Kate - my wife 1987-2006
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Kate in her flat in Islington before she moved in with me
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I first got to properly meet Kate when we had lunch together in a department store in Oxford Street (now shut down). Kate had recently undergone a laparoscopy on her fallopian tube that had been damaged in some way. I felt she was a bit depressing, a little theatrical about her pains (she winced a lot) and I was a totally selfish bastard too focused on my own inner turmoil to recognise that Kate was calling for help rather than just feeling sorry for herself. Again, luckily, she persevered with me.
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| Kate in about 1995 |
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| Our wedding day in Hackney. Anne Usborne on the left. |
I will be adding to this period - our marriage, over the next months. Below is what happened to Kate in 2006.
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| Kate in 1987 |
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| Rosie, Ned and Kate 1988 |
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| Kate in 1989 |
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| Kate in Bologna |
Gerard arrived soon after and we
had a hug and a sob. I told him what I knew which was not much, everything
depending on the scans. Gerard took heart at this. The scans would be OK, Kate
would go for surgery, there was hope in this. He rattled off details about
sales and stuff in the office to give us something to focus on. My dread was
increasing with the second.
An hour later, a second posse of
doctors came in to see us headed by an Indian doctor. They sat me down and
looked serious looks at me. ‘We have had the results back from Old Church and
it does not look good Mr Miles. Catherine has had two bleeds, one of them
massive and they do not think that moving her to Old Church is an option. There
is clearly damage to the higher brain and there could be some to the brain stem
itself.’ He looked at me and then went on to explain, ‘If the brain stem is
damaged she cannot breathe for herself Mr Miles. Now, I have to ask you a
difficult question. Has Catherine ever shown or declared any willingness to
donate organs?’
The spring that had been tightening
inside me for over five hours finally broke and I sobbed like a child, like a
middle-aged child. Gerard too was sobbing uncontrollably at the window trying
not to show his face. When I had recovered some control myself, the doctor
thought it would be helpful to explain further: ‘The transplant team need to
work closely with the ICU so that there is no deterioration to the organs, so
if Catherine wants to donate then we need to move her to the ICU.’ I tried to
grapple with this and asked: ‘Are you saying that she is brain dead?’
‘We don’t know the exact damage to
the brain as yet’.
‘But if you move her to the ICU
does she have a chance of recovery?’
‘I really don’t know Mr Miles’.
‘What happens if she does not want
to donate?’
‘She will be placed in a ward’.
I told him that Kate had expressed
a wish to donate which was true and it seemed bizarrely she might get a better
deal this way. Keep her organs nice and fresh until the transplant team can
swoop down on her was how it was beginning to sound.
That nightmarish little chat over,
soon after Vicky and Peter arrived. More tears and hugs. Vicky said tearfully,
‘Not her brain, that beautiful brain’. There were more attempts at taking on
board a situation that would soon be freeze-framed, the reel wound back to this
morning before the world had gone mad and my life with Kate allowed to continue
its perfectly happy route for the next thirty years or so.
I think it went dark before I next
saw Kate. She was in ICU with a mess of tubes and wires doing her breathing,
monitoring her heart and keeping her alive. ICU was very different from
A&E. Here they preserved life as there single aim, they might even restore
life. Frank and Vicky her sister arrived with Rosemary, her mother. We stood or
sat at the bedside in various states of shock and tears. The missing party was
Ned – he was on a skiing holiday in France. Somehow I reached him about five pm
and told him some of the details. I had to get him home. I held Kate’s hand,
which was very cold. It was still Wednesday, that same horrible Wednesday.
Five days passed in a fog of
despair and hope. She made little steps forwards on the third day as they
reduced the sedation. Even moved her hands to her head as she probably felt a
return of the brain agony she’d been put through. She often used to ask me to
kiss her around the eyes to suck out and remove a pain she had there – I don’t
think there was a connection though between normal headaches and what happened
to her on the 15th Feb. I went to Broomfield many times in that
period, talked to nurses and up to seven different consultants. By Friday
they’d removed the ventilator tube and she looked more normal, perfectly and
terribly normal, in fact. Her colour was back to its normal self and she felt
much warmer when I kissed her and whispered things to her. I could kiss her on
the mouth now. She had a tracheostomy tube into her throat to help her breathe,
but things seemed hopeful, maybe a long road to recovery and perhaps not total
recovery, some paralysis possibly or slurred speech, at least for a while until
she rewired bits of her brain.
The nurses gave me hope, the
consultants took it away. I spoke with Doctor Durcan, ruddy faced and
business-like, on the Saturday. ‘There has been some deterioration Mr Miles,
with Kate’s condition. As we have reduced the sedation her blood pressure has
gone up slightly. But she did show some positive signs, moved her hands and
legs and so on. She is now breathing for herself which means the brain stem is
still doing its job. The higher brain is permanently damaged though.’ I asked
what her chances were. ‘Not very good, but people with this injury may go on
for a long time – we have to think about moving her to a ward soon as there is
some pressure on beds up here.’ I pressed him on a ‘long time’. ‘By law we
cannot remove life support until a year has passed at which point she would be
reassessed.’
I drove back home thinking of Kate
preserved in a half brain state for a year. I hadn’t realised quite what
dreadful thoughts Ned was having. His greatest fear was that his mum would be
returned home in a state of drooling idiocy. He had seen her last, before the
skiing holiday, as his totally normal, fussing, concerned,
have-you-got-your-keys-phone-money-etc. loving mum. Now she was in a peaceful
coma, but would there be a totally different person coming home to be washed,
fed and propped up in bed? For me, if I’d thought that far, I would have traded
death with such a terrible consequence. She would still be there, if only half
there. I don’t think I properly thought it through. For both Ned and me, that
would have been a living horror.
I saw her Sunday about midday.
There was a subtle change to her skin somehow. There was less life in her, I
felt, as I kissed her and held her small warm but lifeless hand.
Wednesday, 8th March 2006
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| We took a holiday in Brittany on Ned's first birthday - 1988 |
So where do I think I am in the
process? And where is Ned in his own confrontation with the worst thing that
has ever happened to him? The hardest part is accepting the reality of it. My
brain has grown accustomed over 20 years of knowing Kate to having her around,
not just when we were together, but almost more so when we were apart. There
were daily phone calls even when she was at home and I was in the office.
Little virtual cuddles almost, virtual hand-holding down the phone.
That has gone. All of it. Take
comfort from the memory of it I’m told. Hold on to all those good memories
they, who have not been through this, tell me. Those who hardly knew her tell
me how vibrant, kind, nice, off-beat, different, witty, lovely, she was. And
unique, irreplaceable.
I thought about taking a diazepam
this morning to melt the lump of ice inside me, but I looked it up on the web
to discover that it’s evil stuff. It is actually Valium which the doctor told
me she would not be prescribing. Highly addictive and zombie-making. I’ll keep
the ice for now.
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| Sunshine and Kate |
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Yesterday was a difficult one. I
will have my good days and bad days I’m told, and I am sure that is quite
right. I am not used to having ‘bad days’ and have forgotten how to cope with
them. I went to Chelmsford and while waiting for new glasses went to Bucialli,
Kate’s favourite dress shop. I broke the news to the owners who’d become
friends of Kate’s. It was the same intensity I felt earlier in the week when I
went in to see her hairdressers in Stortford. A crushing weight inside, a lack
of air in my lungs, a welling of the eyes and a burning sensation behind
them. I then left, grateful it was
raining hard and I could disguise the tears with raindrops.
There was a phone call from an
ex-friend of Kate’s inviting Ned and me over on Sunday which I could luckily
decline. I do not forgive her yet for her treatment of Kate and though I
understand how hateful her situation is, or at least should be, she has not
been punished by her conscience nearly long enough. Knowing her, she will find
a way of forgiving herself long before I do. I bought a TV for the kitchen
yesterday and Ned and I started to set this up last night before Nik turned up
for the takeaway Indian, followed soon after by James and Bobby his boyfriend.
I think they had been warned by Vicky that I was not up for religion or
sentimentality – don’t think I ever will be.
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| Our new home in Walpole, Suffolk |
11pm now and the end of a difficult
day. First there was a phone call from Vicky G. She needed the address or phone
number of cousin Richard, Kate’s cousin Richard Barnett. There was some sad
news that Vicky needed to give him about his sister Gillian, with whom Richard
had been out of touch for some years – she’d died last week aged 59 of an aneurism.
This is taking on bizarre proportions – two cousins die within two or three
weeks of one another aged about the same from the same thing. Vicky then got
upset about Kate. She needs to reveal her pain to me because Ned and I are the
only people who can possibly be more upset than she is. Everyone else is, apart
from Rosemary, working on a different level of grief and Rosemary has an
extraordinary resilience. I got close to tears, so close I had them. Later at
the pub, where I went with James and Bobby and Ned and where I told them the
story about Dick Chapman and where they revealed they intend to marry, I had a
call from Keith Parish. He, like Vicky, I felt needed my greater grief to place
in his within some meaningful context – to give it proportion. Again I ‘got
close to tears’ which is a bit tough in a village pub. I said I would meet
Keith soon – strangely, as her first husband and first love, I think he’ll
understand me more than other friends and grievers, but we’ll hurt each other
the more for it.
That was teary moment number 2
today. When we got home I gave Bobby the keyboard we’d bought for Ned a couple
of years ago. He was delighted with it and instantly started to accompany
himself as he sang. I’ve decided I like Bobby. There was a leaflet through the door advertising a recycling
service – put old clothes, shoes, cosmetics, perfumes in a bin liner and they
would be recycled creating jobs for the third world etc. So I got a bin liner
and started on removing things from the airing cupboard. I had not bargained
for my reaction to finding a belt from her dressing gown, a coverlet she liked,
a towel she’d favoured, a flannel she’d used. I put my hands on the racks of
bedding and towels and sobbed piteously. That was teary moment number 3. Number
4 was a complete surprise and happened as I stood in the kitchen about 8pm. No
reason for it, just an aftershock and lasted just a few seconds. I went and
watched TV conscious of her things, photos, purchases, touches everywhere I
swivelled my head. Should I give away everything and move to an empty house I
wondered and avoid everything we have done or talked about for the last 20
years?
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| Kate in Bilbao around 2001 |
Sunday, March 12, 2006
6.30am – slept reasonably I suppose
with doc’s little pink pill. The awakenings through the night are troublesome
though, each one being a cue to some new thought involving a sense of loss felt
now or to be felt later. Kate’s
birthday is coming up (29th March) which will be another hurdle – it
will bracket the month for anniversary reminders with the funeral at one end
and her birthday at the other. I looked at some movie footage of us last night
– an ordeal by fire. I am not sure how to exorcise these pain demons unless I
goad them to the surface though. Do they get stronger the more I encounter them
or do their little tridents get blunter with use?
