Bereavement Blog

Equal time on the planet

Posted on by Cathy Penman

Today is a significant day/date which I have sort of been waiting for for six and a half years.

Up until today I have been able to say, John still outlived me, he still had longer on the planet than me (because he was older).

But today the day has come when I have been alive the same amount of time that he had in total (59 years, 131 days). So today is the equivalent day for me, to the one where his life ended. So after today, if I’m still here (unless he ‘comes to get me’), I will be living with the awareness that I’ve actually lived longer than him. I think that will add to my grief.

I am scared for myself, because he died aged 59 – why should I not also? I don’t deserve to be the one who survived longer.

So how to pass this horrible day without being too profound, and too scared, and too sad?

At least one of the two of us is still here to have these thoughts, and make these comments.

Poor, dear John, I wish you were still here to enjoy life with me. xxx

Dear John, 6 years on

Posted on by Cathy Penman

Dear John

Well, in the same way it’s so weird that you didn’t know about Brexit, you also completely missed a world-wide pandemic (tautology!), with a virus having killed well over a hundred thousand people in the UK alone.  So far I have escaped it.  I have wondered whether you would have survived it; it might have taken you just a few years later anyway.  I’ve also wondered whether it was a factor in your ‘unknown infections’ whilst in hospital; could it have been Covid back then?

We are still in a national lockdown which means no travelling round the country, no holidays abroad, no restaurants or retail outlets open, no zoos or stately homes to visit, no big events to go to like the country shows, or Crufts or racing.  Also I have not been able to socialise at all, look for new friends etc, so have felt very very isolated and often scared.

Because I’m in a new area, my grief has come back quite a bit.  If I walk by the sea on a rough and rainy day, I think, John would have liked this.  Every time I see old couples together holding hands, I think, that should have been us – we would have stayed together so I would have been in a life-long relationship, growing old together (didn’t happen).  I come across historical things locally and think, would John have known about that?  What would John have thought about everything that’s happening and where I’ve ended up?  (Well, I’ve moved but still not sure I won’t move again; it wasn’t the dream perfect location, it was just having to choose somewhere, anywhere, in a panic, because I’d moved out of the old house and had nowhere to live!)

The worst thing is living alone in a new house, with a lot of our things still around me – the same sofas, the same bed at the moment, the same pictures on the walls, the same books and CDs etc.  I can’t help thinking how sad it is that I can’t show you my house, take you on a tour.  Look, this is where I put our old bookshelves, this is where I’m keeping your artworks, our bookmarks collection.  What would you have thought of this house, John?  Would you have approved of it?  Would you be jealous to see me living here now?  Yes, of course you would have wanted more life also.  I picture you sometimes – that’s where John would have sat, in the porch, reading a newspaper, enjoying the retirement he never had.

I’m supposed to be looking forwards not back, but it’s difficult when you’re alone all the time not to feel sad and sentimental.

All my love xxx

Looking for comfort at the time of Coronavirus

Posted on by Cathy Penman

I may die

But not everyone will die.

I may die

But there will still be blue skies and green fields.

I may die

But I will have lived.

I may die

But my whole history has happened, is a reality.

I may die

And that matters to me, but not to the world.

I may die

But there will still be elephants and zebras (hopefully).

I may die

But there will still be daffodils and oak trees (probably).

I may die

And my whole consciousness cries out at the tragedy.

I may die

But maybe someone will read all my writing, hear all my recordings.

I may die

But you, reader, have not died.

 

 

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Dear John, 4 years on

Posted on by Cathy Penman

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Dear John

Went to the Cemetery today and took flowers to your grave and the flower room.  Put a card saying I miss you and think about you.  Feel very sad that there’s no-one else to visit or care, so no-one will even see the flowers or the card but me.

What’s news here?  My (our) house is under offer and I’ve been househunting, but am still very confused and undecided about where to go and what to do with my future.

I’ve just come back from Pembroke, John, where I looked at 6 beautiful houses.  I can see myself starting a new life there, but it’s not going to happen.  Nothing feels right.

Little John – your proxy – came to Wales with me.  I even took him out as I drove over the Severn bridge to show him the view – dangerous and silly in many ways; you’d’ve been annoyed with me.

I keep seeing things I want to tell you about.

There’s one particular house down a path which I often drive past, that we looked at years ago when we were househunting, and I just saw it’s been extended hugely.  It was shared history, something I would’ve wanted to update you on.

The weirdest thing is that on the site of the Pizzaland opposite East Croydon Station, where we actually first met all those years ago, they are building a giant building – there are two ‘cores’ that keep getting higher and higher.  I want to tell you – hey, can you believe what they’re doing at our special spot?  All the people who might live or work in that building will never know that there used to be a Pizzaland there where a couple once met, and stayed together 29 years, til he d….  Every time I see those two tall cores, it’s like they are a (secret/private) memorial to our relationship.

It’s very weird that you missed the whole Brexit thing.  I think you would have been so interested cos you were into politics and it’s all ‘history in the making’ – which is why you said you liked watching live football matches!  It’s bothered me a bit that whilst I think I know what your position/opinion on Brexit would have been (same as mine) – I can’t be 100% sure.  I’ll never know.

I went to Italy for Christmas, John, and left a copy of A Widow’s Words in the hotel library/bookshelf.  I noticed the next day it was gone already, so someone at least has perhaps been reading about you.  I’ve also done the legal deposit thing, so at least there are six copies lying in libraries for posterity.  Maybe someone will read about you in 100 years time.

