Doomy gloomy

This is not just any wedding anniversary. This is a wedding anniversary commemorated with a Marks & Spencer pizza and a strawberry trifle for one. This is our fourth wedding anniversary. This is the second wedding anniversary I've spent on my own. This is not just any wedding anniversary. This is a wedding anniversary without a sodding husband. This is a shit wedding anniversary.

Running free

Taking part in this year’s Great North Run (GNR), the world’s biggest half marathon, is possibly the greatest achievement of my life. I’ve um-ed and ah-ed about whether it’s a bigger achievement than the skydive I did earlier this year and have decided that it is. The skydive was hard mentally. I had to overcome emotional barriers but, once the decision was made, all I had to do was be brave and do what I was told. The GNR required months of training, from a standing start; I’ve only been running since August last year. I’ve never been a runner, nor a real exerciser. Yes, I used to go to the gym, but mainly to fight the flab caused by my excessive socialising. I’m amazed at how my training has built up over the months. From struggling to run one mile, I suddenly found myself running four miles, then six, and so on. Now six miles is my basic run – I was doing two a week in my GNR training – and my long runs are 10-11 milers. That still amazes me.

From going from only running for T and because of T (it helped me feel closer to him to be doing something that was such a big part of his life), I’m increasingly running for me. As well as for T. I know he would be astounded and immensely proud of my running achievements. That’s incredibly motivational. He was extremely passionate about his interests, including running - so knowledgeable and wise. He was a great coach and he got such a buzz from imparting his wisdom to me and his running friends. Sometimes, when I don’t think I can go any further, I think of T and what he went through last year, and it puts my running pain/fatigue into perspective and propels me on.

Importantly, I’ve discovered that I really enjoy running. I love being outdoors in the fresh air. I love the buzz I get when I get back from my runs. I love feeling physically tired and naturally hungry. It helps me clear my mind and think things through, away from life’s clutter. I love having running in common with so many friends – male and female. Not many sports are so gender neutral. I enjoy having goals and challenges to work towards, in the form of races and times. I’m enjoying learning more about running, training, injury-prevention, nutrition etc. In short, I’m becoming a runner and a running geek. And I love it!

Being part of the 30th GNR was an awesome experience and I feel lucky to have been forced into doing this by T’s death. I doubt there are many sporting events where you’re one of 54,000 people. The atmosphere was great, being among so many likeminded people - all there for the same reason - was quite powerful, and the Geordie support was warm and encouraging. Even the rain couldn’t dampen our spirits. I was lucky enough to be running with one of my oldest friends, Margot, a GNR veteran who was nursing an injury but who did amazingly nonetheless. Her fiance, Sam, powered away at the start but it was great to see his beaming face at the end, when we congratulated ourselves on our sub-2 hour performances, as the North Sea turned increasingly grey and the rain started lashing down. Definitely a day to remember. And yet another that I wish T could have been part of.

Thank you all for your support, emotional and financial, on this latest challenge. As always, it’s been invaluable. The following people deserve an extra special thank you: my cheering family and Auntie Christine; my running pals, Margot and Sam; my coach, GB, for all his training advice and encouragement – wouldn’t have got the sub-2 without him; and Michael @ Be Fit in Newcastle for curing me of my hip pain in one session, two weeks before the race, enabling me to run all 13.1 miles of the course. Bring on the GNR 2011...

First the worst

Apparently the firsts are the worst. The first birthday - theirs and yours - the first Christmas, the first wedding anniversary, the first anniversary of their death, etc etc.... I think I disagree. Or I guess it's not disagreeing. It's just that that statement implies that the seconds are somehow better. I don't think they are. Do people not realise that although the raw-ness may subside, that special person is still missing from that special day? What could be worse than that? Surely the more you endure, the worse it gets? The more you're reminded of the time that's passed since the last time that date was last a happy date. In fact, none of the anniversaries are worse than the other. They are all equally as difficult, and equally as hard.

Tomorrow is T's birthday. It's absolutely gut-wrenching to not have bought a card and presents. Or to have made a cake. Planned a celebration. It's just going to be a 'normal' day. I can't celebrate without T. I can think about him and those happy birthdays we've celebrated together. But that's about it. I have to go to work. I have a meeting for a voluntary job I've undertaken at the local theatre in the evening. Life goes on. Incredibly sad but incredibly true. It really is incredible to think that life does go on. How does it go on? How do we muster up the strength and the resilence to make it go on? We're broken inside, but on the outside - to the hundreds of people that will pass me on the street tomorrow, sit next to me on the train, queue beside me for my coffee - I'm whole. Incredible how well we can hide it. And if people don't know to look for it, they just won't see it.

How could she walk? 

How could she move?

That's the sort of thing I'll never know, or comprehend - what humans are capable of.

(An extract from 'The Book Thief' by Markus Zusak, narrated by Death and very worthy of a read.)

This week has been strange. I can only think it's because I'm back at work and finally have something big to distract me, so my mind gets caught up in work then when it allows itself to refocus on life, it momentarily forgets what's happened. Today as I walked the length of the concourse at Waterloo during the morning rush hour, I found myself scanning the faces of the commuters walking towards me. It dawned on me that I was searching for T. Searching for that beacon of hope and love and light in that sea of strangers. He wasn't there. Then at work today I glanced at my phone. Noticed the date: 15 September. Shit! I haven't planned T's birthday. Haven't got his present or made his cake. Then that realisation again. There's no point. No need. No T.

The firsts aren't the worst. They are just different. And I'll think of T tomorrow; 35 years ago to the day since he entered the world. That innocent little bundle of joy. He didn't deserve this to happen to him. Tomorrow should be a happy day. It's not fair.