She died three weeks ago today, but
the key date I go by is the attack in the ambulance which will be four weeks on
Wednesday. I have an obsession with tracking time as I move away from the
event. It’s like counting footsteps as I move away from something radioactive
and deadly – I need to get a thousand paces away to be safe and so far I have
taken only three steps. Can I break out into a trot? Will I stop or walk backwards?
This diary will record the journey.
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| Ned and Dad about to ride off on 650cc Honda. Photo taken by Kate |
I looked for something on the web about grief and coping with it. I have ordered some books which might help, but have not seen a record of someone who is trying to understand the process – there must be one. I’ll look again. John Diamond’s book C, was a brilliant record from the view of someone who had throat cancer. I read it while David Squires was going through the same hateful disease. Grief is a form of cancer which has to be fought from within. According to the BBC site there will be these symptoms physically:
Bereavement is an immensely
stressful event which can take a huge toll on the body, potentially causing all
sorts of physical problems, including physical exhaustion, uncontrollable
crying, sleep disruption, palpitations, shortness of breath, headaches,
recurrent infections, high blood pressure, loss of appetite, stomach upsets,
hair loss, disruption of the menstrual cycle, irritability, worsening of any
chronic condition such as eczema or asthma, and visual and auditory
hallucinations.
Effects on the nervous system
Lethargy and tiredness are
common physical symptoms of bereavement. The loss of a loved one sets off a
powerful stress response in the body, with release of high levels of natural
steroids and a heightened state of awareness in the nervous system, especially
the autonomic nervous system (the 'flight or fight' system) which controls the
body's readiness for action. The heart responds to this greater nervous drive
with an increase in pulse and blood pressure. Even if the person seems slow and
down, inside they're in turmoil.
Decreased immunity
The stress response also affects
the immune system. Bereavement causes a fall in activity of the T-lymphocytes,
cells that are very important in fighting infection. So colds and other minor
infections are common.
Pre-existing painful problems
such as arthritis may get worse and other chronic health conditions often flare
up too. It's common for conditions that need careful control such as diabetes
and high blood pressure to go awry. This partly explains why people who
experience personal loss are at higher risk of dying during the first year. Men
are at greater risk than women, perhaps because they have fewer support systems
among family and friends.
Psychological and physical are
intertwined
Psychological problems are also
common during intense grief and, as mind and body are interlinked, these can
also cause physical problems. Depression can disrupt sleep and appetite, and
cause the body to slow down. Anxiety is also common during grieving, and can
cause a racing pulse, hot sweats, poor sleep and loss of appetite. The bereaved
may turn to alcohol, recreational drugs or prescription drugs at this stressful
time, compounding their problems.
It's not unusual for people who
have lost a partner to clearly see or hear the person about the house, and
sometimes even converse with them at length. These visual and auditory
hallucinations are part of the normal grief reaction and a very real physical
occurrence to those who experience them.
Sometimes these grief reactions are
mistaken for signs of dementia or severe psychiatric illness. The end result
can be that the surviving partner is given unnecessary medication or even put
in a home when what they actually need is help with grieving.
Well, the anxiety symptoms are definitely me – the hot sweats, racing
pulse, sleeping problems, dry mouth. Today, so far, I do no intend or want to
die within the year through lack of fight. At times, yesterday, I felt
differently.
This is what the BBC says about bereavement in general:
There's no right or wrong way to
grieve. We all have different personalities, ways of coping and past
experiences. No two people's grief will be the same. Each of us is likely to
experience a wide range of feelings, which may vary from day to day.
Physical symptoms may include: hollowness in the
stomach, over-sensitivity to noise, tightness in the chest or throat, weakness
in muscles, lack of energy, a dry mouth, fatigue and breathlessness.
Feelings may include: sadness, anger,
guilt, self-reproach, anxiety, loneliness, helplessness, hopelessness, shock,
emancipation, relief, numbness and yearning for the dead person.
Behavioural changes may include: insomnia and sleep
interruption, appetite disturbances, absent-minded behaviour, social
withdrawal, dreams of the deceased, avoiding reminders of the deceased,
sighing, restless overactivity, crying, visiting places or treasuring objects
that are reminders of the lost loved one.
Thoughts may include: disbelief,
confusion, preoccupation with the deceased, a sense of presence of the
deceased, auditory and visual hallucinations.
After the funeral
The first week or so after a
death is a busy time: telling others, registering the death and making funeral
arrangements. The full reality of the death may not hit you until after this
time, when friends and family may have moved away and the real pain of grief
begins.
The following comments were all
expressed by bereaved people and show the variety of feelings that can be
experienced:
Guilt -
"If only we hadn't rowed just before the accident. I feel so guilty that I
gave him a hard time before he died."
Anger -
"I was so angry, I wanted to hit out at God and the world. I wanted to
hurt everyone just like I'd been hurt. I wanted to destroy. He'd left me and I
hated him for it."
Longing -
"My whole being ached for her. I could think of nothing else. Every minute
I thought she'd come through the door again. Again and again I'd hear her
voice, see her in the crowd. Each time I thought of her it was like a knife in
my heart."
Exhaustion -
"I'd been feeling restless and couldn't sleep. I paced and ranted. Now, I
have an opposite reaction. I sleep a lot but still feel worn out. I don't even
want to see the friends who've kept me going. I sit and stare, too exhausted to
move."
Do men and women grieve differently?
Women tend to have more intense
reactions than men and find it easier to talk to others about their feelings.
For this reason, they may have more available support than men.
Sometimes men may 'act strong', which
may not reveal their true emotions. Men feel as deeply as women but may feel
it's wrong to show their vulnerability. Many try to keep busy and avoid talking
about the death. This is their way of coping and should be respected, but it's
not wrong or weak for men to seek help.
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| Ned keeping warm |
Later Sunday,
March 12, 2006
I just broke
down again. I sobbed like a baby. I looked up “suicide in the bereaved” on
Google half hoping it would not come up with anything too alarming. Men over
65, particularly those without a ‘confidant’ (sic) were most at risk of
committing suicide. Men are better at it – they tend to go for more finality at
the end of a gun or a rope, while women opt for overdoses. Cheerful stuff or
what?
I spoke with
Linda last night. She has been reunited with Joan over this thing and Joan told
her that after Robin’s (her husband) death, Joan stared into the fire for the
best part of a year. Now she is pulling herself together and can prepare 50
lunches for the elderly. So there’s a comfort. Linda was then, after cheering
me up, going to see John and Viv Burton. Kate knew John from Mitchell Beazley
days long before I met her. Linda anticipated a nice long chat about me and
Kate with the Burtons. The ripples of association ever widen. I received a card
from someone in Florida called Lucie Winbourne who I have never heard of and
who said she had never met either of us, but sent her condolences.
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| Proud me with Kate at a barby MKP lunch in 2005 |
Later, and normally I would
be finishing a chapter in that Philip Roth book that I haven’t looked at since
before Kate’s attack, waiting for Kate to turn off her light, turning over,
fitting my arm under her head so her head was on my shoulder for a few minutes,
say night sweed’art, sleep well, she would turn away, I would then hug her or she me, stay like that for a few minutes more, I’d turn away,
put my hand under my pillow, turn and turn until I felt comfortable, while Kate
remained quite still and probably asleep, and finally I would drift to the
rhythm of her breaths. That routine, that beautiful routine, repeated for 20
years, has been broken.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
March 16, 2006
I just took the image department
girls – Libbe, Jenni and Laura – to lunch at The Bell. They were ‘Kate’s girls’
and feel her death keenly, especially perhaps Libbe who lost her baby just a
few months ago. The conversation got round to Sherri who has phoned me a couple
of times, full of solicitousness, but I am not fooled by her. She wants her
guilt salved after she dropped Kate like a hot brick when she discovered that
we brazenly had Nik to supper just before we went to Seville. I am not ready
and perhaps never will be ready to forgive her treachery. It seems she has now
turned her resentment on Nik, but with his new-found Sarah, I think he’ll
survive Sherri’s ire.
I have informed the banks, building
society, Inland Revenue, insurance companies and whoever else I can think of
about the death, but still the junk mail addressed to Kate rolls in each day.
Why this should be so painful, I don’t know, but painful it is. I suppose it’s
a reminder that the world is continuing to spin in spite of my wanting it to
stop. I dislike the bird that sings outside the bathroom window because it is
clearly the same bird that was singing there this time last year. I can’t
continue with the book I was reading before she died. The cupboards are full of
foods, crockery, cleaning materials that she bought, sorted and stacked. For
all of this there is something that will not allow me to recall her voice.
This evening, after gym with Ned,
and a rather late ready made curry, I spoke with Janet. She was suffering badly
at the funeral and, after crying and sobbing and gasping down the phone she
told me she was just unable to call me and did not know what to say to me. Her
grief was part of this sanctification that has happened – the making of Kate a
thing of utter perfection which is so hard to bear and is focused on emotion
not on knowledge or on how these friends thought while she was alive. It’s a
guilt thing, a making up for the taking for granted a good friend and then
regretting when they were not such good friends or even perhaps when she was
not such a good friend. Kate’s focus in life was on her love for me and Ned
just as mine was on her and Ned. That is what makes a family and we were lucky
to experience it. I so much love that boy and in weak moments I could,
ironically, so easily sanctify him.
If I am honest, there are moments
when I don’t care to live in the present or in the future and the fact that
most people could not begin to understand this because they have not
experienced this sense of loss makes their sympathy seem so hollow. Tonight,
were there an on/off button to living I might be wavering. There seems such a long slog ahead.
Not quite so morbid today. I feel
the encroachment of Ned’s departure in a few months though beginning to darken
things. Going home and opening the door is such a struggle. I can’t stop myself
remembering the good feelings I had each time I did it over the years. I used
to have a mantra coming home from Kingfisher; I have a great wife, great little
son, good job, etc etc. I did, thank Christ, count my blessings on a regular,
even daily basis, which makes counting my miseries come that much easier.
This was supposed to be a Life
Plan. The only plan afoot at the moment is to get through another day hopefully
without my head in my hands and the tears coursing. That plan is not a total
success as yet. Anyway some thoughts for reconstruction of the Jim Miles body
and soul:
- Get sorted mentally – tougher this by far of course. The grief thing is going to be a miserable companion for a while, but we need to part company before too long. Easily said, but necessary.
