For My Eyes Only

2 minute read time.

Dear Little Jen

Let this be a warning to you for being smug and proud of the things you achieve and thinking you were doing alright. (And i know you try to write positive stuff but you can't escape this one, can you.) So you're probably a bit tired, probably a bit below par, probably got too much to do. You were probably living on a high, after realising you actually know some lovely people.

But you weren't expecting that, were you? The express train from the tunnel of hell which slammed straight through you. Came out of nowhere. Threw you against the wall where you howled and sobbed, and your heart felt as though it was being ripped out of your chest. And please God would you do that for me? Would you rip out this heart, make it stop, give me a let out, anything but this horrendous all-consuming pain of longing, longing with every centimetre of flesh for someone I can't be with anymore. This pain of amputation is so searingly deep and real. And why did it happen?

Because, quite innocently, I was listening to a radio interview with silly old Rod Stewart and there were just a few bars of that stupid song from 1977, 'I don't wanna talk about it............' And I was right back somewhere else in a year when my whole world turned upside down because a tall beautiful man walked into my life. 

And a tiny part of me thinks I might have been better off if I'd ignored him and let him just walk away. Because then i wouldn't be going through this awful, torturous, writhingly, searingly, burning deep pain.  But I know I couldn't have done that. Let him walk away, I mean. And I know that I'd have missed out on 35 years of what we had. 

Does he know what I am going through? Can he see my pain? Can he see me rolling in agony on the kitchen floor? Does he know how much I want to go to the grave and dig it up with my bare hands just to lie with him in the cold earth? Is this the pain he felt when he was dying? 

No. What he suffered was a million times worse, a trillion times worse, and what is more, he had no choice. He wanted what I have now - not the pain, but Life.

So I will add Rod Stewart to the list of things I can't listen to anymore - Bach, a lot of Mozart, Rachmaninov, Steve Miller Band, Ry Cooder, the Woodstock Album (OK, I'm old), Janis Joplin, Crowded House etc etc etc etc etc The list goes on and on. The power of music to completely steamroller me now............

Heyho.

Another lesson in grief.

Little Jen 

 

Anonymous
  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    Hi LittleJen,

    oops! but with all this Bond stuff around us I just had to have a peek.

    I can only pick you up from the floor and hold you tight until the pain subsides.

    I'm stripping myself of your shiney armour as we speak, so that I can help you put it back on. Once you're safely tucked back inside you will see the reflection of all that you shared and in time you will be able to listen to some of that wonderful music.

    Huge comforting hugs

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    Oh, LittleBraveJen.

    You frighten me. What you describe is so painful to read, it's hard to breathe. I am so frightened that MY lovely man's cancer might come back. You make it sound so vivid I think I'm experiencing it with you (which I hope doesn't offend you: I mean that it's my own nightmare that you are expressing. I hope you know what I mean It's like seeing myself in the future).

    It's truly awful, this overwhelming grief of yours. I imagine it will have to take its course and lessen eventually, but I hate to think of the pain and the suffering you're going through.

    Much love, and the tightest of hugs to try to squash the pain into submission at least for a little while.

    x x x

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    No words tonight, just holding you tightly, oh so tightly all night and not letting you go.

    LM xxx

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    All my love and squeezy cwtchs, always xxxxxx

  • FormerMember
    FormerMember

    Dear Jen,

    Worried about you, lets know you are ok.

    jmd xxxxx