It’s that time of year

I started writing this blog before Christmas, but seemed to run out of steam. It’s now the new year, exactly seven months since Rosie died and I’ve now found a new impetus. In the weeks running up to Christmas a number of people have kindly shown concern for me and the children at “this time of the year”. It might sound churlish, but this time of the year really doesn’t mean a great deal to me. We’ve never celebrated Christmas in any way. The children don’t get or expect Christmas presents. We don’t have a “Christmas lunch” and on Christmas day there’s nothing we enjoy doing more than being out and about in a London devoid of people. Bliss.

However, it’s just hitting me that although we don’t do the usual Christmas things, it is still a time for family.  And with family time Rosie’s absence is all the more painful. During a normal working day my mind is occupied to such an extent that I don’t really have time to think deeply about Rosie. Of course she’s in and out of my mind all of the time, but during these holidays my mind has been generally unoccupied and so she is filling the void. And that has reminded me of how much I miss her and how lonely I am without her.

Talking to and being with friends and family is lovely. It’s a lifeline. But it doesn’t make up for my best friend not being there by my side. To me loneliness is a word used to describe those bereaved in later life. I never imagined it would apply to me. But it does.

The sense of disbelief that Ro isn’t here is now fading, though I do have pangs of disbelief every single day. That emotion has been joined by a feeling of solitude, and with that a sense of loss and pain. And the pain is real; it’s physical; like a knot in my stomach. I’d hoped that as time passed it would become easier but I’m afraid that it’s getting harder. The day-to-day rhythm of life of course carries on, it must for the sake of the children, but Rosie’s emotional support is no longer there. The old adage is that time is a healer; and for so many things it is. But now we’re in 2016 and it was “last year” that Rosie died. I have no sense of relief from the passing time.

As odd as it sounds I wish I could forget my darling, beautiful Rosie. If I stopped remembering being with her, and being so happy with her then I wouldn’t have this pain. Of course, that’s just ridiculous because the last thing I want to do is to forget Rosie and all of the amazing memories we made together. I’m glad that I have her in my heart and my memories, I just wish she were still here with me and the children.

Elliot

 

 

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