- Get fitter – lose a bit more weight (I am down to 11 stone) and turn some wobble into muscle. The gym is a good activity anyway, irrespective of transformation. It brings Ned and me together, releases a few endomorphins and droplets of sweat.
- Get time with Ned. Short breaks away and weekends kept busy with things must now be the order of the day.
- Get back into work properly. If I was into work I would not be doing this at 5.40pm, I’d be doing something to make the company more profitable. I am having lots of meetings and checking other people’s work, but I am not really doing much of my own. This I will change next week.
- Think about selling the house. When Ned leaves at the end of September it will be a huge empty space with me occupying a fraction of it. Then there are the associations built into every corner and every aspect. A new house would be a huge challenge, possibly more than I need, but one that would distract me from my whirlpool demons. And when I moved into it those associations would, in the main, be gone. I don’t want to exorcise Kate, but the vacuum she has left in me grows bigger with memories.
- And think about selling Wethersfield and, if Ned gets into UEA, buying somewhere in Norwich. Downside is that he may be tempted to spend time there during his vacations rather than at home with me.
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Holidays – plan holidays with Ned.
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| A short period when Ned was plump |
Saturday, March
18, 2006
In bed now and
feeling slightly overhung. Ned is in the basement in bed, I would guess, with
Rebecca. I hope that is some consolation for not being in bed with Clare who
appears to have dumped him. His
search for a partner is not a desperate one – he knows he has time on his side
and he has the self-confidence to realise it will happen one day. The father
should learn from the son, but he is an old dog who is not good at learning new
tricks. I dreamt last night that I was trying to get on a mini bus in
Bexleyheath. I saw Kate in the swarm of people and got close to her and kissed
her. We managed to just get on the bus together. Before this happened we’d been separated for some time. We
were now on our way together going home –admittedly my old family home in
Belvedere, but home, and the feeling was good which made waking up feel bad.
I went to Grays
to get the house valued. When Ned goes to university this house will feel like
a museum. Meanwhile the whirlpool demons have been buzzing about. There was a
sobbing session this evening for no particular reason, might have been a photo,
a vase, a knick-knack, something tiny, but it got me.
Sunday, March
19, 2006
Sunday morning
in bed. The birds are chattering, the pigeons cooing with the onset of spring.
Ned is not here – he had two parties to go to last night, so may feel a little
out of salts this morning. The house feels emptier with him not being here,
even though he’d normally be asleep at this time.
I wake up each
day with an anvil in my stomach. Why does sorrow settle in the gut? I would
like to understand the biology of grief. I have analysed to my own satisfaction
why we feel grief. The partners have to bond together – or love each other -
because there is a long gestation and the human child is vulnerable until
puberty and needs the care of its parents for ten or twelve years. For three or
four children that period may stretch over twenty years. Once the children have
flown the nest and the partners are no longer producing more, they need each
other to survive. This encourages life-time partnerships. If there were no
penalty to pay for partnerships being split up, there would be less
self-interest in remaining together. Grief, or the prospect of grief, is a glue
for a partnership – a consequence of love.
If I analyse my own feelings,
down to the nature of the love we had, it was firstly companionship, secondly
family bonds and thirdly sex. The strongest feelings were a mixture of these
and a reciprocation of feelings which made everything exquisitely intensified
Keith phoned and it bothered me slightly because he is hurting so much. He also
mentioned that Kate had to fight off cousin Richard a few times. That made me
have a surge of retrospective jealousy which, amongst all these other feelings,
I’m finding it hard to find a place to fit in.
Later
Later again
Vicky and Peter came to lunch –
turned out it was a respectable roast lunch in the end. I think I can master
these Yorkshire puddings with a bit more practice. S and her son turned up
before lunch, she needed me to sign his passport application and (strangely)
I was the only person in the village she knows with ‘professional
qualifications’. I think she wants
more than my signature. I found it very difficult to be civil to her and
probably wasn’t. After lunch Ned and I went to the grave. All the time we cleared away flowers and fretted around it
everything was fine, but when Ned and I had a moment’s reflection by the
graveside I felt my tears well up, the shoulders heave a bit, the stomach knot.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Not a good night. I think I
finally got to sleep about 3am. My stomach was, and still is, churning and the night sweats swept in with a
vengeance. I wonder if these are physical symptoms or whether it could be a
reaction to the probiotic yoghurt drinks.
Had dreams about department
stores last night, hiding from Russian agents wearing gloves on their heads,
needing directions for Tufnell House. Feel a bit less anxious this morning than
I did yesterday. After all, yesterday was four weeks, there was the visit to
the grave, the phone calls. All anxiety-making stuff.
At the office now. Clicked on
our web site by mistake and there was Kate, looking happy and lovely smiling at
me with the obituary I wrote. So there can be no hiding from her and the
memories. They have to be dealt with one at a time. I had a little chat with myself
in the shower. ‘You are going to need to get a bit tougher Jim. Yes, it’s rough
and could get rougher, but you have to face up to it…’ and so on. The
whirlpool, like my guts, gurgles away threateningly.
6.33am. We went to the
solicitors yesterday to try and sort out the shareholders agreement. I have
decided that I want Ned to retain more of the company and have less cash should
I pop my clogs.
I have thought more about what
XX was saying. She said she’d talked to Kate about what would happen if
she, Kate, should die before me. I think all friends eventually do this. Kate
told her that she would just want me to be happy and I think I can even believe
that. Of course, Kate might have had no idea just how difficult that might
prove for me, but it was a significantly loving concept. I think I would have
wanted Kate to be happy, but after a respectable period of downright misery. If
I am honest I think that period might be longer than I have in mind for myself.
And Kate would have fallen into the bracket of widow, getting on for 60,
attractive but not as attractive as she once was, falling in a category of
women who, statistically, struggle to find male partners. She would have been
rich though, but then so is XX. And XX wants a partner but fears she
won’t find one, not the right one. I, on the other hand, according to her,
won’t have any trouble.
So how is this imaginary woman
if she is not a clone of Kate when Kate was 40 (say)? There cannot, for all the
obvious reasons, be another Kate. There cannot be one for another obvious
reason – there cannot be another me as I was when I first met her and what I
have become over the last 20 years.
Just found this:
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Monday, May 1, 2006
We drove to Vicky and
Peter’s yesterday in Roofless. Ned looked cool but exhilarated – I could almost
see the shivers of pleasure he was feeling. This was an odd counterpoint to the
shivers of anxiety that I was feeling – not because of his driving, but because
of a continuation of the fragility I’d felt the day before. The backsliding was
continuing yesterday and got worse when we arrived in Vigo. In nearly 20 years
it was the first time I had done the journey to Vigo without Kate and by the
time we got there I was an emotional mess. Vicky’s attempts to lift me out of
it didn’t work. In fact they made it worse. She is an expert at conciliation,
yet everything she said tightened my throat further, squeezed the tear ducts
harder. It might be that Vicky makes me aware of the existing and pre-existing
uniqueness of Kate’s place in the Miles and Hayward families. Irreplaceability
and uniqueness are tough concepts to accept – they make healing and a return to
normality seem more elusive. It is being told that you have a permanent illness
and must now come to terms with it. This is not my way.
Thursday, May 4, 2006
That night in bed
Well, it’s almost been a normal
day. Almost did a full day’s work, though I left at 4.15 to go to the gym with
Ned – and I did work through lunch. There were the odd distractions of the
will, the Inland Revenue etc., but almost 7.5 hours ‘work’, though people who
work in lead mines wouldn’t call what I do work. We got back about 6.30 to heat
up the chilli that Vicky had kindly prepared for us. We watched football (West
Ham and Manchester City) which picked up in the last 30 minutes. There was a
moment at the gym that was not a normal one in my world of ‘before’. ‘You’re so
Beautiful’ played on the execrable radio station they play at the gym and
triggered a small emotional grenade. I hate the song now, but Kate liked it.
They say that songs will do that – they are such evocative distillations of
time and place. However, it was but a moment and normality, or lack of jagged
spurs of sadness if not normal ‘contentment’ has been achieved for most of
today. That I think is something even if it is swept away tomorrow.
March 22, 2006
I must have been tired last
night – no entry in here for yesterday. I was raddled by two nights with very
little sleep and drenching sweats. Last night I slept through until about 5am
and I don’t think I had a sweat.
 |
| Kate with her mother Rosie 2005 |
Monday was ‘almost normal’ – so
was yesterday. We had a strategy meeting at Richard’s house in Rutland,
deciding what to say at the presentation meeting on Sunday to Scholastic’s
panel of good and wise folk and we looked at the 2007 programme again making
quite a few changes. At lunch, in a very rustic Rutlandy pub, we talked a
little about my ‘situation’. I said I was thinking of putting the house up for
sale (I am now thinking it’s a bit soon). Both Gerard and Richard said how well
they thought I was doing – on the outside at least. Gerard said the whole thing
had affected him so much that he hadn’t had sex for six weeks. That is hard to
believe. But oddly enough I haven’t really thought about how I must seem to
other people. For most of the staff I think I must appear just as I was before
it happened. Next week will be quite a test – the Bologna Book Fair, Bologna
itself, being away from Ned…The ‘normality’ of yesterday was undermined at certain
points during my ‘conversations’ with myself which, I have to admit, were
yesterday at times with Kate. Seems ludicrous to be directing my thoughts to
Kate and answering her unheard side of my arguments, but if it helps I’ll do
it. But in the car coming down the A1 it all got a bit tearful during one of
these little chats – so much so that it was dangerous to drive - when I told
her how well Gerard and Richard thought I was coping and how wrong appearances
could be.
In one of these outpourings,
which normally take place in car journeys (I hope other drivers assume I am
using blue tooth) I reminded myself about other periods I have felt an
agonising loss. There was Chris Smith dumping me when I was 20 to which I
responded tragically and pathetically for months until the salve of other
relationships finally did its work. The most effective salve was Jackie Foskett
with whom a whole new dependency began. When, after a year, Jackie went off to
Australia and I saw the approach of black despair, I responded with positive
action and went to Australia to confront her, but more importantly myself. I
had made a breakthrough. So horrible was the blackness I felt after Chris that
I was determined never to feel it again and I realised that, to some extent,
the depth of despair was controllable. But only if I did something about it.
I spent many years with Linda
after that in a strange on/off relationship and then on/off marriage. When that
crumbled for the last time I protected myself with relationships again and one
of those turned out to be a relationship with Kate. At the time that is all I
thought it would be. The pattern is obvious – I find a relationship, it falters
for one reason or another, I have a spree of several relationships out of which
something significant comes - like my life with Kate and everything I am
mourning the loss of on these pages. Seems to me I can’t ignore my own history,
especially as I have been, in the main happy with it. I have always maintained
that, over a period of time, my sense of being happy is defined by my own
ability to feel happiness rather than by the things that cause it.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I completed a further ‘normal’
day yesterday – Ned and I went to J and T’s for supper last night.
