysitters and so much more.  And I have to say, for each and every one of them I am truly very grateful.

So my advice is to cherish those friendships, remember to get together and laugh (possibly with a glass of wine) because those friends will be with you when men leave, or jobs fail, or children are ill or just to share in some celebration.  Don’t judge those that fall by the wayside, just relish in how rich those people in it make your life. 

I should also mention another very special group of friends I have met through WAY – the organization for people widowed young.  There are a surprising amount of us across the country and we all stay in touch online and at gatherings.  It’s a huge support network where you know there’s a good chance someone else is going through exactly what you are – whatever stage that is.  If you know someone who has been widowed young – please put them in touch this group because at some stage or other of their grief it will be an immense help. (http://www.widowedandyoung.org.uk/)

Now go hug a friend ;)

Moving On

There’s plenty of speculation about how long a widowed person should wait before moving on and finding a new love.  This is mainly because there is no right or wrong answer except – when you feel ready.  The trouble is it’s not easy to work out when that is.  You might be incredibly, painfully lonely, so your brain plays tricks and tells you it’s time to move on.  You never really know for sure until something goes wrong – which it invariably does if it wasn’t right in the first place.

It was just after the second anniversary of losing Robin that I met someone who liked me.  I enjoyed his company and found him intriguing and I was so very lonely.  I wasn’t sure from the start if I’m honest with myself, but I thought it was worth giving him a chance.  I was lucky in many ways.  He wasn’t a bad person and we were together for around 16 months.  He didn’t leave straight away when he broke it off  (he’d moved in) because he had to find a new home and so it was about another 4 months of living together – mostly nothing changed, but his departure loomed and became a dread.  When he did leave it was very sudden and with no goodbye. It was a wrench.

Instead of doing the adult thing and dealing with my emotions I developed a kind of self-destructive ‘fuck it’ button, which meant I said yes to a few things I really shouldn’t have which only led to more heartache. The loneliness got bad again and a friend ended up setting me up with a chap she knew.  All the warning signs were there, though not all from the beginning – he was very charming at first, but I was in some kind of downwards cycle and though friends warned me I felt this chap cared for me, but perhaps more enticingly I felt he needed me and I could help him.  He was an alcoholic with no real job and expensive taste.  But he came across as vulnerable and made me want to nurture him.  I helped with career plans and a new website, but a pattern developed and there was always a new venture.  He was selling books at fairs, but not making the money back because he really didn’t understand the business side of it.  He relapsed in the summer, and whilst drunk admitted to being unfaithful with a mutual friend.  I left him for a while and went on holiday with my family.  But he talked me back and made all sorts of promises.  The drinking got worse and there was really very little in it for me at all – but I stubbornly thought I could still help him.

Turned out I couldn’t.  Also turned out he’d been cheating with an ex and another girl who had apparently just wanted him so she could have a child.  When I finally had enough and left him for good he still owed me around £1000.  But in many ways it was worth losing that money (which I couldn’t really afford) to be rid of him.  My fingers had been burnt.  I had learnt my lesson and would not make those mistakes again.

It didn’t make it any easier to find a good man!  After years of avoiding them I finally gave in and joined some internet dating sites.  I found a couple of nice men that just weren’t for me, but found plenty of idiots too.  Most just ignored me and I started to wonder if they were real people or added by the site to make it look like there were more members than there really were.  I mean – what is wrong with all these guys?  I got the impression having a child already was an issue.  I was also by now thinking I didn’t want to have any more children which ruled out plenty others.  I just wasn’t finding anyone nearly suitable.  One of the major problems with those sites is that you tick all these boxes which makes it so easy to dismiss people that might actually be a fantastic match in real life.

I decided to give up; to concentrate on Sophie and me and just enjoy life.  We could be happy together, we had good friends and I knew that finding a man didn’t necessarily mean I would have my happily ever after.  After all other things were fine – work was up and down, but I was branching out and finding new ways to make a little living – Sophie was doing really well at school and we had our little routine.

