Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

Tomorrow makes a year.

And I miss him.

 

I’ve been angry that he was taken from me

Frustrated that my attempts at new starts have gone wrong, a lot.

Tired of being alone, sleeping alone, waking up alone, driving alone.

Sad at the absence of part of me, my best friend, my advocate.

 

But I’ve also been joyful at the blessings in my life

Hopeful for the future

Excited by the possibilities

Grateful for God’s eternal love, mercy and patience. Grateful for the people he’s put around me. Grateful for Andy and the short time we had together.

 

It’s been twelve months of every emotion under the sun, but as the dust storm settles and I step out into the sunshine I look down at my wedding ring and remember how lucky I was to have been loved so completely, and I look up to the cross and remember how blessed and undeserving I am to be loved so perfectly by the Lord of all.

And when I have that, I don’t need anything else.

~

~

Be so happy with the way you are

Just be happy that you made it this far

Please be happy now

 

Jason Mraz

Now…

So I’ve been pretty absent over the last couple of months, but I’m still here, promise! Thought I’d keep you lovely people updated on me and where I’m at now…

I moved to Devon. My parents have lived in Plymouth for a while now and it’s the place that most feels like home. So I’m here, with the sea and the rain for the foreseeable future. I’ve found a lovely flat near The Hoe and am currently waiting on the legal shmegal to happen, then the builders are moving in to renovate the place. It’s going to be a beautiful home for my youngest sister and I when it’s done though and I’m very excited about it!

I’m enjoying settling in down here, meeting new people, catching up with old friends… looking for a church, knitting group, job (maybe, yes, and hopefully soon now my CV is finally sorted)

I had the most amazing summer, really full of fun and so refreshing for my very tired soul. And now I feel like I’m ready to get up and get on. I’m still blogging, in a short, knitty sort of way over at Stitches & Swatches. And I’ll update here if anything especially exciting happens, like I finally open my etsy shop or write a book or get the NHS to change their policy on Colitis patients.

So all that’s left to say really is thank you. Thank you for reading, for letting us ramble, for over 58,000 blog  hits. Thank you for praying and hoping and loving us. Thank you for supporting two random strangers as they faced cancer head on.

I’m going to finish with this – EVERYTHING good we did, we did it through the power of Jesus Christ. All our hope and positivity and strength, all our love for each other, all our patience and trust… was all God. Right from the start, we said we would trust that He would look after us and we would do it in His strength. And we did, and He was faithful and true. And that’s the only reason that I’m still standing now.

~ ”My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”~

I love you!

Ses xxx

 

Happy Birthday

My darling husbandface,

Yesterday was the 19th. 5 months since you died. They always come round and feel like a punch in the stomach but that was the hardest so far because today is your birthday. Last year on the 19th we went out for dinner. I wanted to go to St Albans and go somewhere posh, you wanted to go to Frankie and Benny’s in Hatfield. So we did, but I didn’t tell them it was your birthday the next day because no-one wants to hear Cliff Richard singing ‘Congratulations’ again! (I think we went there too much!)

And then on your birthday we had a lazy morning with presents – you loved the jumper I bought you and wore it non stop until you died – and went to chemo. And as usual, despite having to spend your birthday plugged into a pump, you smile and charmed everyone and we had cake while you subjected us to endless Top Gear repeats. And then we went home (via McDonalds of course – a post-chemo ritual that, while disgusting, I miss so much now) and spent the rest of the day snuggling on the sofa. I cooked you something and we watched rubbish TV.

But now it’s this year, and you’re gone. And instead of spending the last week shopping and cooking and baking and  hiding secrets, I’ve spent it crying and missing you and still so cross that you didn’t make it.

I don’t know whether there’s birthdays in heaven. Or ‘salvation days’… I guess every day is a crazy mad celebration of how awesome God is and how much He loves each and every one of us. (With cake I’m sure – Jesus loved his feasting!) But I’ll be raising a glass tonight, in celebration of you. Of how much you loved me, of the amazing husband that you were  and how your voice at the back of my head saying ‘come on honey, man up, you can do this!’ gets me through every day.

I love you, so much, and I always will. And I miss every day.

Wifelet xxx

 

Until You Die, Live.

Dear World,

I’m pretty sure unless you’re 24, nursed your husband through 14 months of sickness, knowing all along that the cancer would get him eventually and then watched him die…. you have no idea what I’m feeling!

