Photos

I had panic attacks, and palpitations in the first six months.It really frightened me. I think it was the responsibility for everything, combined with exhaustion and the loss. We cared for my husband at home for the previous five months at home. He had terminal agitation, so sleep was minimal for us. In the end, I decided to just do the essential stuff, and the rest could bloody wait. Kate. Xxx

My 'go to' thing is always to read and research. The books have reassured me a bit, but I've given up on them now. Likewise the journalling - what's the point? I feel hopeless today. I haven't seen anyone for days and I'm sick of being on my own, but I can't just go out and wander round like some people seem to. I know it must be hard to go back to work but I'm retired and have nowhere I need to be. My purpose for the last three years has been caring for my lovely David; now my only purpose seems to be walking the dog. I watch hours of rubbish tv, anything to pass the time. I hope I'll feel better when the weather improves and I can start gardening, but who knows? We are all in this strange 'other world' where nothing is normal. 

I also took photos of my husband in his coffin and I have a short video of him ten minutes before he died. I don't think it's creepy at all: we need to acknowledge the reality of death and dying. B died peacefully, for which I'm grateful, but also he didn't look like 'himself'. Somehow that seems to emphasize the fact the he has gone. 

Yes I agree wesurvived. They don't look like you remember them when you see them laid out like that its just not them.  I also have a photo of him in his hospital bed just an hour or so before he passed and the difference is unreal. He looked so much in pain so restless in his final hours and in the funeral home he just looked so peaceful. 

I only have one photo of Tony in his last 2 months. I suppose I never felt it was important when I was so exhausted looking after him. My step daughter visited and she took a short video of him with his great granddaughter singing on the edge of his bed. 

Sometimes I wish I had but then the last proper photo is us and our daughter at the hospiece making a memory vase, something we have yet to finish. 

The photo I took of my beautiful Valen sleeping, upright in a chair with a blanket I tucked round him, shows how swollen his neck had become which made his breathing so bad. 
This was about an hour before he suddenly and traumatically was ripped from me.

The next photo I took was him in his coffin. 
No swollen neck, just a very faint puffiness. 
No pain or confusion on his face.

I have, very rarely, looked at them but am unable to delete them.

Photos are a strange thing. 
The same photo can have me smiling at it with happy memories in the morning, yet have me in racking so sobs with loss in the evening. 
There is no rhyme nor reason.

I have a large canvas print of us on our wedding day in the lounge. 
A photo I carry in my bag, a small one in my card wallet, a photo propped on his casket and some framed ones of the 2 of us dotted about. 
It’s been 16 months and I think I am now smiling at them more than crying at them.