Widow. Crazy Cat Lady. Family. Epic Travels. Food Nerd. Gin Queen. Fabulous Fizz. Doer of Good Stuff.
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 fulfil 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