Daily grind

Just a quick one to update anyone who's interested on how day one back at work went:

On the bright side
- I didn't have to get up too early as had counselling at 10am
- This also meant I didn't get to work till noon, so didn't quite work a full day
- I know two of my three colleagues from last time I worked there. That made a huge difference. Friendly faces. I'm also familiar with processes, clients etc. It's a bit like watching a soap opera - you can go away for 18 months and come back and still catch the drift of what's going on. And there was carrot cake. That always helps
- My brain still works. Hurrah!
- I didn't turn into an emotional wreck. Commuting, especially the evening commute, or the thought of it anyway, has freaked me out since T died as I was on the train home when the hospital called me. But I survived
- Location etc is all do-able. I can walk from Waterloo which will keep me fit and means I can avoid rush-hour Tubes
- There's a Costa nearby. They serve flat whites. I've never been a takeaway coffee girl; thought it was too expensive. Now it's going to be my daily treat to myself. Life's too short to worry about spending £2.35 on a coffee if it gives you pleasure. I wish I appreciated that before
- I'm earning some money again (which is just as well as the monthly travelcard cost me a small fortune)

On the darker side
- Got home about 7.30pm. Opened my mail, checked my voice messages, checked Hotmail/Facebook and generally unwound. I then had to do a 6 mile run. In the dark. That took me 50 minutes. Got home, made a few calls, stretched, showered, did dishes, made sarnies for tomorrow. Time for bed. No time to cook. No time to do much else. There's more to life than that - I know that now. It's what I do with that knowledge that matters though...

Thanks for the various texts and emails I got today. I appreciated you thinking of me.

Right, better get some kip ready to start all over again tomorrow. From the crack of dawn this time :o(

Hi ho, hi ho...

On Monday I start work again; after living through my own personal hell and the subsequent 14 months of recuperation and reflection. I'm fortunate to have had that space to grieve. To try and 'come to terms', for want of a better phrase, with what's happened. To think about what's important to me in my new state. And what I want for my future. I haven't yet found the answers to either of those things. I think I thought they would find me. 14 months on and I'm slowly realising that I need to find them. But I'm not yet sure how...

One thing I do know is that it finally feels right to be going back to work. People told me that I would know when I was ready. I didn't believe them. I thought I'd never feel ready. But I know I'm ready now. It also feels right to be going back to a work for a company (or a reincarnation of a company) that I have worked for in the past. I'll be working alongside two people who I worked with for two years. And I'll have some familiar clients too. There's some comfort in that. It's not the deep and meaningful job I promised myself after my perspective on life was changed by T's death, but it's another step in the healing process. And in the confidence-boosting process.

It's only a four-week contract. But that sounds just perfect to me. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, which makes it feel less daunting. I feel strong and confident. And in desperate need of a shopping trip to ensure I'm dressed the part. I'm not looking forward to the early starts. And the commuting is going to drive the new 'life's too short' me, absolutely insane. Commuters are so bloody rude. I'm going to have to learn to bite my tongue as I step aside to let the herds charge onto the train in front of me. I refuse to join them (famous last words). But I'm looking forward to stimulating my brain cells. To having some structure to my days. To having that Friday feeling that T and I so used to love. I know with that comes the dreaded Monday morning feeling too, by the way. I'll have to find a way to cope with that.

I'll miss getting up when I wake up (and going to bed when I'm tired). And running when I fancy it - and in the daylight at the rate autumn is advancing. I'll miss being a lady that lunches with friends and their babies. I'll miss just being me and doing what I feel like doing, when I feel like doing it. I'll regret not defrosting the freezer while I had the chance. Or cleaning the car before now. I'll be more fraught. And will read more books. There's pros and cons but it's time to give it a go. After all, what's the worst that can happen?

Question time

In recent weeks, I've had a fair few encounters with strangers that have required some polite chit-chat. These encounters have highlighted to me the inappropriateness of the questions that we're conditioned to ask people we've never met before to break the ice or fill the silence. Questions like: 'Do you have any children?' On the outside this seems harmless enough, and I guess for the majority of people maybe it is. But how hard would it be to be asked this question if you're infertile, or have suffered a miscarriage, or your child has died, or your husband/wife recently died before you got the chance to start a family?? You bite your tongue and answer, 'no'. Then you're asked if you plan to have children. You've never met this person before. She knows nothing about you but she's asking you extremely personal questions. And waxing your nether regions while she does so... it's just plain wrong.

The other favourite is, 'Where do you work?' Since T died I haven't worked. So sometimes I say, 'I'm not currently working.' You can hear the cogs in their head turning... this stranger in front of me is seemingly young and capable but not working. Aha, I know, 'Were you made redundant?' that would explain things. Well, yes, technically I was made redundant so I often just answer in the affirmative, then have to endure an in-depth conversation with the stranger about the recession, how hard it is to find work, how difficult it must be for me, etc etc. But that's a load of bullshit. But sometimes a darn sight easier and less intrusive to go along with that, rather than tell the stranger the real reason why I'm not currently working.

I'm sure I've been guilty of asking similar questions in the past, and may even still do so occasionally, but I'm going to try harder to ask more neutral questions, especially of strangers. It makes polite chit-chat that much harder because you don't have those 'easy' questions to fall back on. But I'd rather have to think harder about what I say before I open my mouth than risk upsetting someone I've never even met before. I reckon it'll be easier said than done...

I dedicate this post to Shoya Tomizawa who was killed in a motorcycle crash in the Misano GP on Sunday. And also to the nine people who were about to do a skydive when they were killed in a plane crash at Fox Glacier, NZ on Saturday.