It was then that I discovered some WAY members had set up a facebook group for people ready to move on.  A friend signed me up and it was fun.  It was mostly ladies, but we had fun with some banter and sharing experiences.  As there weren’t many guys signed up the organizers decided to let us introduce non-widowed men to the group.  That is how I met my most recent boyfriend.  He worked abroad so we really got to know each other by messaging before we met.  I totally fell for him.  He was fun and liked similar things to me; he treated me when we were out and was a real gentleman.  It wasn’t long before he told me he loved me and was 100% sure about us.  We introduced our children – he has a boy and a girl who are older than Sophie.  It all seemed so good.  We took the kids to a festival and he took Sophie and I on holiday for a week last summer.  We worked around the times he was away and though I missed him, it was OK, because we got on so well when we were together.  We started planning an amazing trip to New Zealand – a country he loves and wants to one day make his home.  I was so excited as I always wanted to go there – even before Peter Jackson increased their tourism nicely.  We were going in January.  My parents would come to stay at my house with Sophie and the cat.  Over Christmas he was at work, but I had a good time and we were always messaging.  My back problems, which had been in check, resurfaced in the holidays with all the visiting and lack of routine.  There was no time to sort it out, but I did get anti-inflamatories before we left.  It was fine if I could keep moving but the flights out were very painful – I was in tears and couldn’t sleep.  By the time we got to Auckland I was shattered and had been up about 40 hours straight.  But once I was moving around again it wasn’t too bad.  The trouble was it was a road trip for the most part.  Sitting in the car was painful after about 30 mins, and I got virtually no sympathy so just bit my tongue.  About half way though NZ I got some better drugs and my back eased off a lot.  I was having an amazing time and loving all the places we went, but could tell something was wrong, just couldn’t get him to share.  We had four nights in Queenstown at the end of the road trip – and on the surface things were fine.  We met his friends there and had more of a rest, but still things seemed a bit strained and I couldn’t get anything out of him.  He seemed colder and more distant but just said he was a quite person.

We came home via Hong Kong – which was also an amazing place to visit.  I stayed with him the night we arrived back in the UK before heading home to see Sophie – I’d missed her so much.  He went back to work, but our conversations had lost their sparkle.  He still refused to tell me what was wrong.  Then just before coming home again admitted he was annoyed with me for not sorting my back out before we went away.  Apart from me being in pain and him doing all the driving, it really hadn’t impacted that much on our holiday.  But I accepted that and thought things would be better.  They were on the surface and when we saw each other again the problems seemed to melt away a little.  Messages were still cool though.  After the second weekend when I’d been up to see him with Sophie things seemed a bit sour again and he cancelled his next trip down to us for fairly weak reasons.  That weekend things were strained.  Finally I suggested putting whatever it was behind us and starting over.  I loved him and was sure we could sort things out.  That’s when it finally came out that he had decided in NZ he couldn’t risk moving to be with me and wanted to concentrate on his kids.  So all that time when I knew something was wrong, it was.  What I hadn’t realized was how easily he would just discard me after making that decision without discussion.  We only live a couple of hours drive apart, but it turned out to be too far for him.  After planning to move to Bournemouth and set up a home with me, he now didn’t want to move until going to NZ and that wouldn’t be for at least 5 years.

It was the cruelest thing.  To show me this wonderful life that we could have over there – and I did love NZ – only to decide with no discussion that it wouldn’t be with me after all.  He wasn’t willing to risk investing in this relationship and losing everything again as he had through his divorce.  That’s how little faith he had in me after I had agreed to move around the world for him.

I’m still coming to terms with this – it’s only just happened after all.  I am still struggling to work out what happened really.  I guess this time it was him that wasn’t ready to move on.

So – dating as a widow has all the same pitfalls as normal dating, but perhaps it just hurts a little more because you know that you should never have been in this circumstance in the first place.  If Robin hadn’t died he would be with us and Sophie would have a Dad, I would know I was loved and wouldn’t be lonely, and Sophie may not have ended up being an only child.  It’s so hard to not go over all the ‘what ifs’.

So listen up men – you need to be good to us ladies.  We deserve to be adored and respected.  We deserve to be loved back as much as we love you.  Don’t take a heart and walk all over it – if things don’t work out that’s OK, but be nice about it and speak to us.  We deserve to know what you are thinking if you are thinking things are wrong.  Don’t give us hope of a better future to just throw it back in our faces.

