Here we are; four years on. Time passed so slowly in the beginning. I didn't know how I'd get to tomorrow, nevermind next week, and next year was beyond the realms of comprehension. But here we are at four. And the first one I'll spend in the home we shared.
This time of year will always be hard. All the difficult, 'four years ago today' memories (which, right now would probably have had T Egyptian dancing across the hall while I was trying to blowdry my hair. Not something he'd ever done before in my presence, but something that made me laugh. And it's so important that that last memory is a happy, crazy one.).
I still think of T multiple times every single day. And miss him. And love him. And wish with every single ounce of me that he was still here. I still sometimes think I've seen T at the train station, in the supermarket, on the street - it's weird and kind of hard to explain. It's like an instinct thing I guess; when you're so used to seeking that familiar face out of crowds, it becomes a habit that's hard to kick. It's like my eyes react before my brain has had the chance to correct them. Then the other day I caught myself wondering if we'd moved to NYC, as T was rooting (apologies for the use of that word, Antipodeans) for at one point, whether T might still be here today. Like Sliding Doors. Except I'll never know how that parallel life might have worked out. Which is probably just as well.
While I think of him daily, I rarely dream of T. Unfortunately. I'd like him to star in my dreams more often. When I do, it tends to always be along the same lines of him coming back from somewhere. As a slight aside, I've been watching the brilliant and compelling first series of The Returned on Channel 4, which finished last night. It's about people who come back from the dead, but in a very real way. (Well, as real as that can ever be, and it gets much less real as the series progresses, but they're tangible.) That made me wonder what it would be like if T came back. Which is just crazy thinking, but interesting too.
It hasn't happened quite yet, but one thing about The Returned is that the dead came back at the age they were when they died. Which made me think that I'll always have photos of a 33-year old man up in my house. Even when I'm 90. T will never age. Like that other movie, whose name escapes me... Oh yeah: Forever Young :-)
The suddenness of T's death will always be difficult for me to accept. No warning, no time to prepare. One day there we were, living a normal (very much in inverted commas) life, the next T is lying in a hospital bed on a life support machine. We spend one final and very precious night 'together' (again in inverted commas), then he's wheeled away to have his ventilator turned off. See, even writing that feels surreal. Back to that feeling I've described before of, 'that can't have actually happened to me'. I don't know how I could survive that happening to T. But the weird thing is, I did.
And so, four years on also means a time for me to reflect on where I am on my journey - 4AT. I feel more self-assured, more confident in many respects, definitely sweat less of the small stuff, tolerate less shit, am comfortable in my own company, spend more time and money on my appearance than ever before and both appreciate and really try to live life to my max. That's not to say I do crazy shit the whole time. Sometimes that means going to Pilates several times a week. Sometimes that means whipping up a mean poached egg brunch. Sometimes it means basking in the sun. I have an amazing lifestyle - one which I need to be more accepting and appreciative of. And I'm lucky enough to have amazingly supportive family and friends who are there for me come rain or shine and help to keep me on the straight and narrow.
4AT also sees me reading a novel in Italian. Granted I don't understand every word, but I understand enough to get the gist and keep me turning the pages. I'm super pleased with my progress in Italian - just need to keep it up now I'm not spending quite as much time there. Having said that, I'm off to Italy soon to see everyone, swim in the sea (CANNOT WAIT!!) and go to one of the food festivals - sagre - that we went to last year, where we're guaranteed to eat exceptionally well, get rather merry and dance the night away. (Chri always tells me I need to remember two words whenever I'm out drinking, in any language: non merci, no grazie, nein danke, no thanks, no gracias... He says when I touch the stars (I think that's his expression) I need to use those two words and maintain that happy point, not descend past it, as is my wont. This time, however, Massimo has arranged for us to stay in the village where the sagra is being held, so Chri tells me that this is the only time none of us have to remember the two words. I'll be packing the milk thistle!)
Seemingly small things are also significant when I look back on how far I've come in four years. I recently did a reading at one of my good school friend's weddings. Big deal. Except it is a big deal when I think back to how just going to a wedding on my own used to be a challenge in those early days. So this time, I not only went to a wedding quite happily without a date, but I tottered down the aisle in my stilettos and did a reading in front of 130 guests. Boom!
Of course, my life isn't always rosy and exciting. I have chores and mundanity the same as the next person and the lows this year have been challenging to say the least, but I'm trying super hard to live in the moment and enjoy life and the various curveballs it throws at you. I recently read a great little book that I'd highly recommend, called 'Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor Frankl. I like this quote, written in the Preface by Gordon W Allport:
"... to live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in the suffering. If there is a purpose in life at all, there must be a purpose in suffering and in dying. But no man can tell another what this purpose is. Each must find out for himself, and must accept the responsibility that his answer prescribes. If he succeeds he will grow in spite of all indignities."
That resonates with me at 4AT. Especially the growth bit.
