Me, myself and I at the wedding

Yesterday I went to my lovely friend's lovely wedding. It was like no wedding I've ever been to (in the best possible way) and it was also the first I've been to without T or my family. In the greater scheme of things — especially given where I'm now at emotionally — this wasn't really a big deal, but in the smaller, day-to-day scheme of things, this was a slightly bigger deal. Four good friends of mine, two couples, were also there so I wasn't really on my own and the thoughtful bride, ever sensitive to other people's feelings, ensured that I was sat between my two girlfriends at the reception and told me this in advance so I wouldn't fret. Her thoughtfulness was touching and much appreciated. But nevertheless, I missed having T by my side.

I had a choice of three dresses for the big day. I tried them all on at home last week and managed to narrow it down to two — one was just too short — but just couldn't make that final decision about which one to wear (indecisive really is my middle name!). In the past, I would have been able to ask my own personal Gok Wan for his fashion advice, and he'd have told me the honest truth whether I wanted to hear it or not. But now I don't have that luxury and, although it might sound trivial, it's hard not having that advice, and the confidence boost that you get when the person you love tells you you look good. So I ended up taking both dresses into work yesterday and sought the opinion of my colleagues, who I knew could be relied upon to be brutally honest.

So, outfit decided, the next hurdle was getting from work, in the centre of Covent Garden, to the venue, the National Theatre, at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. I was very insecure about that bit of the day (and also about getting the pissheads' train home on my own on a Friday night dressed in only a LBD, heels and a fascinator), but with the help of my trusty Rescue Remedy and some encouragement from my lovely colleagues, I made it out the door and clip-clopped down the cobbled street to find a cab. I felt so self-conscious, especially in tourist central, and was pleased to escape into the sanctuary of a black cab, to be met by my lovely friends at the other end.

As a single person, I've become more conscious of not wanting to prevent couples that I'm with from being together in the same way they would if I wasn't there. I don't want to make couples who might want to sit together during the ceremony, for example, sit separately because I'm stuck in the middle of them and I don't want couples to miss out on have a smooch on the dancefloor because they don't want to leave me dancing on my own. I'm also conscious of the introductions that are made at these kind of social events, 'And this is my husband...'. I sometimes feel like telling people that I too had a husband who should have been there with me, getting the beers in with the menfolk, providing a steadying arm to cling to when I'm wearing heels that make it slightly difficult to walk, and telling me how great I look in my finery. I hear his voice; I just can't see his form. And nor can anyone else.

The wedding ceremony was full of so much fun, love and laughter, that I didn't shed a tear (for once). It was beautiful and if I ever remarry, I'm going to borrow lots of ideas from this wedding, including possibly the venues, florist, musicians and caterers! When I did shed a tear, was during the speeches when the bride mentioned those people who were no longer with us, including 'Mr TM who is particularly missed by table five'. Again, thoughtful bridey had consulted with me in advance to check it was OK with me, so it wasn't a surprise, but I was so incredibly touched and it helped me to feel that T was part of the day too. She'd only met T a handful of times, so I had explained that I certainly didn't expect her to mention him, but she was adamant that if he was still alive he would have been there and therefore he was missed. I love you for that MM (and many other things to boot!). It's interesting how many people guess at my feelings about something and that guess determines their action, or lack of. The bride could have assumed that mentioning T would have been too upsetting for me and not done it. But she didn't, she was honest and brave and asked me direct. Thank you lovely friend.

I also spent some time at the wedding talking to a friend who told me that I should keep writing my blog. I said I didn't have much to write about but he told me to just keep writing about how I'm feeling and how various things are affecting me. That conversation inspired me to write today. I love writing my blog and have missed it, but I'm going to aim to write more often, so thank you J for your encouragement. Oh, and in a shameless plug, his wife Zehra, another of my amazing friends, is officially a published author! (All the children I know can expect to receive a copy of 'The boy who hated toothbrushes' for their next birthday/Christmas present. If Zehra can bear it, they may even be signed by the author.) Z and J accompanied me home on the last train of the night, so that wasn't a worry in the end. As old Sheila the Healer would have told me, I shouldn't waste valuable time and energy worrying about things that might never happen. She is very wise.

So once again, I've survived. As I mentioned at the start of this post, I was looking forward to this wedding a lot and knew I'd be well supported by my friends, so it wasn't really a big deal. This is more about sharing the minutiae of my emotions and the things, both big and small, that challenge me every day.