J got loud and squiffy on anti-depressants and wine, but was girly and bubbly
as ever. T was a bit morose. Their young son was a bit moronic and he older boy was very 17.
We had lamb tajine followed by lasagne – which was a very odd combination. A
‘normal’ day is one that does not feel like the trials of Sissiphus. It feels
like a day when the prospect of another one just like it would not be
unbearable. It’s a day when I can think about Kate, in a very controlled way,
without breaking into sobs. It’s a night where I don’t stay awake for hours and
sweat buckets. I am not reading too much into three consecutive days, but it
feels like a bit of progress. Three more steps away from that radioactive
pile. I am going to try and get a
fourth today.
11.30am
Had Mullocks and Wells round
today to value the house. I felt as though I was betraying it – the feeling
would have been quite different had Kate and I been doing it together, but I
found it quite hard to think about the ‘family’ home being gloated over by an
estate agent with a golden glint in his eyes. He said what I thought was a way-too-high price would be feasible,
whereas Bev from Grays’ reckoned hugely below it. The truth is I am not fully
convinced that selling up is the thing to do. I might be better off staying
there and doing things to the house or waiting to see what happens before
trying to make provisions for a completely unknown future
I have to admit that today has
been a bit of a struggle. I don’t think I can chalk it up as a ‘normal’ day.
Time is going so bloody slowly. This month has seemed literally as long as two
or even more months. What happens to someone’s sense of time who has been
imprisoned I wonder? There are so many little razor-edged flashbacks. They
enter the head, swish around in a cloud of blood and gristle and then shoot
off, their work done.
First Jen came in to say that
she’d just been to see the doctor and she has (by the sound of it) an ovarian
cyst. She is worried senseless and needed the afternoon off to confide with her
mother or someone about her fears.
Then L came to see me about something or other and told me she was
not coping well at the moment. At home her husband was doing better than
she was, but then her grief for her lost child just before Christmas was also
‘physical’. D then confided in me that he felt really bad yesterday, chest
pains, numbness in his arms, no energy etc. He has lost a huge amount of
weight. Lee then phoned and gave me his condolences, said he’d ‘been
there’, which I had to think about for a second and, of course, he meant his
partner in Design Eye, who died a few years ago from an asthma attack
aged just over 40 and leaving a young widow and twin boys.
I tried to do the iPhoto thing
before leaving the office. Caption a few photographs I thought and put them in
the right place chronologically. After a few photos I had to go into the toilet
and have a cry. This face-your-fears therapy is too brutal at present. It’s a
marker on progress though. When I can handle iPhoto, I’ll know I am well on the
road.
10pm
I had a chat with one of Kate's ex-friends - ex because the 'friend' had been so awful to Kate. Not before long the
conversation got round to Kate and I told XX I was not ready to forgive her
yet, that her betrayal (as far as I was concerned) was not in the past and I
had not yet learned how to deal with it. Before that she told me how men of my
age always wanted younger women to end up with and how younger women wanted men
like me to secure their future. In other words, I would find a new partner -
she would probably not. I actually admired her realism, but did not feel that I
wanted to step up to the plate for her future.
Soon after there was the Big
Sob in the bedroom as I invited in Mr Feel-Sorry-For-Yourself-Why-Don’t You?
Earlier today I looked at myself in the toilet at MKP as I had a BS – face
reddened, lower lip down-turned and quivering – a pathetic sight – seriously
pathetic. A good shake of the head will clear quite a lot of it, curiously. Why
something physical should remove something emotional I have no idea, but it
works.
I have just heard, as I sit
here in bed with the laptop, Ned return from his evening of Old School Disco. My relief is palpable – I
can feel springs inside unwind. And yet – those unwinding springs have just
allowed in those little razor memories. This time and for no good reason,
driving up to Suffolk on a Friday night to the cottage in Walpole and this is
causing BSs to start so must shake head and stop the bastards! There is an
element of real anger here. With who or what I couldn’t say, but I am fucking
angry with something.
Friday, March 24, 2006
If, the ‘market’ is as XX describes it, perhaps I should be looking younger – perhaps late thirties, the
age Kate was when we took up together. XX said that men of my age wanted women who were physically attractive and good
sexually. As far as the sex is concerned I don’t think age makes a huge
difference, though Kate adjusted her needs to meet mine more as time went on, I
suspect. A woman in her late fifties who finds herself on her own may be
looking for man in his late fifties or sixties more in hope than expectation.
She will want companionship certainly, but security too. She may decide that a
few romantic evenings, the odd weekend away, some good sex – all this might
make the search for a life-time partner a tolerable undertaking whatever the
outcome. A woman in her late thirties will want the same. She may be divorced
and with children. If she has children who are still at school she will not
have much time, energy or money. If she has no children she may be hoping still
to have some.
Heard on Desert Island Discs
this morning from a Jane monk: “You have to experience real suffering in order
to lose your fear of suffering”.
 |
| Kate on walk c. 2003 |
Sunday, March 26, 2006
End of first day in Bologna. We
arrived about 12.00 at the book fair, set up the stand (rather hurriedly), went
for some lunch at a pizzeria where I had a ‘sauccicia’ pizza – or some of it –
merely adding to the woes of a stomach that had ground like a cement mixer
since Friday night. Then we had a quick snooze (I would think about ten minutes
pour moi) and then Gerard and I went off to a place about 20km away called
Obrazzo Emilia to pick up from a hotel called the Euro Garden a dummy on the
Human Body Poster Book. This was to help a presentation to 25 buyers from
Scholastic to be held at 6.30pm this evening. We naturally phoned Richard at
5.30 pm to tell him we were lost and he might have to do the presentation
himself. All good fun. The presentation went very well and, who knows, we might
have a breakthrough there.
They loved the Human Body Poster book!
Not so certain that I have had
the breakthrough yet though. A friend tries to give support: “ …there are so many
women out there looking for someone like you Jim…” then he adds: ‘Kate was a
very sexy special woman, there aren’t many around like her… do you think you'll look for another woman? I have not seen many women I prefer to my wife…`’ and so on. The discomfort of my situation quite
naturally makes it more difficult for people who are comfortable with their
situation to understand mine. Coming to somewhere like Bologna is sodden with
difficulties for me. Restaurants, hotels, streets, sights, markets, buildings,
meals, light, road names, shops, people, sounds, colours, clothes, dogs,
colonnades, words, pavement, buses, scooters, sky, clouds, hills, memories,
conversations, thoughts… are just a few of the triggers that cause a
‘difficulty’. Tomorrow could have
a few more problems as I discover associates on the stand who come bearing
gifts of condolences.
Every so often it fails to be
real. Every so often it disappears and then returns like the swing of the
Pendulum in the Pit. I love you Katie and right now I’d swap this condition for
oblivion which is easy to say because I can’t.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Thought for tonight is that
here I am in Bologna, with good friends, good company, good food and drink and
good business going on. The Scholastic interest from yesterday has crystallised
in five or more meetings today with possible orders of 100,000 copies of Human
Body Book. We have had many good laughs today. And yet I feel that I want to
get to the next stage which is ‘go home’. Two months ago there would have been
a good reason to want to go home – that was Kate and Ned – the family. Now the
family is just Ned and love him though I do, he cannot be the family, he is the
son. The family has gone. And now I am beginning to cry, pathetic half-man that
I am. But the thought, the thought
– I need to get to a stage where I want to do the next thing (like go home)
because A is better than B, not because A is different from B and provides an
illusion of forward movement.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Another good day business-wise,
though the custom was fairly slow it was quality. There were tricky moments –
Jane came on the stand and told me how sorry she was etc. and what a
wonderful person Kate was etc. I do not remember her meeting Kate (perhaps she
did, but even if she did I do not know how she knew Kate to be ’wonderful’.
It’s what people feel they have to say, but Christ it makes it so fucking
difficult. Jane left with eyes brimming.
Then there was Fiona – hug plus significant squeeze of shoulder.
Next was Arkady from Machaon in Russia. From Russia for God’s sake! He had heard at the London Book Fair
and looked at me with those eyes that people have when they want to commiserate
but feel…I don’t know what. And Susie from Faber, then Garry (whose wife has MS and whose brother died at 50) … it goes on. The book fair is
a struggle, but I guess I need to get through it.
I came back to the hotel and
had 15 minutes to get showered and changed. Everything was OK until I got into
the shower and that small cubicle of privacy after a day of public exposure and
self-control, finally got to me and I sobbed chokingly under the tear-washing
streamlets. Pathetic , I know.
I should realise that times I
now feel very sensitive about and sentimental about were not so good 20 years
ago. I can think very sentimentally about my first holiday in France with Kate,
but at the time it was a period of great uncertainty and self-doubt, which was
followed shortly after by a decision not to continue the relationship – this
needs to be kept in focus or the whole of my relationship with her will be
transformed into some sort of fantasy of perfection which it was not, not to
begin with at least. Sentimentality is clearly a by-product of grief, but I
think it’s a maladaptation, as they call it, not an evolutionary step forward.
Later
Well from a business point of
view, pretty well. The last meeting today was with Julian from Remainders and
was worth about £200,000 – this means we have possibly done $1m this fair which
exceeds most fairs by about $1m. Only tricky encounter was with David
Hargrave-Graham who reminded me (as if I needed it) that it is Kate’s birthday
today. I can’t say I was all that useful in the selling department – I am
fairly unnecessary with Richard and Gerard doing their stuff so superbly.
I sent a message to Jill saying
that it was all too soon etc. and had a reply saying she understood but would
like to meet for coffee any time. And I just spoke to Ned who has a good day at
UEA – a journey he took by himself in a totally cool and unruffled way. I love
that boy.
This evening is at the Poeti
(where I am pleased to say I never went with Kate as I find such memory levers too sad) and tomorrow we shop and
return.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Just returned from airport -
now 1.40am. I shall report on the last few days later today no doubt. Between
myself and this laptop I think I have done quite well – not so well at the
Poeti though, when I had to escape to the loo and have a sob. I think the Red
Angel wine was partly responsible as well as a text from Rob and another from
Jenny telling me how difficult I must be finding that day. They were not wrong.