All I can do now is lick my wounds, pick myself up and start living life again.  I don’t need to rely on anyone else for my happiness but me.  One day I would like to find my true Mr Right, but please next time let it really be the right one and not some pretender who just isn’t ready for something real.  And if having been widowed has taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of looking after myself and I am stronger than I think.  Moving on has all kinds of pitfalls, but I still believe in love.

Earning a Living

A mere three weeks after arriving in Bournemouth I had to return to my job at UCL.  They had said under the circumstances I could maybe get away with not going back, but I thought it made sense to work my three months notice and earn a little bit of money to get me going with my new life.  I planned to set up freelance from my new home eventually, but I felt a certain obligation to see out my time at UCL.

It was tough.  Driving up to Mum and Dad’s every Sunday so they could watch Sophie Monday and Tuesday while I went into work, then we would drive home Wednesday (with Mum sometimes in the early days), I would work from home Thursday and that was my reduced week.  Not ideal, but this was my penalty for moving away from London.  I did this for three months then was ill for another month after!

During this time, Sophie learnt to walk, turned one and also developed sleeping problems.  I still don’t know if the problems were due to the living in two places thing and all the traveling, or because I was away from her more now, but she would wake up most nights and scream for two to three hours until she wore herself out.  I suppose this is normal for mums returning to work, but the lack of sleep and emotional strain was boardering on hellish.  I even missed the bottom step one night as I stomped downstairs after an hour or two of trying to stop Sophie crying and turning to calpol to help settle her.  She was in my arms as I crumpled to the floor.  Mum and Dad were there and came rushing out to see if we were OK.  We were.  I was just emotionally crushed.

The one chap I had met now in Southbourne – a friend of friends – just happened to have a good friend whose wife was a child minder.  So that was Thursday’s cover sorted.  In fact Sophie went to Tina’s right up until she started school, even alongside nursery when that started at two years.  I’m not sure if in retrospect I should have spent more time just being a mum, but I felt like I should at least attempt to make a living and provide for us both.  I didn’t just want to live off the state, though I have to say that I have had to rely on Tax Credits after my savings dwindled down to not a lot.  After all, unmarried ‘widows’ don’t get any other benefit – but I wont get started on that right now.

It was quite sad to leave UCL after nearly ten years, but a relief to finally really begin my new life in Bournemouth.  I realized by now that it was really where I wanted to be.  Every week driving up to London felt traumatic and stressful, but returning to Bournemouth felt like the sun coming out after a storm – it felt like coming home.

After getting bugs and other technical things sorted I finally began working for myself properly in the January of 2007, though I had registered the company in December 2006.  My first job was a poster for Dad’s church – and I did get some work through old contacts for a while.  What I hadn’t realized was how difficult I would find it promoting myself, and my services.  I just didn’t have the confidence to be pushy and salesman-like.  I had had this vision of people falling over themselves to give me maps to draw for them – but the reality was that the work was few and far between.

Working from home wasn’t quite as easy as I had thought it would be either.  In my perfect imagined version of events I would be highly productive and ready for collecting Sophie at the end of the day with all tasks complete.  The reality was things took a lot longer than I thought – not the work so much, but everything else.  Doing household chores around the work meant focus on the work was diminished and ideas I had hoped to put into production just never happened.  I don’t think I was really that cut out for working from home.  Or maybe it’s just that it was all too soon and my head was too full of everything else.  It’s not that I wanted more time alone to reflect and be sad, but I probably needed it anyway.  There was something else too – I had begun to question myself, and my abilities as a sole trading entity.  It’s different when you work for someone else.   They provide work, you do the work and you get paid at the end of the month.  This was so different.  I was having to find the work, do the work (which was a bit like baring my soul to the world as it was straight from me, no back up and no one to bounce ideas off), then invoice the person asking for money.  I don’t think my work was bad, but I just kept thinking that everyone else was better – why would people pick me to do their map?

Those thoughts still appear sometimes – but I’m changing what I do.  I’ve added new skills and I don’t just draw maps anymore.  I paint them now too!   I also teach crochet and knitting which provides light relief from the business world and pocket money.  I am still searching for the more specific thing I should be doing – and for a regular source of decent income.  It’s still very much hand to mouth in that I don’t earn enough to save much up, but I am in a much better place mentally now and feel ready to explore different ways of making myself a living.  I haven’t exactly found my niche, but feel I’m moving closer to it.  I do feel a slight envy and awe for people who know exactly what they want to do and just get on and do it.  That’s quite a skill to have.  I tend to over-think things and I have so many interests that choosing one path to follow is not easy.  But I will get there – one day soon I hope.