It makes me so cross that people think I should feel a certain way. That I should be crying all day. That I should be miserable.

I made my peace with the fact that I was losing my husband back in December. I started saying goodbye in March. I prayed over him as he slipped away and gave him over to God.

When I think of the countless people who, every single day, have their loved ones ripped from them – through war and accidents and heart attacks, who never have a chance to sort things and make peace and say goodbye… I feel lucky. Everyone has to die. I got the gift of being there when he did.

I’ve also got the gift of being alive. I’ve got the gift of joy. I’ve got the gift of Salvation. And I’m going to live my life.  I’m not going to sit at home and mope. I’m going to hang out with my friends and make new ones and go on adventures.

Stop judging me for being ok. Stop judging me because I’m not grieving in the same way or on the same time scale as you are or “think” you would be. I loved him more than you could ever know. It’s because I love him that I’m going to make the best of the short time we have on this earth.

I’m 24. I’m far too young to die too, to just exist. I’m going to live.

Ses

(picture from Howies - sadly it was limited edition and no longer available.)

Me

Today, I’m ok.

It might get worse. It might get better.

But whatever happens, it’s ok. Whatever I feel, it’s ok.

 

It might take me 3 weeks to sort out my house. It might be a year.

I might start dating next month. I might never date anyone again.

Maybe I’ll become a crazy cat lady. Maybe I’ll adopt a ton of kids. Maybe I’ll talk to everyone and anyone. Maybe I’ll shut myself in my room for days.

I’ll do whatever the hell I want to do. And it’s ok.

Nothing I do now changes the past. Nothing changes how much I adored Andy, how much of myself I poured into our relationship and caring for him. Nothing changes the fact that I spent 14 months looking after his every need and, frankly, was superwoman at times. Nothing changes the fact that I will always love him and he will always be in my heart.

But I’m not going to sit around and pretend to be sadder than I am. For a start, Andy would hate that. And he taught me that life is for living, for grabbing every moment. And now I’m not being held hostage by cancer any more, it’s going to be about me for a while. Grief and grieving will come when it comes.

 

Footloose

I’ve never been good at staying put. I thought this time would be it though, but clearly it’s not to be. I moved to Hertfordshire to be with Andy, and now he’s gone I just really, really want to be near my family. And I love the south west – although my nomadic lifestyle means no town or city has ever been “home”, it’s the area where I’ve spent most of my life and I’m looking forward to being back there.

So I’m packing my life into boxes again and setting out looking for a new adventure in Devon.

I’m not moving right away, but it doesn’t hurt to get a head start on things. I move so much that I start to wonder why I even bother unpacking! Though I’m hoping this time it’ll give me a base for my stuff to live while I move around on my adventures. I am trying to be ruthless too – my friend Lauren popped in to bring me some bubble wrap and left with an ice cream scoop and a DVD. I might make it a rule for any visitors!

 

Lollie’s Wedding

Everything I’ve read about ‘how to be a widow’ (yes, they do exsist!) tells me to avoid weddings as much as possible. ‘Don’t go! You’ll be miserable! You can’t be happy for them when you’ve just lost your husband!’

Well, piddle. There was no way in hell I was missing Lauren & Ollie’s (Lollie’s) wedding, and as amazing as the “Man Team” (groomsmen) are I don’t think floristry is their biggest strength. Even Alex the gardener didn’t know what a peony was.

So Mom and I spent Friday buying a LOT of flowers. We went to 3 different Morrisons, 2 markets, a flower stall, a florist and a Waitrose. Bought pink and white roses, pink and white peonies, lots of colours of gerberas, all sorts of chrysanthemum, lilies, freesias and a huge purple hydrangea.

We left the flowers at a friend’s overnight and on Saturday morning picked them all up, bought a few more (7 bridesmaids need a lot of flowers!) and went to the venue. Then I made 8 bouquets, 6 corsages, a gazillion buttonholes and 15 or so table decorations. And iced 100 cupcakes.

And it was awesome, I loved being so busy and getting so much done, and it all looked beautiful. I was really proud of myself for helping to give them such a fab wedding, and you know what? I had a really good time. The food was amazing and the ceilidh was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Of course I was sad that Andy wasn’t there, but actually I didn’t spend the whole evening faking the smiles.

So, moral of this story? Sometimes survival guides talk crap. And my Mom is a great wedding planner’s assistant!

