Saturday, 23 October 2010
Five months have gone by since Rob died. I can still see him so clearly in my mind. Memories are vivid: moments, expressions, touch, laughter, meals cooked, misunderstandings, tight hugs, journeys, conversations, discussions, his funny eyebrows thing when I told him secrets...
This photo reflects his snapdragons. My laptop camera can't do them justice so I post this professional picture instead. We dug out a new border here at my home this Spring. He sowed snapdragon seeds my mum had collected and sent. They came up in masses! And have flourished and flowered all summer and are still going now. No rust, no mildew in spite of the density - just marvellous. They make me smile.
I miss him intensely. "Miss" is a poor word for it. Yet I can't find a better one. I can think of at least twenty words that are appropriate and true, but none that act as an umbrella for all the feelings, other than "miss".
Being with him was like being home. If that that makes sense. Soulmates. I never knew that that kind of loving existed before. It brought such energy to me and also calm. I never felt so happy and safe as I did in our time together - being myself unreservedly. Loving him entirely as he was. For who he was.
The distance between us, 70 fast miles on the motorways, two homes/two families meant missing each other often. In between times we phoned and texted constantly, "touching base" Rob called it. Sometimes misunderstandings cropped up. Misunderstandings brought desolation. All was always healed within moments of seeing each other. We were like teenagers, but we were grown-ups too. Parents first and foremost.
This grief sometimes feels like a giant misunderstanding. Sometimes in my heart I cry "where are you? Are you OK? I'll come straight over. If you like..." "If you like" was what I always said. The right to choose, the right to be free are things I value tremendously. I never took him for granted and nor did he me. I still won't take him for granted now.
I know I'll see him again one day. I've a solid belief in the afterlife. And have done since my sister died.
But - and it's a very important But -
Hey! I'll be this wizened and wrinkled grey haired old lady by then and he'll still be a handsome 46!!
Ah, it's important to keep laughing. Or trying too. Humour he knew, was a powerful tool. Rob would have made a kind of plan in this situation, modelled a new way of thinking of life. He was very sensible. A new worldview he'd have called it.
I'm working on it...