Later
I did a full day at the office,
though spent some of that time writing and phoning people who keep insisting on
writing to someone who is alive in their databases and who I am trying to
quietly lay to rest. Quietly my arse. She rises up and kisses me, talks to me,
whispers to me, stokes my hand, rubs my back at every opportunity. I leave my
key in the door where she left hers so many times and it causes a mini paroxysm
of pain. This reality thing is not as easy as it at first seemed. I hate the longer days, but everyone I
hear (naturally) enjoys them. Life goes on as it did last spring equinox and
does not adjust to my infinitesimal requirements.
Ned said he had had a dream
about his mum last night. He said it was horribly painful. How awful, but
perhaps how clever too of the brain to calculate that exposure to pain brings
with it its own protection.
Saturday, April 1, 2006
Thank God March is over. April,
so far, has been reasonable. I did not wake with a brick in my solar plexus for
once. No barely stifled sobs so far either.
I (we) have an embarrassment of
money suddenly. Ironically I increased the private life cover on Kate just
before Christmas and also increased all the employees’ life covers. As a
director she was covered by four times her salary. Plus there is an endowment
policy. This all means that we now have something like an extra £130,000
sitting in the bank. It is more than most people can ever dream of saving up. I
keep catching myself wondering how Kate and I will spend it. I think I might install a sauna,
possibly even a hot tub. Some serious spoiling of ourselves might be in order.
If I die Ned becomes as rich as Croesus. The life insurance alone will be
£400,000, plus plus plus – must be worth over £1.5m not including the company
shares. And, it has to be asked – who gives a shit?
Sunday, April 2, 2006
And another Sunday – seems to
be at least one every bloody week. It’s now 2.20pm. Normally by now we would be
eating Sunday lunch, have a few glasses of wine, slip off to bed, make love,
sleep for an hour, get up, watch some TV, feel safe, comfortable, cosy. I made a ham roll and a cup of coffee
and had then standing up by the sink. Ned has gone to his friend’s Mike Le in
Dunmow.
This morning I woke feeling
relatively OK. There were dreams as always, but no-one to share them with (a
morning routine) and by now they have drifted away. I read the book on grieving
last night and this morning. It says there are five stages, starting with
denial, anger, acceptance etc. I suppose the most obvious thing I learned was
that for every widower who loses his 58 year old wife there are many who lose
their 32 year old wives and so on. It would not be difficult to find many
grievers going through far worse than I am.
I cried in the bath – just a
short cry, perhaps half a minute or so. Told Kate I loved her and that brought
it on. It’s bringing up the tears right now and I am no touch typist. That’s
what happens – a few thoughts, sense of abandonment, aching reach into a void,
tears, sobs sometimes, shake of the head and carry on. Sounds as though I am
being brave, but I don’t think I am.
I looked for a change of
bedding for Ned in the tightly packed airing cupboard, that was tough,
rummaging through all that bedding and towels with her perfect ironing
imprinted and finding things from the deep past we slept on. I decided to make
some space in the airing cupboard and moved some items to her now mostly empty
chest of drawers in the bedroom. That went quite well. I then packed some of
her clothes from the landing cupboard into a suitcase to take to Sadie or sell
through the second hand shop in Stortford. That was quite difficult, but I
managed it without breaking down. So there is progress. But the books say watch
out, you may think you are making progress and then wham! You have to go
through it all over again. Wolves, so they say, grieve for about two months,
howling, changing behaviour, going lethargic. It is coming up to two months and
I feel I am going in the right direction as is Ned. I realised, rather late in
the day I have to admit, that his grief in some ways is worse than mine. Ned will never be able to call anyone
mum again and never have that special relationship you have with your kin. In a
few months he would have been off the scene anyway. But this loss goes deeper
than whether you live in the same house or not. It’s an empty room inside your
head that will never be filled again. And it’s there forever.
Monday, April 3, 2006
Stayed last night at the
Suffolk Country club and played golf today with the Ferrets. Golf was quite
good, even though an annual event like this takes me to last year, how it was,
what I did when I came home and so on. Tonight I went over to Nik’s where Sarah
cooked a lovely Thai meal and I met Nick Beggs of Kagagoogoo. A really nice
guy. Sarah is good for Nik. They seem very happy.
Today I started to feel another
aspect of the grief – less sorry for myself and more sorry for Kate herself,
what she will miss and how much I hate her missing it. It is a whole new area
of grief.
Ned just came home from taking
Ellen home – there is a romance developing, and on Wednesday he has Amie
staying. I told him I am taking Pat out to dinner on Thursday. He handles all
this superbly.
Tuesday, April 4, 2006
A couple of dreams to recall:
on Monday night I dreamt that I entered a large room in a Victorian house – it
was ‘our’ house. The room was full of tropical plants and buzzing insects,
large bumble bees and gaudy flies. A stag beetle the size of a dustbin lid
hovered in the air and Kate put her arms around it proprietarily. I awoke with
that robbed feeling. This morning I dreamt that we were in a Winnebago or some
such. There was a man or woman, hard to say, thin and very menacing who was
threatening to assault Kate and myself and, apparently, did so as Kate needed
help when it was all over to get on a bus with me to take her from the scene.
Then she was no longer with me, but I knew as I travelled on that crowded bus
that life was restored to normal, that I could look at the people on the bus
and feel part of their normality again. And then I awoke and felt robbed. I
read the chapter on dreams in the book I have on bereavement and realised how
pat it seemed. The authors try hard to make it a one size fits all book, but
that is clearly not how it works.
Later – Ned is at a gig in
Cambridge with (I think) Agnes. It’s 11.40pm. I have spent an evening cooking
kebabs for myself, ironing and throwing away one or two things. One video
cassette of Picasso, some things from the bathroom cabinet including a mould of
her top teeth for bleaching, some eye make-up remover, various skin creams. It
has to be done in little bits for some reason I don’t fully understand. I did
make the mistake of looking through a picture album sent to us by Jenny Thorpe.
Just a few photos had me sobbing uncontrollably and I mean uncontrollably. I
measured up the room in the basement for a sauna and shower – just a
self-indulgence. I may need to self-indulge a bit.
I talk to myself in the car
still - sometimes get quite frustrated with myself, sometimes weepy, so much so
that I have to stop the car. These sobbing fits swoop down from nowhere and pole-axe
me, slightly more this last few days than before. For all that I am convinced that I am still going forwards.
I think it’s important that I like myself, even love myself like a good friend
who I want to take care of, whose views I respect even though I know he has his
weaknesses. If I should stop liking myself I think I might slide downwards to
God knows what.
Wednesday, April 5, 2006
Today’s thought when I woke up,
apart from my relief at not being able to remember my dreams, was that I am in
the midst of pain, in fact I have entered a ‘world of pain’ as it says in the
Big Lowbowski, and I simply have to live with it or in it for a while and learn
to accept what I have to. It sounds too obvious to qualify as a ‘thought for the
day’, but acceptance of pain is a part of acceptance in general. I have been
very impatient with myself for the last seven (yes, seven) weeks today, and I
have to expect a little less and a little less quickly. The enormity of all
this only gradually announces itself to the subconscious mind – thankfully I
suppose.
11.15pm and Ned is out at the
‘Tem’ carousing with Chas and other buddies. I just hope he does not drink when
driving, but I fear his mates take advantage of his car and good nature. I fell
asleep on the sofa after the Arsenal/Juventus match and I awoke to the thought
that I’d clear up a few things - this led me to drawers, which led me to small
personal trinkets like napkin rings and suchlike and then I fell prey to the
one thing I said to Ned only this afternoon on the way to the driving range
that I had no patience for – sentimentality. I blubbed in the kitchen. That
makes three blubs today, Not a good score. Ned asked me with some concern, how
he should broach the subject of his mum’s death to Eleanor (his latest interest).
I suggested that perhaps a friend might tell Eleanor if she did not already
know. I am sure, however, she will know. My stress-relief massage this
afternoon did not relieve much stress as it was done by someone who recognised
me from a party at Janet’s several years ago and who asked: “How’s your lovely
wife?” Oh well…
Thursday, April 6, 2006
Still in the office. I have
been doing a sticker book on horses for Barnes and Noble. This is not exactly
mind-stretching, but engaging enough to keep me focused on one thing and only
one thing. I am quite good at the lateral thinking that makes the small number
of images we have on horses spread to the 200 images necessary. I thought I felt
strong enough to go into iPhoto and do some tinkering with photos – big mistake.
The emotional wave nearly took me under. I then phoned Rosemary to arrange a
visit in Barnham on Sunday. The one thing she said she would appreciate is some
photos of Kate – how much stronger than me is this 86 year-old lady with a
broken ankle! I struggled to keep my voice steady and will struggle more
possibly when it comes to printing the photos and looking at them.
Friday, April 7, 2006
My dreams were nonsensical –
being amongst Eastern Europeans who got me to do tricks like throwing a roll
and a loaf into the air and catching both, catching a soap bubble in both hands
and putting this on a pancake and spreading butter over the burst bubble - plus
other nonsense, but thankfully no dreams, that I can remember, about Kate, to
leave me feeling estranged in the morning.
In the bathroom just now I
remembered being in the bathroom in my flat in Willesden Green just after
breaking up with Linda and how miserable I was in that flat. I ended up hating
everything about it, even the 10cc and Steely Dan music I played there, the
furnishings, the smell of newly painted walls – everything. Negative emotions superimposed on
surroundings can make your whole immediate world seem hateful. The exact same
world you enjoyed and was comforted by a short while ago can become hostile
overnight. I intend that this should not, must not, happen.
Sunday, April 9, 2006
I expected, ambitiously it would seem, that I would
be feeling stronger than this by now. My superficial appearance of being able
to cope is as thin and fragile as eggshell. I packed up more clothes and stuff
to pass over to Vicky G yesterday. When it came to the collection of belts
which I found in her wardrobe, it became all too much and the sobbing started.
Somehow those belts were far more poignant than the dresses, far more personal.
I filled the car with suitcases of her things and, with Ned, drove down to
Barnham for the first time since her death. Rosie sat in an armchair with her
leg in a purple-coloured plaster. She looked thinner and a little frailer, but
as pretty as ever and obviously pleased to see us. Rosie, who is about to buy an
apartment at The Wishing Well development wanted, to my surprise, my approval
before doing so. Having looked at the apartment, the communal areas, gardens
and patios, show apartments and so on, I was only too pleased to give it my
sincere approval. I think she will be safe and happy there. We had lunch on our
laps – fish and chips. Mine came as a piece of cod under a brick-shaped mass of
chips. There was no concession to the principle that appearance can enhance
appetite. I struggled through the greasy cod and left the chips. I sat with
Rosie and Vicky after lunch on Rosie’s bed and she said there was something she
wanted to pass over to me and she gave me the Frith painting of Dolly Varden.
