First Anniversary

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Hello everyone,

In the days leading up to Paul's anniversary, I felt quite nervous and all over the place. I didn't know what to expect from the day or what I should do with it. But Now I would like to share the experience of the day with you.

Yesterday morning, I decided that, instead of allowing my thoughts to wander back to the time last year, I would spend the day quietly remembering the man Paul was: the beautiful person he was, his gentleness, his kindness, his open-heartedness, his love for life, his love for beauty, his love for fun, his fantastic sense of humour, his playfulness, his ability to become one with the people and situations around him, his creative mind and ability to find practical solutions to many problems of daily life (such as to make a camera stand out of bananas), his courage, his resilience, his interest in so many different things and particularly science, his talent to write, his talent to draw, his talent to learn new languages, his constant feeling that he was not good enough, his occasional wish to be left alone to come home to himself, his occasional grumpiness... remembering that all those things, and many more, made Paul who he was.

In the morning, I listened to some audio recordings of happy times we had. Listening to the recordings and to our happy times made me cry and long for my man so much.

At lunchtime, my friend Maureen came and we went for a long walk in Paul's and my favorite park nearby where we spent so many happy days together; and I told Maureen about those happy days.

In the afternoon, I was at home again. I sat outside in the sun for a while, something Paul used to like a lot, remembering him and our time together in this house. 

In the evening, I had phone calls from my parents, from my brother and from my friend Katharina from Germany. In all those conversations, we spoke mostly about the man Paul was and recalled happy times together.

Only at 8.10PM, which was the time when he had stopped breathing last year, I sat down beside his ashes and thought of him in the hospital in those last moments of his life. I had wanted to tell him that I was okay, that I was safe but that I missed him every single day... But all I could do was sob and tell him how much I missed him and our beautiful life together and how sad it was that his cancer had taken him so early, him who was such a special person to everyone.

I definitely drank to much gin and tonic after that while again on the phone to my friend Katharina.

When I went to bed at 11PM, I was very weak and shaky and I ended up having to ghrow up - all signs of pure exhaustion from the day and from remembering so many things and talking to people about Paul so much.

I think it was really good that I had so many tears yesterday. I often feel that I don't cry enough. I seem to keep myself in check, seem to keep extremely busy and not stop enough or pause enough to let memories and tears come to the surface. Somehow I am afraid that I could lose control of the situation and be in tears all the time, unable to get anything done, unable to eat. I think now in this second year I may take up counselling, even for a little while.

I also want to try to, instead of talking about my grief all the time, talk about the person Paul was, the life we had together, what the qualities were in him that I miss the most. I think there is some truth in this when we say that the people we have lost live on through our memories.

I don't know how I got through this first year, and it doesn't even feel like a year, time has become very unimportant for me. All I know is that I have made it to this point with the help of family, friends, the friends of this beautiful group, the holidays I went on my work and my campaign to bring Reiki into hospitals.

This morning, I don't feel good. I feel quite low and weak. This morning I saw a neighbour and chatted with her for a while and she said that I did not look good and in fact looked like last year after Paul's death. Well, I suppose that's understandable because I didn't eat much yesterday, I drank too much last night, and I think I am physically and emotionally quite drained.

I am glad that it's back to work today and back to my new "normal". There is some comfort in that. 

Love and hugs to everyone, Mel.

  • Hi all,

    I thank all of your for your messages in this thread.

    Today is not such a good day for me. And, in fact, since Thursday I have been struggling; but not so much with emotions. It's more that I have been feeling physically unwell; weak, tired, no interest in doing anything, hunger but no appetite. I think that perhaps this is the way my system is dealing with the first anniversary, the fact that it is my birthday this coming Tuesday (which was Paul's funeral last year) and also all the drink I had on Wednesday. I am going to my GP tomorrow to get my bloods taken because of my usually low iron levels which need to be tested from time to time, and I will be interested to see if my bloods show something else, maybe a deficiency in something else or an inflamation or infection... But my guess is that it is more something to do with the grief and that it will pass.

    But last night, in the middle of the night, I woke up and my whole body felt tense, actually my lower back was sore and my legs too. I got up to take a Nurofen. I went back to bed and it took me ages to go back to sleep. And, when I did, I had strange dreams, I can't remember what they were about exactly but I know that I felt lost all the time and misunderstood, disoriented and sad. When I finally got up, I thought to myself how difficult it is for me to be on my own when I am not well, it makes me insecure, it makes me feel very lonely.

    Anyone else feel like that after their anniversary?

    Love and hugs

    Mel.

    I don't like the term "moving on" because it sounds to me like we are leaving our loved ones and the life we had with them behind. I like the term "moving forward" as it implies that, while life goes on, our loved ones are still with us in our hearts and minds. 

  • Yes. I felt very wrung out, having been anxious working up to the day itself, and then relieved that I'd got through it. Then a sense of 'oh. so nothing's magically changed, here we go again'. It's very hard. I also relate to feeling insecure when I'm not well. My hubby was such a grounded person, very calm in a crisis and I miss having his support very acutely. One of our children has some health issues and my husband used to be so sensible when I was getting into a spin about whatever it was. Now I try to imagine what he would say. It does help ... not that long after my husband died, our son said (I should add here that we're not a religious family so I hope this doesn't offend anyone) - 'you know when people say What would Jesus say? Well I think What would Dad say'. It was a lovely sentiment as he was a kind, wise man and I often try to imagine what he'd say in certain circumstances. Perhaps it would help you to imagine what your husband would say to support you, I don't know. Our partners will always be there in our hearts, and maybe in some other dimension they still are, cheering us on from the sidelines (getting a bit existential here ...) Xx