How do I live with meaning?
Initially I did not let everything fall apart because I couldn’t. The impact of his death wasn’t just about me- in the hours that followed my discovery I had a real ‘ ‘Stop all the clocks’ moment- I tactlessly sent messages letting people know; I was as subtle as a town crier.
Now he has been gone 8 months, the time means nothing at all- it could have been a decade or thirty seconds ago. The state of things doesn’t change with time and the only factor I can impact is how I live and the choices I make. In our unpacking of the events and our experiences my mother-in-law offered the notion that nothing is permanent. So with that wisdom there is a choice. I can either despair and do nothing or take each moment that I am able to as a precious jewel. This choice becomes even more important when there are times when even breathing feels like too much. I could live another forty years; I could be dead in five minutes.
This doesn’t make me feel devil-may-care but it does give me the urge to take time out of the equation when it comes to life.
I believe that LP will live a full life. A life up until the point of death. Same for me, same for you. I will try my best to be present and loving and fun, I will seek these things out in others.
The house makes funny noises at night and I spend too long checking the taps, switches and locks before I sleep. I resist every urge to get out of bed as soon as I’ve got in. I dislike being the first line of defence.
There is a fraction of a second when I believe that chance could be so cruel as to take LP away when she is sleeping.
On Sundays, when we have our breakfast in bed, if I take too long to fetch it, LP thinks I may have died too. She is relieved when I appear again with her tray of treats, everything is as well as it can be- there is food and there is telly. If daddy can just disappear then it is reasonable to believe that I might too. These things happen on Sundays after all.
Earlier today I revisited the book Duck, Death and the Tulip. If you are suffering and you can bare it then it really is a balm. It is beautiful and real and the illustrations are almost enough without the words. Duck notices death and the story goes from there.
There is solace in the song too.
As I edit this I am listening to LP fall asleep. We’ve spent our day preparing her bunk bed for a sleepover, it is her first time on the top deck and I get to sleep beneath the adventure. The space is comfortably contained. She is almost six, she tells me that she’s old enough now. I am waiting for the stillness; then I’ll creep out. I imagine how I would have told him all about it, he would have been waiting in the office for my retreat, wondering how long it would be until tea.
I remember the nights we spent squashed up beside her willing the power of sleep. The way we tried so hard to love each other when we wondered if we’d ever see a full night of rest again and willed the other one to take the hit and respond to the early morning call for attention. I am glad it was almost always me she cried for, hearing her call out for him in the night now would break me and upset her.
Later on at grown-up bedtime, when I plot my course around the house, wearily responding to my anxiety; I will check her status at head height and tuck myself in as I promised. I might wonder if I’d be better off sleeping here always. I thought that it was the garden that has saved me; perhaps in this moment, it is LP.