The Move

I can’t remember exactly when I decided to move away from London, but I’d wanted to for years and Robin had been looking for work elsewhere for a while.  We were also looking at houses in greater London for our expanding family, but it wasn’t easy to find something on budget.  Sometime between losing Robin and the spring I decided to move while I was on maternity leave.  It was perhaps a foolhardy thing to attempt to move away from my family to a new place where I had no friends or support.  But I was so determined to get away from London, give Sophie and I a new start and be by the sea – a long-term dream.

People often ask why Bournemouth – and it was mostly chance I have to say.  I did know people in Brighton, but it seemed quite pricey.  I knew it was the south coast I was after being and so worked my way along the coast until I hit Bournemouth – it seemed like a good compromise between seaside, countryside but a large enough town to have stuff going on.  So I started the usual trawling of websites and trying to work out the exact nature of places from photos and maps online.  I found a few hopeful places, sensible homes to bring up a child.  But I needed to go there.  In the March we were invited to a friend and colleague’s wedding in Devon the same weekend as Mum and Dad were invited to a wedding in Eastbourne.  So Dad booked a holiday flat in Westbourne, Bournemouth for a week so we could meet up after and have a look around.  I got details of some of the estate agents ready, but knew nothing about the place really – only a bit of research from the internet.

The drive to Devon and the wedding went well enough.  I felt a bit out of it as I’d not been with any large groups since having Sophie.  It was nice to see people though, some familiar faces.  Though it did seem like a thousand years since that life when I was working and Robin was alive.  I was beginning to feel more confidence in myself and how capable I was – staying away with my baby (who was 5 months now) having driven myself there – no one else to rely on or pass the buck to.  I only got my little car in the February, which was in part funded by very generous donations from Robin’s old school friends.  I had never driven this far before.  On the whole I enjoyed it – and it was even quite a pleasant drive back along the coast to Dorchester, where I met Mum and Dad, and then on to Bournemouth.

I can’t remember all of the things we did the rest of that week, but we looked in a few estate agents around Parkstone before I decided to try the other side of Bournemouth where you can get closer to the sea.  Southbourne has quite a few estate agents in the high street and I went in all of them.  I liked the high street.  It had plenty going on, but wasn’t too busy and there were plenty ladies with buggies around – it seemed like a nice family area.  I managed to find two houses I wanted to actually see.  The first was quite far from the high street, and while it was a lovely house with great built in cupboards and a roll top bath, it had a mechanics garage out the back, no real view and seemed quite far away from the shops.  The second was on a little one-way road just off Southbourne Road, near the station at Pokesdown and with shops around the corner and the high street a short walk.  It was all plainly but recently decorated and had views from the back which were open because of the railway line, meaning the next row of houses were further away than they would normally be.  That and with it being on the brow of a hill meant it seemed high up and light.

I went back to London full of Bournemouth thoughts.  I mulled everything over and thought the second house was much more suitable.  I didn’t want to wait and search further because of the time constraints.  We organized a second viewing and Mum and Dad came with me again for a daytrip.  We did all the things you are supposed to do – asked different questions and looked with a more critical eye.  I also walked down to the sea with Sophie to see how long it took while my folks drove around a bit seeing what there was to see.  We met up at the cliff top at a café there.  Being by the sea drove it home for me.  It’s where I had wanted to be for so long.  The air was cleaner and the views great.  It was a lovely place to bring up a child and make our fresh start.  Though we were not made welcome in the café, were refused hot water (to make Sophie’s food) and heard barbed comments about too many buggies being a health and safety risk, on the whole I was feeling very much like this was a place I could live.