According to the Tate: The delightfully fluttery Dolly Varden is a character in Charles
Dickens' novel 'Barnaby Rudge', published in 1841. Its action is set in the London
of the 1780s. Dickens describes Dolly, daughter of a worthy locksmith, as 'the
very pink and pattern of good looks, in a smart little cherry coloured
mantle'.This work, apart from drawing on a well-known novel of the day, also
owes much to a strong nineteenth-century tradition of 'fancy portraits' - where likenesses of pretty and anonymous young women would be graced by the
names of characters from literature.
(From the display caption September
2004)
Kate always admired the
painting and said it was the only thing she wanted when Rosemary should pop her
clogs. Rosemary always told the story of how Mike found it in a junk shop and
brought it home and soaked it overnight in a bucket of Persil. The painting, on
copper, was revealed in all its loveliness the following day. It was that
story, the fact that Kate admired it so and the memories of being in that room
so many times with Kate that started me, in spite of my best efforts, to weep a
little. Rosemary, bless her, pretended not to notice.
In the car we listened to Ned’s
latest discovery Mogwai, and to Pink Floyd. Music is such a powerful
associative and I wanted to lay down new pathways. It takes the brain 21 days
to learn a new pathway, but how long to unlearn 20 years of them?
Later: It has been a low-key
sort of Sunday. I made lunch and it tasted like lunches used to – the roast
potatoes crispy and imbued with olive oil, the turkey done just right, the
gravy as gravy was, but the one essential ingredient was missing of course. I
watched some football with Ned and came to bed – seeking the Sunday afternoon
solace that we used to enjoy, and sleep. There must have been some sleep as I
was aware that things went very quiet for a while and the sound of traffic
momentarily stopped and soon it was 5pm and the dogs next door were barking
again. I don’t think that a Sunday like this can become the norm. There are too
many missing things all of which amount to Kate. I need to change the nature of Sunday and probably Saturday
or the poignant absences will drag me down.
Monday, April 10, 2006
There were dreams last night.
One involved me riding a motorbike underwater with Leo Parks. I knew I had to
get used to breathing water and to accept that somehow the bike would work
under water. I panicked when I realised I did not know which way was back to
shore. Another dream had me dropping things in a restaurant – a cup of coffee
which I knocked on the floor and did not smash but just cracked leaving the
coffee in tact. I handed Kate a cup of milk. The cup was made up of broken
pieces and it leaked milk on to her blue dress as she drank from it. She made
some comment about Linda – a reference to being paid extra money without doing
any work.
Beware the 5 Stages of
"Grief"
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Ned was out last night. He
is most nights at the moment and I am pleased for him on one level, but feel
the solitariness as well. At a certain point, when I was emptying the
dishwasher, I had a major collapse of equanimity and sobbed my heart out. I
went to bed and read a slim book on grief and found it quite helpful – even
discovered that tears get rid of toxins from the body. I always suspected they
had a use beyond melodrama. The most useful reminder in the book was about
having faith in yourself to emerge from grief not just in tact but improved in
some way. Just knowing that and believing that I am going to come through this
is key to the healing process. These slips backwards are going to happen and I
just have to roll with the punches. This last week has been much harder than
the previous one and that is not the direction I hoped for, but there is
grieving and there is losing and the two things are subtly different – the
sense of loss increases, I suspect, in the short term, even as the grieving
begins to settle down to a more gentle rhythm of pain. There is a small bit of
me that keeps expecting a phone call from her or card or letter or email. I
think that there is grief for the loss of collective experience – the memories
shared that can still be had, but never again shared – a mirror dropped and
shattered.
I reminded myself in the
shower of the number of times I have grieved and strangely forgot to include my
parents or my friends David and Robin. Real grief for me is felt when I ‘lose’
a partner. First there was Chris, a relationship of four years – the pain of
her leaving me was tantamount to a death, worse possibly, as I had to cope with
the feeling of betrayal as well. That lasted for nearly a year until I started
a relationship with Jackie Foskett. Her leaving caused grief which I expunged
by going off to Australia and throwing myself into adventures – anguish was a
few months. Then Linda. I knew her and lived with her on and off for twelve
years and even though I knew she was poison for me when she left it was another
grief. This too was softened by a string of relationships over a period of
about a year culminating in Kate. But at first I was uncertain about Kate and
remained so for some time. Time is the common factor. Time, chance, luck,
doggedness, not giving up. I have time and perseverance I think, just need some
luck.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
I am still sliding
backwards slightly, more prone to gobs of hurting, tearfulness, quickened
heartbeat, sense of panic and sense of desperation. But the sliding is
controlled I believe and part of a process that happens as the shock slowly
wears off and is replaced by new realities. These are hard to adjust to. Just
being alone is difficult enough in itself, but being bereft is cruel.
Off to Belton Woods with
Ned today. Might be a good change and we’ll see plenty of each other.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
And now just back.
Thursday was a good day. We listened to Lion Bears (I think) on the way up the
A1 to Belton. Ned slept some of the way and I felt like doing the same, but we
reached the De Vere hotel at 12.30pm and had a bite to eat before going on to
the golf course. Ned was not really interested in playing golf to begin with,
though he (secretly) enjoyed the buggy-driving. After one or two holes he was
tempted to hit a few balls himself and there was enough good contact to tempt
to hit a few more. His moment came on the 18th hole though (we
played the back nine of the Lakes course by mistake) and he hit a rifle-like
drive down the middle, laid just before the lake with a seven iron, hit just on
the green with another seven and two-putted for a glorious par in front of the
club house on-lookers. I saw that small shudder of pleasure that can come with
good consecutive shots in a game that is designed to prevent them.
We then had a sauna, a
swim and a hot tub, a meal, a film and some sleep. Friday we steam-roomed in
the morning, played the Lakes course in the afternoon, saw three films while
lying in bed and while I had breakfast Ned caught up on some sleep. We left
about 11am and drove to Manchester across the peaks – dun and caramel coloured
dales in the spring light. We arrived for lunch with the Thorpes who were as
welcoming as ever. Their welcoming is of a certain variety though – they need
to get used to you and feel comfortable all over again each time we meet. It
was the same when Kate was there so I don’t feel I am neglected or anything.
When visitors arrive, even when expected, it is still an intrusion or
disruption of the household rhythms at least. Kate and I always went to lengths
to make people feel at home – glass of wine, cup of coffee, immediate banter,
complete attention. Not everyone feels that it is possible or necessary.
In the evening Jenny and
Rob went to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with some friends, Ned went off with
Chris to some of his friends and I went to the Church Inn at Prestwich to meet
Christine Bentley (nee Smith) after a gap of 35 years. I sat with a glass of
wine on a long bench next to a group of three women intent on alcoholic
oblivion. Chris arrived about 20 minutes later as a short woman in her late
fifties, not a short girl in her early twenties. But we were fine. Lots of news
about famililies exchanged, and she opened up her scrap book of memories of
life and death with Patrick I am sure, so that it would be easier for me to do
likewise. We talked, almost without difficulty, until 11.30 and then she took
me back to the Thorpes. She sent two texts today saying, in one, she would like
to meet up again at some point, and wishing a safe home return in the other. I
think she still has a soft spot for me.
Today we had a barbecue
lunch at the Thorpes and left after that. I felt they would appreciate a lie
down, a snooze, some Sunday without guests.
So that is four days
without a tear or a sob – though there were a few close calls which had to be
chased away – like when I felt Kate’s absence in the Thorpe’s garden, and when
I found a photo of Kate on my mobile phone. The demons are there, no mistake. I
would quite appreciate having some one to talk to about all this, some fellow
demon slayer, some Cognitive Behaviour Therapist perhaps to school me in
positive thinking, self-esteem building.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Last night I had some
serious night sweating. The sheets were cold with it. I awoke from a dream in
which Anne M had climbed into bed beside me naked and kissed me. I said
“whatever will Kate say?’ and she replied that Kate would never know. She
kissed me very sensuously and her lips were as soft as petals. I put my hand
down to her crotch and someone came in needing a decision on something or other
– he was fat and foreign. I went off and dealt with his needs (I had to go into
a souk or market). When I got back to Anne I said “Now, where were we?” and she
said that she didn’t fancy me, she just wanted me to become ‘visible’ again.
There you have it – load of bollocks.
The two months is up. Am I
seeing some signs of recovery? Some minor ones – lack of sobbing for six whole
days is good, but then I have had Ned as a prop, distraction, helpmeet. Without
that Easter would have seemed interminable. I have to learn and apply patience,
perseverance and resilience. Where I’ll find these virtues Christ only knows,
but find them I must. And I must keep recounting the blessings, the
positives and the potential happiness that may lie ahead. Squeezing that
potential blood out of that future stone may seem Herculean, but it must be
done. Without sorting out myself first, without seeing my way through to a
resolution with the anxieties, then I am defective goods and not much use to
anyone else and a burden to myself. Life has to be made worthwhile with or
without a partner.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
I had horrific dreams last
night. I can’t remember the details but I was moaning and screaming. I don’t
know if these were audible but I suspect that the neighbours might well have
heard them. Looking through curiosity at would-be daters on dating sites is a bit depressing. So many are awful –
fat, ugly and old – and some of these are younger than me!
When midnight strikes in
20 minutes it will make an entire week without a breakdown – well, without one
involving real, watery tears and anguished sobs. There have been reddened eyes,
the sort you might get as a reaction to something in the air rather than a
tearing of the soul. But there is still a foreboding feeling that reality has
been kept at arm’s length and it waits to strike with all the force of an
hourly chime.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
I have noticed a slight
but important change in myself in that things are beginning to seem ‘normal’.
Not normal compared with before, but normal day-on-day. Those little feathers
of routines are slowly, as they settle around me, insulating me from the
rawness of grief. The two-months milestone has passed and whether it’s
coincidence or not, I feel further away now from the event and from all that
went before it, than at any other time. Of course, I am slowly and inevitably
getting further from it and its harmful rays are gradually weakening. There may
be a backslide or two, bound to be, but it’s slightly more bearable now. I do
not want my current state of singularity to become a comfortable one.
Complacency is a damaging condition, but there is very little chance of my
feeling complacent. I miss too much – the conversations, the companionship, the
sharing.
I woke during the small
hours two nights ago with that old and terrible chest pain – the one that led
me to the angiogram last October. Could be stress or golf or both. Yesterday I
went to Nockolds to sort out my will. If I should die then Ned is very well
provided for. After doing that I went to Friends where a huge amount of Kate’s
clothes have been sold. Picked up a cheque that was a pittance compared with
what she would have spent, but it’s unimportant.