My plan for the rest of today is to start packing our 4000 books.  Everyone tells me I can’t keep so many, but they (most of them) are your property, things you acquired and wanted over the years.  It will be painful to be putting them in boxes and thinking how you should still be here to enjoy them.  But I’ve been so ‘stuck’.  I haven’t touched the nice ones in the front room for 4 years, they are still as you arranged them.  Probably if you were here you would be amazed I hadn’t moved house sooner.

So, still struggling on with my own problems, pretty depressed, John, and realising how much of it is still grief.  Have stopped adding to this site cos of crushing bad feeling that no-one looks at it anyway, so I guess it’s just a private diary.

Missing you.  xx

(Little John sends his love.)

(He says he’s trying to look after me but it’s a big job.)

PS The cuddly red dragon in the photo is called Henry because Henry VII was born in Pembroke Castle, which fact the probability of your having known I would estimate at about 70%.

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Nuthatch Grove

Posted on by Cathy Penman

LJ at NG

In A Widow’s Words I wrote about the several significant places where I scattered some of my dear John’s hair – for example at Hever Castle, and in St Moritz.  There was one more place I wanted to do it, and I finally addressed this the other day.

It’s a place we loved at Wakehurst Place, a clearing in the woods where birds come to feed.  I saw that it’s really called the Himalayan Glade, but we called it Nuthatch Grove.

I wrote about it in People and Places – here’s a link to that chapter: Nuthatch Grove

So I went and did it, managed to spend some time there alone (though it was quite busy with people despite being quite isolated).  I took ‘Little John’ and got some photos.  All very sad and sentimental.

Amazingly, I really did get several sightings of a nuthatch, so it’s a pretty reliable place to see them.  It’s a tiny bird that flits about so quickly and never seems to rest long in one place, so even if I’d had a proper camera it would have been difficult to get a good shot – below is the best I got on my phone camera.

I don’t know if I’ll ever go there again… too painful.  Very beautiful though.

Nuthatch crop

 

Insensitivity

Posted on by Cathy Penman

Arundel castle

I don’t really hold it against the poor woman, but yesterday I came across the worst insensitivity I’ve experienced in three and a half years, with respect to my position.

I was walking around Arundel Castle and Gardens all day alone, and at the end, heading for the exit, chatted to an older lady who was also (so I thought) on her own.  But then she announced, “My husband’s round here somewhere.  If he doesn’t turn up – if he’s fallen off the ramparts or something – I’ll be going home a widow!”

You’d think it might have crossed her mind that the woman on her own she was talking to might ACTUALLY be a widow!

It really made me flinch.

I just don’t think, even if I hadn’t had the experience myself, that I would ever make a remark like that to another woman on her own – just in case.  I would have been aware of the possibility and been sensitive.

The castle is wonderful, by the way.  Gorgeous views of the countryside and the sea from the keep.  The narrowest spiral staircase I’ve ever experienced.  Sumptuous and historically interesting rooms and corridors, especially the great hall and the library and the bedrooms.

And the gardens are so unexpected, so varied and unusual and pretty.  Beautiful pathways, features and fountains.  Beautiful lawns and colourful flowers, all with the backdrop of the Cathedral beyond the wall.

A delightful attraction I would definitely recommend, and  a lovely day out in the sunshine.

I went home a widow.

Little John at Arundel

https://arundelcastle.org/

 

 

Champ and Scamp

Posted on by Cathy Penman

champ and scamp

I think I’ve written in A Widow’s Words about ‘Champ and Scamp’, this sculpture of a horse and dog, so spontaneously and aptly named by John, when I first brought it home.

Here’s ‘Little John’ having a ride on said sculpture, before it gets packed away.

Can you appreciate how very poignant and emotive this image is to me?  So laden with sadness and significance, which no-one else would understand.

Three Cathedrals

Posted on by Cathy Penman

Little John at Gloucester

Here’s Little John at Gloucester Cathedral.

I went on a househunting trip which ended up being ‘the three cathedrals tour’ – looking at three towns in the West of England; Gloucester, Hereford and Worcester.

Guess I liked them all – lovely countryside everywhere.  Difficult to choose a new future though.

 

 

Nightingale

Posted on by Cathy Penman

Nightingale

A small cuddly bird is upsetting me.

John and I collected the whole series of small bird toys that sing when you press them, which you sometimes see in toyshops and giftshops, like the Richmond Park gift shop where I’ve just been.

I recently packed them all away, and there is already a poignancy because gradually, they stop singing, and this makes me sad that they are all gradually going quiet – you can’t replace the battery.

When we went to the US we also bought the whole US set, so it’s quite a big collection, and is very much in the ‘sensitive’ category for me, because it was a joint thing.

I quite often, when I see the collection in shops now, review what they have and assure myself I’ve got all the options already.  Today for the first time in years, I’ve found one we didn’t have, which must presumably be relatively new, or we just missed it.  It’s quite orangey coloured and is the ‘Nightingale’.  Of course I bought it, but it’s so difficult to handle wanting to come home and say to John, look, guess what, I found a new one we haven’t got!  He’s not here to know or care any more.

Similarly I wanted to say to him the other day, hey you know how many times we’ve passed through Brixton by car, or when you used to get off the tube and catch a bus home – did you know there was a Brixton market?  Indoor arcades with quirky shops and lots of eating places – I discovered it the other day, I’m sure he wouldn’t have known it was there.

I went in a French bistro and ate escargots.  (He will never know, about my escargots!)