I put in my offer and it was accepted.  The survey was fine.  It mentioned the windows needed painting soon and the sellers were nice enough to give me another £1000 off the price to cover that.   So then the clock was ticking.  I really had to move to Bournemouth before I was due back at work.  My neighbour who was renting was buying my flat, so that was easy and no extra fees to pay.  I had to use my current mortgage suppliers as I was on maternity leave no one else would give me a new mortgage.  But that was fine.  They were very helpful and I organized solicitors with them too.  It was all pretty smooth, though I have no idea why things take the time they do.  My completion date was in August – 3 weeks before I was due back at work.

By far the most difficult bit about moving was packing up my flat while coping with a baby.  I made a good start with the books, but found other things so awkward as the boxes began to get in the way – there was no where to put anything.   Baby equipment takes up so much room, and by this stage I did really need the playpen, high chair, playmat etc etc.

I would never have managed it all without my folks, and on the big day my good friends Miles, Wayne and Nick who all came to my rescue.  We paid for a van that Wayne was happy to drive and load – he was a total wizard at fitting things in there.  Dad hired a small van too and I had my car. It was very stressful.  I felt so bad that my friends were having to pack up the last things for me as well.  It got to a time where I had to leave to get to the estate agents in time to get the keys!  Nick came with Sophie and I in my car – it was good to have the company, and someone to answer my phone when the estate agents called wondering if I was going to get there soon as they wanted to go home.  We made it, just in time.

It felt very strange to walk into my new home, all empty and blank.  We had a good look around planning where to put things.  Some furniture I wasn’t expecting had been left in the front bedroom, so decided Sophie would be better in the little room.  It all felt very surreal.  A while later the van arrived and then Mum and Dad.  Miles, Wayne and Nick kindly set up my bed and Sophie’s cot before we all got fish and chips for supper and they left.  I think Mum and Dad must have stayed on the camp beds – it’s all a bit foggy now.  All I know is I had done this massive thing moving from familiar surroundings to somewhere I barely knew and had no friends and it was all sinking in.

The trains were louder than I had remembered too.  The next few days I was fairly distraught – wondering what on earth had possessed me to do something like that.  But it was still a lovely area.  The neighbours turned out to be really great.  We had more space and a garden with an apple tree.  And not everything reminded me of Robin.  It would be OK – wouldn’t it?

Well eight years on I can honestly say that I was lucky.  I landed on my feet.  What was a determined madness in some ways ended up being a really good move for us.  I’m not saying things have been easy – and it did take time to make friends and find my way, but I love Bournemouth now and am so glad I found the courage to go through with something slightly reckless and nutty.

Early Days

Early Days

It’s been a long time since I took the time to write anything for this blog.  In fact I think it will become something else really, more of a store of my thoughts and memories rather than a regular thing to entertain.  I have worried about how many others are doing a great job of blogging about living with the loss of a partner – that old story of how can I do any better than it’s already being done by others with more experience of writing than me.  However, I am not doing this primarily to talk to the world or compete for readers, but rather to keep memories of the journey safe for the future and particularly my daughter.

With that in mind I do feel the need to fill in some of the past eight years and I will try to do it sort of chronologically.

The early days of my life with Sophie are a bit of a blur.  It’s such a big thing getting used to having a new person in your life and to an extent I put aside my grief to deal with the immediate needs of a new baby.  We built up our own kind of weird dysfunctional routine.  It wasn’t perfect and neither of us got much sleep at night, and the only sleep in the day was when Sophie was in the buggy or the car seat, which meant I couldn’t catch up myself, as I was needed to drive the car or walk the buggy!   I got by somehow – with help from my folks who often cooked and provided much company to keep me sane.

I remember feeling so rubbish that when the health visitors came I wasn’t dressed yet – but I’m sure that’s what they expect.  I was proud of myself one time though for answering the door whilst feeding Sophie – not that easy to maneuver about to do that when you are a new mum.

As I got into the swing of it I began to go to post natal classes at the local health clinic in Raynes Park.  The mums that I met there were so lovely, and the sessions practical that I was swept up in the whole baby thing and happily so.  Of course grief and loss was always there, intangible yet so very real.  As I mostly just saw the mums with the babies it was OK.  I wasn’t too much of a sore thumb.  Some of the ladies had husbands who worked away or long hours too, so as we became friends and did more socially it was safe.  A safe loving group who were so happy to be mums and share that experience. 