Vicky is coming today.
Might visit the grave I suppose. Go shopping. Look for a Megane Cabriolet?
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Well we found the Flame
Red Megane Cabriolet. First car we looked at in fact, which will come as no
surprise to anyone who knows me – though Ned knows me quite well and it shook
him up just a bit. His face when I stayed in the office and did the deal after
the short test drive in perfect spring sunshine with the top down and Ned’s
smile gleaming in the rear view mirror, was a picture of embarrassed delight.
The glass roof folds itself into its own boot like a preying mantis folding its
arms or Optimus Prime transforming himself. Just hope he drives it with
pleasure and safety.
Today was not as good as
other recent days. Sundays are tough if they are not carefully prescribed,
planned out with some precision. I must learn that. Going with Vicky to the
grave was also hard. I am not ready for that yet. As Ned said, there are
certain things that you don’t have to be heroic about. I expected setbacks and
they will follow. On balance, though I am making more progress than I could
have deluded myself into and I have been assiduous about being honest with
myself.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Strange what can bring on
moments of slippage. I did some shopping at Tescos at lunchtime today and as I
left the checkout I hooked a bag on the little hook that sits under the handle
you push the trolley with. It was on this hook that Kate always placed her
handbag – often walked away from the trolley with it still there as well. I had
a rush of memories and sentiments that nearly made me lose it in Tescos – look,
the tears are rolling down my stubbled cheeks right now. How easy my own
writings can stimulate the flow – how quickly (as they have now) they can stop.
I had a stern talking to myself in the car and then put a ghostly arm around my
own shoulder.
Tomorrow I go to Orlando
for a day and a bit. These breaks in routine are good for me. They rattle the
expectations, cause ripples. I want to rattle Ripleys’ expectations a bit.
Feeling a bit rebellious. A bit dangerous.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
The meetings went well. Seems we have most
of what might have been hoped for – an extra payment on the book costs, making a larger contribution towards our overheads, the establishment of a separate Ripley
publishing unit within MKP,
producing Ripley spin-offs and joint ventures, possibly publishing the
core book. Not bad for a quick flit over the ocean in a day and a half. Nearly
met our maker on landing at Gatwick though – the pilot had to pull out of his
landing about 50m from the deck because there was another aircraft being towed
across his designated runway. I was most surprised by how much this affected
Gerard while I was totally unaffected and calm. Is this because death has no
terror for me because of my “situation”? Could be. But I don’t think I am one
to panic in a desperate moment – I feel a calm come over me when the chips are
down – normally. I have to say that was not the case immediately following the
news about the severity of Kate’s stroke.
Tomorrow we collect Ned’s
car. Tonight we had a meal at Parrishes’ . I almost too tired from the
trans-Atlantic trip to make much conversation. Ned just adorable.
Today we took Ned’s Fiesta
to Ben. He had no inkling that he was to become the new owner of the
little silver car. Two young lads made ecstatic by acts of generosity from
their parents – not an everyday occurrence. Ned then drove us to Chelmsford
where I bought new specs, had lunch in Café Rouge and drove back via some mates
of Ned’s so that their admiration for the new Megane could be enjoyed. He
clipped a kerb coming back from Dunmow while looking at the on-board computer.
I felt really sorry for him (it grazed one of the alloy wheels), but a small
reminder is better than anything larger.
Tonight I went to J and T’s (again) for their dinner party – it’s supposed to be a rehearsal for
J’s 50th bash. A friendly bunch of people – Michelle
especially. I was the only single person and felt very keenly Kate’s absence,
not helped by J saying Kate would have loved this etc. and T telling
other guests how lovely she was, how beautiful, how she was “robbed” etc. In
the car coming home just now I sobbed, just as I had done in the bath before
leaving for the evening. There has been a slippage today, and quite a bad one
at that. I have some work to do to put that right.
Monday, May 1, 2006
 |
| Ned with Dad |
Thursday, May 4, 2006
I went to see Dr Shaw
yesterday, cold fish that she is, face yielded nothing other than a small glimmer
of professional curiosity as to why I was there – this after keeping me waiting
half an hour after the appointment time. Ah well. I told her about the night
sweats – the last was quite dramatic with the bed left sodden and me like a wet
rag the following day. She took my blood pressure - 120 over 75 which is not bad, in fact pretty bloody good.
I told her about a return of the chest pains, but I thought they were muscular
or stress related. I told her I was not too worried about the pains or the sweats,
but just thought she ought to know about them and I suggested that perhaps I
should see how it goes for a few weeks and come back if it got any worse. Then
I left.
Gerard stayed the night on
Tuesday. We went to Parishes for a meal and watched the Jackass film with Ned.
It was terrible. The following afternoon we had a
visit from CT printers, their British representatives anyway, Stephen. He
was pretty blunt about their nervousness over the amount of money we owe them
and their determination that it should be paid in a timely fashion. Fair enough, I thought.
I went to the gym at the
end of the day with Ned. I think I am getting a bit fitter and plan to keep it
up. Ned was in a bit of a silent mood. He will often say something to the side
window of the car which I cannot hear and then say ‘never mind’ when I ask him
to repeat it. We got back to find that Maya next door had yet again
deliberately parked her car to prevent us parking ours. Ned knocked on her door
to have a go, but I felt it was my responsibility. She was a hissing viper of
outrage, but I think I managed to be reasonably calm and played the let’s be
civilised and neighbourly about all this card. Stupid fucking bitch.
I had a collapse last
night. It was brought on by clearing away some bits from my office. I cried
while hanging over the banisters (for some reason) and was nearly sick from the
convulsions. The whole episode lasted five minutes and was then gone. It is a
bit like being sick on sadness. The sadness wells up and then gets expelled in
spasms of tears and snot and gasps and then is gone. The mind has to expel
something noxious and does it quickly and dramatically. Very strange.
Friday, May 12, 2006
My dream last night was
cruelly vivid. Kate had had her brain transplanted into what looked like a
younger and prettier version of herself. I was overjoyed with the fact that
doctors had been able to do this and wanted to know if all the nerves had been
linked up and that she could function perfectly well. She said she had broken
her ankle (like her mother) but she was still able to run with me through the
rain in what I think was Covent Garden – we once did this. At one point we were
by a river and a barge selling sandwiches stopped, or nearly stopped, by us.
Kate tried to catch up with the slowly moving barge and followed it down the
river bank. Then she was gone and I realised I would see her no more.
I have been receiving
bulletins on the condition of Norm Deska (Ripley’s) who had a minor heart
attack a few days ago. They have sucked a blockage out of an artery and he is
in intensive care. This is a kindly but over-stressed man I played golf with
two weeks ago, who nearly died a few days ago. It looks now as though he will
make a full recovery.
And of course with the
sleep come the dreams. I don’t remember them as well these days because I am
not trying to. I’d give Kate summarised versions in bed each morning and she
would wonder at their strangeness and clarity. Last night’s involved a huge house we had with many rooms
and masses of furniture including many high backed chairs. People were walking
through the rooms and admiring the things. I wasn’t sure if we were selling
them or not. No one had made an offer so I assumed not. But it was a disposal
process – a getting rid of a past in preparation for a future. It all turned
bizarre and I ended up being hunted by secret police from ancient Egypt and I
found myself in Cairo museum that was now a sad relic of a place with cheap
fairground rides. So these dreams do return when I try. While in the house
someone was asking about my next novel. I pointed out that there had yet to be
a first.
More helpful straws to clutch at: I have been
here, or somewhere like it, before. It wasn’t as dark or as deep but it was
most certainly a pit. I managed to get out. First I had to find the ladder, but
then it was one slow rung at a time and eventually daylight. Finding daylight
before encourages me to think that I will find it this time. Something else:
physical attraction is not always instantaneous. It can take some time, and the
hardest time to find it is soon after you lose a partner. I should not be so
gloomy about finding it difficult to find anyone attractive at this time. It
will come, but it will take time. See – I’m beginning to adopt the same clichés
that everyone else uses. “Jim, don’t be so impatient. It takes time Jim and
Time is a Great Healer”.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Just back from Didi’s 50th
birthday party at the Town Hall. When I first danced I was conscious of being a
56 year-old grey haired man dancing with attractive women while many younger
studs stood drinking beer on the sidelines. Then when some Stones music came through
from Bill and Sharon and the All Stars, I shifted back in time to university
days and the motion and the music took over – even though I am no John Travolta
on the dance floor I was able to lose myself momentarily in the rhythm and in
the blues.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
In a hotel room in
Washington DC, day 2 of the BEA. I have just read most of the above and find
this record of a recovery very moving. It is as though it was written by a
stranger in some ways, but one I can empathise with perfectly. He has obviously
set himself a really tough assignment – to recover in record time from an
injury to his soul. I watched a film on the plane coming here about a man, just
50, who decided to row the
Pacific, something never before achieved. The journey from the Peruvian coast
to Australia, was supposed to take 4 or 5 months. By month 9 he was still a few
hundred miles from landfall in Australia but was now facing a hurricane with
winds up to 160mph. Just at the point when the storm was about to be encountered
the TV was switched off prior to landing. Rowing a small boat across the
Pacific, fending off sharks with a steak knife tied to a stick, being becalmed
in an ocean of unimaginable emptiness, facing waves the size of two-storey
buildings, trying to arrive at a destination several thousand miles away, but
being drifted backwards for days at a time by unfavourable currents…the
parallels are quite obvious. The difference is that this man planned his voyage
very carefully whereas I found myself in a rowing boat surveying these oceanic
vastnesses without any warning.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Well, the book fair and
the meetings in New York went very well as it turned out. Washington has a thin
veneer of opulence and corporate rectitude over its heaving mass of impoverishment,
but no surprises there. I went to the Lincoln memorial and the wall of the
58,000 servicemen killed in Vietnam, surprisingly between 1959 and 1975. I
never realised it was such a long war.
We had good nights out,
too much to drink, some laughs. New York – the first time I have revisited
since Kate’s death. It had moments of lip-biting familiarity. The return trip
was cramped and sleepless. I was so befuddled that I went round the M25 the
wrong way. Should not have been driving really and jerked myself out of
momentary sleep several times. Very silly. At the office I received an email
from Christine Hampshire saying that her husband had died in April from cancer
of the oesophagus. She married in March. The coincidence is alarming when I
think that Christine Hampshire was my first serious relationship after
Christine Smith. Both widowed.
