Life. What’s it all about? Well I’ll be damned if I know. The idea that someone as good as Rosie, as well-loved as Rosie, as fantastic as Rosie could be plucked from this world at the mere age of 38 is just unfathomable. I’ve always taken the view that it’s up to you to make your life count and make of it what you will. You’re a long time dead so make your mark while you’re here. Well Rosie most certainly did that.
For a few nights in a row now Natalie has asked me to tell her stories about her mummy. I take it as a healthy sign that she’s wanting to ask and hear about mummy. For me this throws up a confusing mix of emotions. Of course I have some wonderful memories and I want nothing more than to share them with my darling daughter. But at the same time it is painful to relate these stories because I know that I’ll never again be able to create new memories with Rosie. And yet I am also delighted that Natalie can ask me to do this for her. My biggest fear is that through the loss of their mother Natalie and Joseph’s lives are going to be blighted in some way, that they won’t achieve their potential and that I’ll be responsible. By talking, I know that Natalie is helping herself to deal with this crappy situation and hopefully as the years roll by she’ll become the woman she was always destined to be.
It is absolutely true to say that Natalie, Joseph and I have a lifetime of memories to create together and I hope for their sake, if not for mine, that there are many years if not decades of those to come. But sitting here, writing this just three weeks since Rosie left us, I can’t begin to imagine how I’ll get through. I know I will. I must. I owe it to Joseph and Natalie and I most certainly owe it to Rosie. She’d be furious if I didn’t.
I’d be lying if I hadn’t contemplated life without Rosie. Since we received the awful news in June last year there have been times when I’ve done nothing but think about life without her. And then there were numerous nights in December and January when we held each other and cried. Words were pointless. We both knew where this was going to end. We knew that. And we planned for it. But all the plans can’t deal with the pain.
Today as I stood in our kitchen I noticed a few roses blooming. So I took a photo. It doesn’t make me feel any better but I know Rosie would have loved it. So here it is. For you Ro.