During that time the days were OK – they had a pattern to them and I could cope fine.  The difficult and dark times were night.  I was alone with a baby who didn’t want to sleep.  Once or twice it was 3 or 4am before we even got to sleep.  There were times when I could understand how people can be tipped over the edge of sanity.  I’d never seen so many lonely cold dark hours of the night before.  I guess it was love that got me through – that and shear willpower.  Love for Sophie and the will to get through each night.

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The postnatal group would go for a tea or coffee after the sessions at the health centre.  A small café where we had to sit outside as there were so many of us.  My first public breast-feeding happened outside this café, which felt like quite a milestone.  After the classes stopped we still would meet up.  The Raynes Park people would walk up to the common together, meeting others up there and again find nice spots for a cuppa and a place to feed the babes.  Time went by and our little ones began to take solids – so all the conversation turned to what we gave them, who made their own, what age you started solids etc etc.  It was like having my own hotline to the experts.  My own little support group – though I don’t think I realized at the time, but that’s kind of what it was.

Leaving them behind was the hardest part about moving away from Raynes Park and everything I knew.  When I made the decision to move to Bournemouth that was really my only regret.  Although so many of them have moved away since then, that I was glad I wasn’t left there with all of that lovely group leaving me!

So the end of the first chapter of Sophie’s life was perhaps that move.  Our lives were about to change again, but this first little chapter had been a bit of a cocoon in terms of being among familiar people and new friends with babies.  It had been an easy transition – being on maternity leave and just having to think about me and baby – mostly baby – didn’t take too much brainpower.  But I longed for a move – had been longing for it for years in fact and now I saw my chance.  So while on maternity leave I found a house, sold the flat, sorted timings, found friends to help me and moved to Bournemouth.  Nothing like a back-to-work deadline to spur things on!  But that’s a whole other story.

           

Birthday's and Anniversary's

Tomorrow Robin would have been 41.  But he will never grow old, get bald, wrinkly or face failing health.  Forever frozen in time at 33, that's how I will always remember him.  I do have lots of wonderful memories which I do share with my daughter as and when so she can build up a picture of her Dad.  But it takes a fair old effort to not feel sad and dwell on what we've lost every time some memorable date arrives.

We have developed a bit of a tradition where we put on some of Daddies music and have a dance around the living room.  We will also light a candle and have a quiet chat about it all.  Last year, for Robin's 40th we met up with his mum and sister, and his best friend Matt and his family, and we launched a rocket I'd bought him many years ago that had never been used.  It was a really warm day and we had a lovely pub lunch in the sunshine before heading to a quite spot.  Thank goodness Matt was there as the rocket launch was definitely a boy thing - but the kids loved it too - and it went so high we could imagine that Daddy might well have seen it.  This year it's still cold and wintry - no sitting outside pubs in the sunshine this year, but we will remember him in our own way.

When you loose someone - you don't just have Birthday's and Christmas to remember - there's that horrible day every year when you relive the loss.  However much you try to ignore it, you can't.  That date will always be there.  There was a year I was so busy with toddler Sophie that I had missed the fact that it was that terrible anniversary.  Until a friend texted to send her wishes.  We were out at the shops and it felt like the floor fell away.  I haven't forgotten since.  In a way by paying attention to the dates you are better prepared for what's coming.  Like the old adage - forewarned is forearmed!  It helps to prepare - like taking a deep breath to prepare for any daunting task.

And it doesn't end there.  There is Valentine's day, Mother's day, Father's day, school holiday's, family Birthday's and all sorts of other anniversaries.  Then there's every time Sophie achieves something new - swimming badges, awards at school, learning to roller skate, ride a bike and all the rest.  All of these dates and anniversaries bring home the fact that Robin is not with us, where he should be.  It takes every ounce of control I have to get through a school play in one piece.  Robin should be there to see all these things.  Why should my lovely girl have to grow up without her Dad being there to watch her plays and help her ride her bike?

And why should I have to face every noteable date alone?

As hard as it is though,  you have to try to remember the good times; to celebrate the life that was, rather than mourn the one that was lost.  So tomorrow we will talk about Daddy and the things he liked.  We will dance like idiots around the living room to The Cure.  We will light a candle and say a prayer.  We will celebrate the good man that Robin was, and who we miss so terribly.

