Not So Silent Screaming

I have been counting dates again. Isla is the same age Evie was when Col died. She is 22 months. And she’s still just a baby. Yes she talks and she understands stuff but how, at this same age did Evie cope with loss and understand that daddy just disappeared from her life? How did I think she understood? She didn’t but she did. She stopped asking for him, she refused her much-loved milks and she point blank refused baths. His death did seem to have an affect on her. So she did suffer the loss but it’s only now at three and a half that she is beginning to grasp it. When will 22-month-old Isla get it? Will she feel jealous that she had such a short time feeling his love all around her? Arghhhh.
Seeing Isla at this same stage also makes me think, once again, about how short a time Col had with both his girls. At the time I thought at 22 months Evie was almost a fully fledged child. But she was a baby. Then I start thinking about the fact that if she was a baby then Isla at nine weeks was practically an embryo. Tiny. They shared such a tiny amount of time in this world with their wonderful daddy. It’s heartbreaking (well of course it is, the whole bloody thing is).
Those who know and follow this blog will also know that I have come under fire from certain Dail Mail idiots. I have moved on and met someone so that of course means I am callous and unfeeling. Well if those people could walk in these grief boots for just one moment they would, they would, well, they’d eat their sanctimonious hats. I am moving on. But every step forward is also filled with sadness. My children have lost their daddy and I lost the future I thought I had ahead of me. I am only now able to start emptying some of the boxes I packed up in the weeks following Col’s death for our big move north. My new house is not so new anymore, after over a year in it, but with the piles of random objects and boxes sitting in the shadowy corners of most rooms it looks undone and very unhomely. Meeting Cameron has spurred me on to make the house look happy and lived in and so yesterday I started to tackle the last few boxes. Almost immediately I was in pieces. First the cufflinks I bought Col for our wedding day had me in silent tears and then…well I peeled the bubble wrap off our wedding photos and found myself wracked by those animalistic sobs that those who have suffered this type of loss will know. The ones where your mouth freezes open, like in Munch’s Scream, and you get that awful pain in your chest. The one that feels like a deep, dark, unfillable hole.
It’s been a long time since I felt that pain. As well as the despair that the life I had was gone in amongst this latest bout of weepage I was thinking…God, will this ever, ever, ever get any easier? Of course it will, it is (this time I had Cameron holding me up and hugging me while I collapsed inwards and that definitely felt better than being alone and falling apart) but I think I would be a fool to think that grief will ever leave my life completely. One day when these girls of ours get bigger this pain will hit them too and I so wish I could keep it from them but they can’t stay three and a bit and 22 months forever. Soon I will be counting the date that Evie has been alive longer without her dad than with…great

Aaaaaarghhhhhhhhh
Aaaaaarghhhhhhhhh

12 Replies to “Not So Silent Screaming”

  1. Oh my dear Nicola……love you so much and the girls. Now there is Cameron to meet. It is over a year now since i have seen you all. Miss you all…..GAS

  2. Hi I have been following your blog for a while now, so I was so sad to learn you have been condemned for trying to make a new life for you and the girls, don, these hateful people realise it it takes courage to picks your self up and start to live again, after all you are so young, how do I know this because I have been there, Twenty three years ago my husband passed away suddenly leaving me with my son 7 and a daughter 3, I WAS 34, its been tough but you do get on with it you don’t get over it.. please be happy, your children will be too..
    p.s my boy got married last month, we had a wonderful happy day albeit tinged with sadness,
    my son made a beautiful speech, he said his dad would be so proud of me for the way I had coped with his terrible loss, and he said wonderful things about my new partner of 21 years, not a dry in the house as you can imagine, so you see there is hope for the future, hope this helps..
    Eileenxxxxxx

  3. Bless you so very much. You and your family are in my prayers. No one else has the right to judge you, and when they do, they inadvertently judge themselves in the same breath sadly. You must do what you need to do in your life to thrive again and you can only do the very best you can with the resources you have available in any one moment. As far as I can tell, you are doing incredibly, and are an inspiration to so many others. I started reading your blog after an acquaintance from church lost her husband very suddenly and left her with a 5, 3, and a 1 year old, and I wanted to understand more of what she was going through and be there for her in whatever way was most helpful for her. And here I am 18 months later with another friend, this time not so suddenly (a 4 month lead-in with cancer), but devastating nonetheless, just in a whole myriad of subtly different ways. Thank you for being you, and for having the courage to share your journey with the world.

  4. Those cries and that pain that you wrote about happened to me for the first time on 1November – 156 days since my beloved husband passed away. We had been together since I was 17 (15yrs) and have a son who was 7 months old at the time.
    Those cries were for pain that is physical and debilitating. It’s indescribable and unbearable. I had to allow it to wash over me – lying crumpled on the floor. I found myself a mantra out of this moment… I am safe. I said it again and again and the fear subsided. The rage quietened. My breathing calmed. My cries softened.
    Thank you for sharing… We shared a Munch day… After reading your post I feel less insane. X x

  5. Those cries and that pain that you wrote about happened to me for the first time on 1November – 156 days since my beloved husband passed away. We had been together since I was 17 (15yrs) and have a son who was 7 months old at the time.
    Those cries were for pain that is physical and debilitating. It’s indescribable and unbearable. I had to allow it to wash over me – lying crumpled on the floor. I found myself a mantra out of this moment… I am safe. I said it again and again and the fear subsided. The rage quietened. My breathing calmed. My cries softened.
    Thank you for sharing… We shared a Munch day… After reading your post I feel less insane. X x

  6. I have just found your blog – having followed others since June 2011 when my very fit husband, of 32, suddenly died, running a half marathon (I was 29, we’d been married a year and had just started trying for a family). I bizaarly was one of those Daily Mail readers who was ferociously clicking the ‘dislike’ arrows to all of those individuals who had absoutely no idea what is like to be in our position and who were so incredibly judgemental.

    Having read some of your entries you have prompted me to write. I, very unexpectedly, met someone very soon after my husband passed away. If I’m honest – 5 months afterwards. Over 2 years on I am still with that person and people around me, I think, are accepting this and are happy for us. What they don’t know, and guess can never know unless they have been so unfortunate to have been in that situation, is that before meeting my now other half, is that each day without my husband felt like years and, although I am now in a happy relationship, this does not, and could never, mean that I do not love and miss my husband everyday.

    Our other halves would want us to find happiness and love again and it is a tribute to them that we can.

    Anyway – keep writing – there are definitely plenty of people who support you and the choices you have made for you and your family.

    Is
    (a not so normally vocal solicitor who felt compelled to write)

  7. I can always relate to your blog. Why shouldn’t us Widows have some love and happiness in our sad lives? It is a roller-coaster and I think will always be now as we have to mark so many precious milestones without that special person. x

  8. I count the dates also. My husband died when I was 31 our daughter was two. We our 18 mts into our journey. I recently found your blogs and the similarities in thoughts and emotions are scary. I am so happy you have found love and that you have the support from all your family and friends reference this. Allow yourself to be happy you deserve it xxx

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