Andyroo

Click here for the video slideshow I made for the funeral: http://www.facebook.com/v/342415804995

And my tribute to Andy that our friend Rich read for me:

It was a cold day in late September, and I had been travelling for hours. Waiting at a train station, somewhere in the middle of the Netherlands, I had no idea that I was about to meet my husband. And my first thought when seeing this handsome young man step out of the car wasn’t ‘I’m going to marry him!’ – rather, ‘why isn’t that guy wearing a jumper? It’s freezing!’
But sometime over the next couple of days I realised that there was more to this guy than an inability to feel the cold and within weeks of our return to the UK we’d fallen in love. And life with Andy started.
Life with Andy was never boring . He wholeheartedly threw himself into everything – whether it was engineering – putting his degree into good use by teaching it in schools, developing patents and taking apart most things in the house, or, of course, biking. He was never happier than when he was bombing it down a hill on two wheels or taking his bikes apart – I never managed to persuade him that a cream carpet wasn’t a sensible place to service a pair of oily bike forks on.
And he was a wonderful husband. Before he got ill I broke my jaw and got really sick from the painkillers, and he spent weeks looking after me, taking me to the doctors and mashing my food up, even when I was grumpy and horrible and throwing up everywhere. And even after he got ill, and was feeling tired and rubbish, he always made sure that we had time together. And that was what I always admired most about Andy – his generosity – the way he would give of his time and himself for other people – whether it was devoting time to his relationship with me, getting up at 2 in the morning to rescue a friend stranded in A&E or the countless hours spent helping with Alpha here at church.
I think his smile is what I’m going to miss most. Looking through pictures, there’s hardly any where he’s not beaming. He beamed at roast dinners, at stupid faces I made, every time he picked up our adored godson Harrison. He beamed at bike videos, at Formula one and as he argued about barbeque methods with his parents. In fact, he beamed at most things, even after 17 sessions of chemo and weeks spent in hospital, he was still smiling, still happy, still a gentleman.
The cancer might have beaten him physically, but it never beat his spirit. When he got diagnosed, he prayed ‘Lord, if I live, I’ll live for you. And if I die, I’m coming home.’ And I believe that he has gone home and he has received his very great reward. And God has welcomed him with the words ‘Well done, good and faithful servant!’
He inspired me to keep hoping and holding on to God, even when the going gets tougher than we could possibly imagine. He gave me the gift of patience and perseverance, and for those things I will always thank him. And of course, I am just so, so proud and honoured to have called him my husband and my best friend.

Busy

So busy…. orders of service and writing a eulogy and picking songs. My head hurts!

Plus I started clearing out Andy’s clothes – I had a charity shop bag and a textile recycling bag and went through everything – I kept all his t-shirts (28!!) to make quilts for his Mum, sister and myself. I put some other things aside to give to his parents and sister, and cufflinks for his brothers-in-law. Still, lots of stuff I got out and put straight back, but that’s ok. Still got to sort the bike stuff (eeek!) but I might wait until Dave and Ollie (Andy’s biking buddies wives) can come and help!

Thankfully most of our stuff is “our” stuff – he had clothes and bike stuff and computer bits. I have clothes and yarn and many, many shoes. And the rest of it is our house stuff and that makes it a lot easier.

Going to costco later to pick up drinks for tomorrow and finish writing the eulogy. I’m just so tired and want too sit down and cry, but I can’t seem to be able to. This is all so horribly hard and yet the laundry still needs to be done and the plants still need to be watered.

Andy’s Funeral

Andy’s funeral will be held at Garston Crematorium on Thursday 26th May, followed by a service of thanksgiving at St Albans Vineyard at 2pm. Please wear bright colours – no black!

The crematorium is going to be pretty tight for space and so we’ll have to invite people to that separately, but the service at Vineyard is totally open – whether you love Andy, love someone who loves him or just read the blog – if you want to come, please come. I really, really mean that.

Please find parking in the surrounding residential streets and ride your bike to the church.
(Edit – the gates can’t be closed, so please bring a sturdy lock, there’s plenty of railings to attach them to.)

As a family we’d really appreciate it if you could print your favourite pictures of him as 6x4s and bring them with you.

Please let us know if you’re coming so we know how many to cater for.

Church address: Unit 7, Brick Knoll Park, St. Albans, Hertfordshire AL1 5UG