It has been nearly 7.5 years since Robin died, sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it feels like it was a different lifetime.  But we will always remember him and send him our love as we celebrate his Birthday.

Happy Birthday Robin - 33 again xxx

Loss and Life

Death is a part of life.  There's no getting away from it, it happens to us all eventually.  We expect to loose our grandparents, and though we dread it and don't like to think about it, we know we will eventually loose our parents.  But we really don't expect to loose a partner when we are young.  Robin was only 33 when he was taken away from us.  I was over 8 months pregnant.  We were about to make the final preparations for the baby.  I was just about to begin my maternity leave - time to rest and prepare for the birth and the early days of motherhood.  Instead I was taken by a young policeman - blue-lighted (I think he thought I might go into labour) up to St Thomas' to say goodbye to my baby's father. 

I was hyperventilating by the time we reached the hospital.  A lovely nurse looked after me and my parents arrived a little later by cab.  I think there was paperwork, and a fair bit of time passed before I was taken through to see Robin.  He still had a tube in his mouth, but otherwise looked peaceful.  I was totally in pieces.  I couldn't imagine having a baby without him.  I sat with him for some long time.  Someone came in to ask a few questions.  The nurse came and went.  Eventually she gently suggested I leave.  I kissed Robin one last time - on the forehead due to the tube.  He felt cool.  And that was that.  My life was changed forever.  He was gone.  Our baby had no father - just me, and I was somehow going to have to bring this new life into my devastated world on my own.

I didn't sleep what was left of that night.  Just lay and listened to the very loud beating of my heart.  I was in shock.  I know that now, but at the time I just wanted sleep to take me.  I didn't want the next day to come because I had no idea what I would do or say to anyone.  But the days did come, things happened.  Friends came.  The funeral was arranged - we had to ask for a close date so that I could actually be there before baby arrived.  Robin's mum Angela was a huge help in those days - she was so strong, and Chloe, his sister too - who offered to be my birth partner.

The funeral went well.  It was a very difficult thing to get through, but it was such a comfort to have many of our friends and family there too.  Choosing the music had been hard, but it seemed to work, and there were even a few laughs at the choices.  Rob's best friend Matt had written a lovely piece too.  I had bought a book for people to write in - but wish I'd circulated it further now really as it looks quite empty where people wrote on a few pages only!

Sophie came into the world 5 days later.  Life followed the loss - though not in a totally straightforward way of course.  She had a bleed into her scalp due to the foreceps (she was back to back for those who know about these things, and that had made pushing her out very tough).  She stopped breathing from the shock, but luckily the staff at Kingston were very good and managed to revive her.  That was very hard though - after 17 hours of labour to not have her with me.  And because I'd had a spinal block at the end, I couldn't walk, so had to wait for a nurse to bring me to her in the neonatal ward.  It was 3am, 24 hours after I went into labour.

I think I was in shock.  I certainly felt in a daze.  Chloe had been with me all day while I was in labour, but now it was just me.  I felt disconnected from everything - even my daughter.  I had lost Robin, and gained Sophie (though she didn't have a name at that point).  But even the baby was not in my arms.  I was numb. 

The next morning I finally got to hold my baby - though she was still connected to tubes.  I had my first attempt at feeding her, and a lady who helps women with babies in neonatal took a photo.  I had needed a lot of stitches and was on plenty drugs, which added to the feeling of disconnection I think, but it all seemed so unreal.  I was kind of floating.  Of course I hadn't had much sleep either in the last few weeks - and only a few hours since going into labour the day before.  Soon feeling began to return.  Family and a few friends visited.  We both began to heal.  Sophie was out of neonatal, but I had to take her there for medication regularly for that first week. 

On my last day in hospital I was shown how to bath her - this hadn't been possible with the cannula.  Finally leaving the safety of that closed environment and bringing my daughter home was very emotional.  The world seemed so big and overwhelming, but back in my flat I felt safe and happy to be gazing into the smile of this new life.  I was devastated that she would never meet her daddy, nor he her, but she was so perfect I never wanted to put her down.

One life had ended, but a new one had begun and that was what I had to focus on now.  My life would never be the same again - it was virtually unrecognisable to me.  But I had to make it something good - for Sophie - for this new life.