Today is two years from the day J was blue lighted into hospital with chronic stomach pain that was making it difficult for her to breathe.
How that day started
I remember repeatedly calling the 999 incident room as J’s pain got more and more difficult for her to bear. She had started vomiting, the pain was so severe.
She didn’t want me to call an ambulance. This is a woman who only had paracetamol and gas & air when she delivered both of our children naturally. She had the highest pain threshold and the lowest complaint about it, I’ve ever known!
So, to see her in such agony, groaning with pain, fired up my protective instincts as a husband so strongly that I felt like reaching down the phone and dragging the (wonderful and hard working) ambulance crew to me directly.
When the paramedics arrived they were brilliant! So caring and respectful. They realised she was in unimaginable pain and knew how seriously ill she was. They didn’t rush J into the ambulance, she was still in bed and they had to dress her to go out of the house, but they did get her to the ED as soon as they could.
Anyway, I won’t repeat my recollections of that day any further, I explained that in my About page.
Other Indelible Memories
There are memories I still have now that are burned into my brain and remain clear as the day they happened, I’m sure it is the same for most people.
One of those days for me is a 43 year old memory from my childhood that still makes me cry now as an adult.
I remember exactly how I felt inside as a newly turned 9 year old, struggling to understand how my first cousin, who was exactly 1 year older than me to the day, could have died.
I can feel the closeness of my Dad on that night, his weight on my quilt, trapping my legs, which was weirdly a comfort. I can feel my pure rage as he asked me what was wrong!
I just cried out her name angrily in response. How could he not know?! (I know he didn’t mean to say that, but I didn’t understand that at the time of course).
She was the oldest of our grandchild group and of 4 children in her family. She died just days after her 10th (and my 9th) birthday. She had slipped into a diabetic coma a few days after Christmas and never woke.
It is my belief that her death has caused me so many issues since. I am sure it was a major contributing factor to the (undiagnosed at the time) depression and anger issues I later experienced as a teenager and adult.
The worst of the worst
The day J died is that raw, that vivid in my mind, that I don’t know if it will ever fade.
Weirdly today, only 2 years in, I don’t want it to fade.
Is that weird though?
To lose that memory feels, at the moment, like it would be losing my connection to her. Like I wasn’t acknowledging her suffering and how devastating it was to all of us.
And I am not ready for that.
By the way, if you are thinking that it’s time I moved on or about the stages of grief, that’s all rubbish as far as I am concerned.
My journey through this loss is personal to me and doesn’t fit some theoretical schedule. How I feel changes minute by minute, day by day. There is no defined pathway through this.
I know exactly what I am capable of now, even more so since losing J and having my life blown apart.
I know that my children, their health and happiness, as much as we can affect it, is the most important thing in life now. I owe it to J to continue her amazing legacy as a Mother.
That’s all she would have wanted and that I want for her.