Grief. You’re a Prick!

On 13th December 2019 my husband, Mark, passed away. The reason he passed was unexpected, the Coroner came back with `undetermined’. That shit is hard to reconcile with. Mark was 52.

Christmas and New Year passed in a blur, as have the days and weeks since.

How can I possibly explain how I feel right now? Lost, empty, sad, so angry and with no desire to live.

I don’t mean that I wish to die, but I don’t want to carry on living either. That, too, is fucking hard to make sense of.

2019 was our year from hell. I was harassed to the point that the Police needed to be involved, sexually assaulted by a masseuse who was not DBS checked (the Met have still not fulfilled their duty so the CPS have not yet reached a charging decision), I was burgled, put my faith in friends and family who let me down, and Mark was in a deep spiral of despair and depression. On 13th December I was diagnosed with PTSD at 12 Noon and we lost our Mark at 15:55.

How does a person even come back from this?

I’m currently planning, with the help of my Sis, the most epic of celebrations to remember Mark; all he was, all he stood for, what he loved and what he did for us, for me.

He saved me.

I met Mark in 2001 when I was at a crossroads. The path I could have taken would have, probably, resulted in me not being here right now. Mark had faith in me, he encouraged me, he supported me and he loved me. I asked for nothing, yet he gave me everything. He shaped who I am.

18 yrs later, we really did live our best life. We couldn’t have children so we became approved Foster Carers. Having been in care myself, Mark knew how much this meant to me, to us. The opportunity to provide an environment with the right support, encouragement and affection to enable a child to thrive was all we wanted to do. If one more could find their path, like I did, it would be worthwhile. Sadly, that wasn’t to be. We didn’t have “child experience” so we were never chosen.

We threw ourselves into travel, and we really did explore the world, and doing good for others, both at home and abroad. This is where we really did succeed.

Our hearts were enriched, we made a difference. We were one.

The only thing that mattered to us was doing the right thing by others and by our family. Outside of that, we really didn’t give two shits. We were happy.

Every single member of our family was plagued with ill health, both physical and mental. We stayed true; supported each other, no matter the cost and no matter the impact. If Family called, we were there.

Even in the last year and a half, when I moved down South, none of this changed. If anything, I spent more time in Cov than I did in Kent.

I don’t regret that. I did all I could, more than I physically thought possible, to do what was right.

Now, I have nothing. I don’t want anything either. The idea of Mark not being here, fit and well, leaves me without a place from which to start.

There are days when I am not even able to get up. Days when I do but won’t get dressed. Days, weeks and months where I’m not even able to leave the house (with the exception of going to Cov or Potato’s) and when I do, I have the biggest of meltdowns. Days where I think I’m OK, then something happens, I hear a song or watch a programme, speak to someone and I’m a complete inconsolable mess.

I’ve shut everyone out. I’d rather no-one see me like this.

I have a week to get my shit together for Mark’s send off. I can’t even begin to imagine that day.

I have a fuck load of drugs which would help (all legitimately prescribed) but I don’t want to not feel.

This pain is real. It’s raw. There may be a day in the future when it doesn’t feel as bad but, for now, I am barely able to see tomorrow let alone the day when I can even conceive the idea of feeling something else.

A month on is the same as the day I got the call. My cats are the only reason I do get up. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know what my life will look like in the future, it certainly won’t be the same as it was before.

The one focus I do have, we as a family, is that we have set up a Foundation in Mark’s name. Mark’s foundation is a not-for-profit organisation that will help people who are struggling with life’s challenges; whether that be through support, financial assistance, therapy, signposting or real human connection and assistance.

Mark was and still is, in my head, the most amazing human to have walked this earth. Not without his own struggles, but he always saw his role in life as the Protector of our family. I need to, somehow, dig fucking deep, to continue his legacy and fulfill his role.

Grief, you’re a prick! I’m broken, beyond anything I recognise, but I will do my best to pull through. For Mark. I really fucking miss you, and I’ll always love you X

Mark Hewitson Foundation is set up at Companies House. We have raised over £5000 so far and have moved that to the Foundation Bank Account.

If you would like to donate to ensure that others benefit from support that they may not otherwise receive, the link is below.

Mark’s JustGiving Page

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Widow, Cats, Family, People Stuff, Exec Coach, Food Nerd, Gin Queen.

13 thoughts on “Grief. You’re a Prick!

  1. That is one hell of a blog Donna. I felt the emotion in every written word. I am going through something at the moment and I’m dreading “the day”.
    Lovely written blog Donna. I hope you heel xx

  2. Dee, I cannot put into words how much respect I have for you. You are stronger than you will ever realise and you inspire me every day. Mark will never be forgotten and the legacy you are building in his name is amazing. Sending lots of love xx

  3. Oh sweetheart, please take care of yourself and do take the medication that you have been prescribed as it’s there to help you get through what has and is, a harrowing time. We are supposed to have a stiff upper lip but the reality is that we don’t. Since Laura died [my 38 year old daughter] I have tried to be strong outwardly but deep inside I am broken. She had cystic fibrosis so we knew her life would be limited but in November 2018 she was diagnosed with a grade 4 inoperable brain tumour. Now that’s what I call fucking cruel. She, like you and Mark, did a lot for charity. She walked the London marathon walk twice, the last time in September before her diagnosis. She claimed Ben Nevis for the CF trust and for 17 years went to Lapland as Santa’s chief elf for Wish upon a Star, helping make lovely memories for children who like her, had a poor life expectation.
    Keep close to those you love and take up offers of help. Right now I would like to wrap my arms around you and give you a good snuggle. Remember Mark’s beautiful smile and use it as a beacon of light to get you through this and make tiny steps towards getting through this awful time. If there is anything, anything at all I can do to help, PM me. Sending love xxx

  4. Very sorry Donna. But I’m sure you will get that strength, God willing. I’ve said a prayer for you.

  5. Oh Donna, I’m so sorry to hear everything that you’ve been through. Your blog made me cry.

    I have faith in you, you’re one of the strongest and most capable people I’ve ever met, and I truly believe that you will get through this and start to live again. Be kind to yourself, take your time, and let people in.

    Always here for you and sending loads of love.

  6. Hi Donna, your words are incredible, my thoughts are with you, Mark and all who are touched by your amazing blog. You are truly a brave and spirited person, I am in awe of your amazing honesty and truth, thanks for sharing. I am away at the moment and will donate upon my return. Please let me know if I can help you fund raise for Mark’s Foundation. Look forward to seeing you soon, lots of love Tim x

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