PS I've probably posted the below before (I didn't write it), but I've just re-read it and it's so darn true I thought I'd post again. (On a whim I went to see a psychic the other day. Among other things, she said I had a deep-rooted pain inside me that I hid very well from the outside world. Maybe there's something in that mumbo jumbo after all).

How you can help me

Please talk about my loved one, even though he is gone. It is more comforting to cry than to pretend that he never existed. I need to talk about him, and I need to do it over and over.

Be patient with my agitation. Nothing feels secure in my world. Get comfortable with my crying. Sadness hits me in waves, and I never know when my tears may flow. Just sit with me in silence and hold my hand.

Don't abandon me with the excuse that you don't want to upset me. You can't catch my grief. My world is painful, and when you are too afraid to call me or visit or say anything, you isolate me at a time when I most need to be cared about. If you don't know what to say, just come over, give me a hug or touch my arm, and gently say, "I'm sorry." You can even say, "I just don't know what to say, but I care, and want you to know that."

Just because I look good does not mean that I feel good. Ask me how I feel only if you really have time to find out.

I am not strong. I'm just numb. When you tell me I am strong, I feel that you don't see me.

I will not recover. This is not a cold or the flu. I'm not sick. I'm grieving and that's different. My grieving may only begin 6 months after my loved one's death. Don't think that I will be over it in a year. For I am not only grieving his death, but also the person I was when I was with him, the life that we shared, the plans we had, the places we will never get to go together, and the hopes and dreams that will never come true. My whole world has crumbled and I will never be the same.

I will not always be grieving as intensely, but I will never forget my loved one and rather than recover, I want to incorporate his life and love into the rest of my life. He is a part of me and always will be, and sometimes I will remember him with joy and other times with a tear. Both are okay.

I don't have to accept the death. Yes, I have to understand that it has happened and it is real, but there are some things in life that are just not acceptable.

When you tell me what I should be doing, then I feel even more lost and alone. I feel badly enough that my loved one is dead, so please don't make it worse by telling me I'm not doing this right.

Please don't tell me I can find someone else or that I need to start dating again. I'm not ready. And maybe I don't want to. And besides, what makes you think people are replaceable? They aren't. Whoever comes after will always be someone different.

I don't even understand what you mean when you say, "You've got to get on with your life." My life is going on, I've been forced to take on many new responsibilities and roles. It may not look the way you think it should. This will take time and I will never be my old self again. So please, just love me as I am today, and know that with your love and support, the joy will slowly return to my life. But I will never forget and there will always be times that I cry.

I need to know that you care about me. I need to feel your touch, your hugs. I need you just to be with me, and I need to be with you. I need to know you believe in me and in my ability to get through my grief in my own way, and in my own time.

Please don't say, "Call me if you need anything." I'll never call you because I have no idea what I need. Trying to figure out what you could do for me takes more energy than I have. So, in advance, let me give you some ideas:

(a) Bring food or a movie over to watch together.
(b) Send me a card on special holidays, his birthday, and the anniversary of his death, and be sure to mention his name. You can't make me cry. The tears are here and I will love you for giving me the opportunity to shed them because someone cared enough about me to reach out on this difficult day.
(c) Ask me more than once to join you at a movie or lunch or dinner. I may say no at first or even for a while, but please don't give up on me because somewhere down the line, I may be ready, and if you've given up then I really will be alone.
(d) Understand how difficult it is for me to be surrounded by couples, to walk into events alone, to go home alone, to feel out of place in the same situations where I used to feel so comfortable.

Please don't judge me now - or think that I'm behaving strangely. Remember I'm grieving. I may even be in shock. I am afraid. I may feel deep rage. I may even feel guilty. But above all, I hurt. I'm experiencing a pain unlike any I've ever felt before and one that can't be imagined by anyone who has not walked in my shoes.

Don't worry if you think I'm getting better and then suddenly I seem to slip backward. Grief makes me behave this way at times. And please don't tell me you know how I feel, or that it's time for me to get on with my life. What I need now is time to grieve.

Most of all thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for caring. Thank you for helping, for understanding.

And remember in the days or years ahead, after your loss - when you need me as I have needed you - I will understand. And then I will come and be with you.