RIP my gorgeous boy. I dedicate this post, and my life, to you.
This time of year will always be hard. All the difficult, 'four years ago today' memories (which, right now would probably have had T Egyptian dancing across the hall while I was trying to blowdry my hair. Not something he'd ever done before in my presence, but something that made me laugh. And it's so important that that last memory is a happy, crazy one.).
I still think of T multiple times every single day. And miss him. And love him. And wish with every single ounce of me that he was still here. I still sometimes think I've seen T at the train station, in the supermarket, on the street - it's weird and kind of hard to explain. It's like an instinct thing I guess; when you're so used to seeking that familiar face out of crowds, it becomes a habit that's hard to kick. It's like my eyes react before my brain has had the chance to correct them. Then the other day I caught myself wondering if we'd moved to NYC, as T was rooting (apologies for the use of that word, Antipodeans) for at one point, whether T might still be here today. Like Sliding Doors. Except I'll never know how that parallel life might have worked out. Which is probably just as well.
While I think of him daily, I rarely dream of T. Unfortunately. I'd like him to star in my dreams more often. When I do, it tends to always be along the same lines of him coming back from somewhere. As a slight aside, I've been watching the brilliant and compelling first series of The Returned on Channel 4, which finished last night. It's about people who come back from the dead, but in a very real way. (Well, as real as that can ever be, and it gets much less real as the series progresses, but they're tangible.) That made me wonder what it would be like if T came back. Which is just crazy thinking, but interesting too.
It hasn't happened quite yet, but one thing about The Returned is that the dead came back at the age they were when they died. Which made me think that I'll always have photos of a 33-year old man up in my house. Even when I'm 90. T will never age. Like that other movie, whose name escapes me... Oh yeah: Forever Young :-)
The suddenness of T's death will always be difficult for me to accept. No warning, no time to prepare. One day there we were, living a normal (very much in inverted commas) life, the next T is lying in a hospital bed on a life support machine. We spend one final and very precious night 'together' (again in inverted commas), then he's wheeled away to have his ventilator turned off. See, even writing that feels surreal. Back to that feeling I've described before of, 'that can't have actually happened to me'. I don't know how I could survive that happening to T. But the weird thing is, I did.
And so, four years on also means a time for me to reflect on where I am on my journey - 4AT. I feel more self-assured, more confident in many respects, definitely sweat less of the small stuff, tolerate less shit, am comfortable in my own company, spend more time and money on my appearance than ever before and both appreciate and really try to live life to my max. That's not to say I do crazy shit the whole time. Sometimes that means going to Pilates several times a week. Sometimes that means whipping up a mean poached egg brunch. Sometimes it means basking in the sun. I have an amazing lifestyle - one which I need to be more accepting and appreciative of. And I'm lucky enough to have amazingly supportive family and friends who are there for me come rain or shine and help to keep me on the straight and narrow.
4AT also sees me reading a novel in Italian. Granted I don't understand every word, but I understand enough to get the gist and keep me turning the pages. I'm super pleased with my progress in Italian - just need to keep it up now I'm not spending quite as much time there. Having said that, I'm off to Italy soon to see everyone, swim in the sea (CANNOT WAIT!!) and go to one of the food festivals - sagre - that we went to last year, where we're guaranteed to eat exceptionally well, get rather merry and dance the night away. (Chri always tells me I need to remember two words whenever I'm out drinking, in any language: non merci, no grazie, nein danke, no thanks, no gracias... He says when I touch the stars (I think that's his expression) I need to use those two words and maintain that happy point, not descend past it, as is my wont. This time, however, Massimo has arranged for us to stay in the village where the sagra is being held, so Chri tells me that this is the only time none of us have to remember the two words. I'll be packing the milk thistle!)
Seemingly small things are also significant when I look back on how far I've come in four years. I recently did a reading at one of my good school friend's weddings. Big deal. Except it is a big deal when I think back to how just going to a wedding on my own used to be a challenge in those early days. So this time, I not only went to a wedding quite happily without a date, but I tottered down the aisle in my stilettos and did a reading in front of 130 guests. Boom!
Of course, my life isn't always rosy and exciting. I have chores and mundanity the same as the next person and the lows this year have been challenging to say the least, but I'm trying super hard to live in the moment and enjoy life and the various curveballs it throws at you. I recently read a great little book that I'd highly recommend, called 'Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor Frankl. I like this quote, written in the Preface by Gordon W Allport:
"... to live is to suffer, to survive is to find meaning in the suffering. If there is a purpose in life at all, there must be a purpose in suffering and in dying. But no man can tell another what this purpose is. Each must find out for himself, and must accept the responsibility that his answer prescribes. If he succeeds he will grow in spite of all indignities."
That resonates with me at 4AT. Especially the growth bit.
RIP my gorgeous boy. I dedicate this post, and my life, to you.
No comments:
Post a Comment