I am starting to go for
whole hours at a time without thinking of Kate. Whole hours! Is that real
progress or not? And they are not completely empty of thoughts about her.
Thinking about her, or the absence of her can be habit-forming. Grief can be
addictive.
Friday, May 26, 2006
A few longer gaps
appearing between entries. I think this suggests that my visits to my self-made
therapist are slightly less urgent. They will become more urgent if I start
messing with my iPhoto files as I did just now. Boy that hurts right between
the eyes. These ranks of neatly arranged photos of holidays and happy days,
smiles and laughs – too much, too much.
Later
Had Nik and Janet round
for supper – smoked salmon soufflé, salad, boiled potatoes (which Nik raved
about) warm French bread, followed by cheeses and strawberries. It was fine all
the time Nik was there. But when it was just Janet and me her sorrow and mine
made too powerful a mixture and I felt the tears start to form and then
trickle. When Janet began to eulogise Kate I found myself missing this magical
person who’d been whisked away more than ever. Too much, too much. This road
leads only one way and that is down. I need to go up, up, up!
I realise that I must
endure more pain before emerging on to the sunny uplands of what is the rest of
my existence. Days like today make me wonder if those uplands really exist.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Later in the car, driving
back from Streatham where I had left Ned to enjoy a night of partying with
Sadie and various nymphets, I let tears fall all over my linen suit and told
them to roll, roll as much as they liked, and to take their vicious toxins with
them.
I feel a sliding backwards.
Monday, May 29, 2006
I had a phone call from
Chris. She wants to get together before she goes away to Portugal. Against my
better judgement I have agreed, but know this is not wise – neither for me nor
Chris.
I played golf today as
well with the usual crowd – noticed that Ian, again, avoided paying up.
Dramatic hailstorm. I once again slipped backwards and fell prey to yearning
thoughts of a life I had no longer – felt incomplete, missing an essential
organ. This may be a pattern – I reach a stage where the loss seems just about
supportable and then the whole process rewinds and then restarts itself, but
slightly less painful each time. I argued with myself that there would be parts
of my life that would enjoy new experiences that I would never have known if it
had not been for this loss. I will never know that particular exquisite brand
of companionship, but I’ll know others (one might get to seem exquisite
eventually, who knows
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Last night was one of
weird dreams that included forming and unforming visions of Kate. I think I
sweated. The sheets were cold and wet so I must have. Now what those little
sparks were I have no idea – possibly tears. Already I am in a situation of
having multiple women in my life where before I had one and only one for 20
years. It is very odd and quite exhausting. I know exhaustion is a facet of my
new existence I must become used to. The alternative is a lot of sofa rest
which will get me as far as the sofa.
Thursday, June 1, 2006
Now into June. A further
step away, a further step towards. At times today I felt the unluckiest bastard
in the world – just little jagged shards of the broken mirror that still
explodes around me in dramatic slow-mo.
Friday, June 2, 2006
Email to Linda: Hello Lindylu
How are you and the asparagus man? Hope he has done ’arvestin’ by now. I didn’t really make much comment on your situation before – pretty much self-focused recently, or selfish-focused more like. I thought your house, garden, setting and so on was just perfick. It reminds me of Church House which keeps coming up on my random screen saver – the postcard c. 1900. Is this what we do though – we single people, as I must now see myself again? We make the surroundings entirely our own comfort zone, paint in the right background and all the details, but know that there is something missing? People who don’t feel that there is something missing make me a bit uncomfortable – make me feel that I could gradually mutate into one of them and then become totally content with my own company. Not much chance of that as you know.
I had a bit of a shock this morning – Kate’s obit appeared in the Bookseller. I half expected it to be there as it was me who wrote it, provided the photo and sent it to the Bookseller last week, but it was still a shock. I have tried to avoid the editors this morning in case they see my unbossly distress. I guess this will happen, this snakes and ladders so-called progress. I had a call from Vicky, my Vicky that is. She is always a tonic, but she said she wanted to be with me next weekend because, you know... I didn’t know at first, but then I realised she meant the wedding anniversary.
I can’t remember if I told you about Christine Hampshire – she was the girlfriend at Warwick. She sent me an email through Friends Reunited to say her husband died in April. They’d married in March when they realised his death was imminent from cancer of the throat.
How are you enjoying this heart-lifting email so far? Sorry, didn’t mean it to be maudlin. I’ll come and see you for some more back treatment soon, though the days before the US trip with Ned are getting fewer.
Hope all is OK with you.
Jimx
How are you and the asparagus man? Hope he has done ’arvestin’ by now. I didn’t really make much comment on your situation before – pretty much self-focused recently, or selfish-focused more like. I thought your house, garden, setting and so on was just perfick. It reminds me of Church House which keeps coming up on my random screen saver – the postcard c. 1900. Is this what we do though – we single people, as I must now see myself again? We make the surroundings entirely our own comfort zone, paint in the right background and all the details, but know that there is something missing? People who don’t feel that there is something missing make me a bit uncomfortable – make me feel that I could gradually mutate into one of them and then become totally content with my own company. Not much chance of that as you know.
I had a bit of a shock this morning – Kate’s obit appeared in the Bookseller. I half expected it to be there as it was me who wrote it, provided the photo and sent it to the Bookseller last week, but it was still a shock. I have tried to avoid the editors this morning in case they see my unbossly distress. I guess this will happen, this snakes and ladders so-called progress. I had a call from Vicky, my Vicky that is. She is always a tonic, but she said she wanted to be with me next weekend because, you know... I didn’t know at first, but then I realised she meant the wedding anniversary.
I can’t remember if I told you about Christine Hampshire – she was the girlfriend at Warwick. She sent me an email through Friends Reunited to say her husband died in April. They’d married in March when they realised his death was imminent from cancer of the throat.
How are you enjoying this heart-lifting email so far? Sorry, didn’t mean it to be maudlin. I’ll come and see you for some more back treatment soon, though the days before the US trip with Ned are getting fewer.
Hope all is OK with you.
Jimx
A couple of things almost
of no importance: I saw myself in the mirror in the office bathroom just now
and smiled at my own reflection. It has happened very rarely over the past
months though I used to do it almost every time I caught my reflection, pleased
with myself, my lot in life, my reflection. .
Sunday, June 4, 2006
I talked myself most of
the way back from Norwich. The theme was past, present and future, plus what I
will, what I can and what I might do. I must be active in all of life’s games
as a participant not a spectator. The other theme was this – if feeling good
about life is the only true measure of whether an existence is worthwhile (and
what other measure is there?) how do you compare the worth of a bullying
tyrant’s life with someone who sacrifices much for the good of others? If the
tyrant feels good about his life and the do-gooder feels ultimately unfulfilled,
which life was most worthwhile, judged not by history but by the participant
himself? Fucked if I know.
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| Kate in the Miles Kelly offices where she worked (c. 2001) |
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
There is a slow and barely
perceptible decline in motion. I think it is a dawning sense of loss that shock
has, rather cleverly, held at bay. If I’d had to cope with sadness for her
death, sense of loss, shock, sense of unfairness, destruction of life routines,
sadness for Ned, mental and emotional calamity and so on all at once, it would
have killed me. So it happens bit by bit, wave by wave, cloud by cloud, tear by
tear.
I had an email from Wendy
today saying how daring we were judging by the itinerary for USA and then a
phone call from Sandy Hannum who lives in Boulder, Colorado. She offers advice,
equipment for hiking (Christ, we are not going to hike anywhere in brain-frying
temperatures), places to white-water raft and where to find the best
rattlesnake burgers in Musquat. She is lovely though and I think she’ll adore
Ned. Who wouldn’t? I have noticed his handwriting is exactly placed between
Kate’s and mine. When I pointed this out to him he acknowledged this but added
that there were no other physical similarities he’d inherited from either
parent. There are some who’d disagree.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I went first to collect
Vicky and Peter. Roofless, I travelled with Ned’s selection of mad axe-murderer
music to Vigo Village. We then went, wind-swept in glorious sunshine down to
see Rosie. Glorious sunshine makes
it sound as though I approve of this heat-wave, but it is like the birds
chirruping at the outrageously early dawn – 4am this morning. I resent their
autonomic approval of daylight. But today was not a “good”, nor “easy” nor
“normal” day. I swallowed tears, bit down on gulping sobs, felt my mouth turn
its corners down when I tried to smile, and the tears when they eventually
came, burnt like acid. They were so painful in the car I had to hold one eyelid
down and drive one-eyed until the stinging passed. Why is that? Why do tears of
grief sting so?
There was chaos on the
roads coming back from Barnham (Rosie keeps her magisterial stoicism
resplendent. Sometimes I would like to see her feel more obvious pain for the
loss of her daughter. Frank was his usual earnest self-mixed with a slurp of
punning humour and school-boy enthusiasm. But his heart, as they say and I
always say about Frank, is in the right place. Vicky G was her usual version of
her sister plus a hugely good heart and quick wit.
What pained me so much
today? It was little reminders and vast reminders, it was the…oh shit, I can’t
do this…not at the moment.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Yesterday was our wedding
anniversary. I invited Rob, Susanne, Didi and Howard round for a barbecue.
Eleanor naturally came as well. Amazingly affectionate for a six year-old. I
think inherited from Susanne who is coquettish after a few drinks and there
were a few drinks. The bottle of Raki that we brought back from a Turkish
holiday was emptied very quickly. I felt fine playing golf today however. It
was the British Legion day.
I decided that I had to
reverse this downward slide even if it is inevitable, happens to the best of us
mate etc. If I don’t halt it, it may just gather more momentum than I can
control. I tried out a determined and even quite false positive attitude –
smiling and talking to people more, being impatient with any self-pity from
within me, using the mantra – be positive, be positive, be positive. Steering
my mind away from thoughts of the future – at least negative fears about the
future, helps too. I am aware too that I am thinking that I don’t have Kate, or
my life with her, to worry about. The Miles Kelly business could go pop and she
would be safe in her grave. I used to worry about that all the time partly for
her sake. When playing golf today both Rob and Ian got quite nervous when the
sky went black, the rain fell in literal rods of water and there were flashes
of lightning. I looked up at the sky and whispered “Come on you fucker, get me,
I dare you, get me.” The siren went soon after and we had to get off the
course. So to some extent I am more impregnable to danger, or fear of it
anyway. This is selfish thinking I realise as I have to remain for Ned’s sake,
though I sometimes think that the way he has got over, or appears to have got
over, his mum’s death, he might well recover quite quickly from mine. Time for
sleep – the mini deaths I welcome each day. Alas no petit morts.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
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| Kate and Ned around 1995 |
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