Last Day Of 2011, My Last Year as Arthur's Wife.

I say goodbye to 2011, and I say goodbye to Arthur, for the first time. Goodbye, my Husband, goodbye our Earthly life as husband and wife. I loved you then, I love you now, I love you forever.

In the turmoil of grief this record stopped on 18 July 2011 because on 19 July 2011, the unthinkable happened. Two of our beloved dogs, the litter-brothers Ajax and Stamp, got out of the yard. Despite my desperate searching, I have not found them. The grief of their loss, the broken promise to Arthur in his final hours of life that I would care for our dogs, the endless fruitless search, has sapped me and brought me to the brink of total despair, and pitched me into endless pain.

I am still staying with my Mother. I have not the energy to move out. I know I must put my grief on hold to search for our dogs or I am useless to them. I know their Mum and Dad, little Chelsea and Trafford miss them terribly, as do I.

When I asked and prayed and cried to Arthur for help in finding them, and he was not able to help me, I knew finally how alone I was. I think his eternal energies are for keeping them safe and being with his son, Anthony. With his Downs Syndrome, Anthony sadly has dementia, and he is now in a special purpose nursing home run by the government for people with intellectual disability. It is a good place but I see in Anthony that failing strength I saw Arthur go through, though without any dementia. I know Arthur needs to use anything he can from Heaven for Anthony. He knows I am strong.

I miss Arthur like the heart misses blood.

Each morning, in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, my first thought is a prayer for the soul of my beloved Arthur, and the second a prayer that this be the day I find Ajax and Stamp.

Christmas Eve was too sad to write about until now. I always lit candles and by their light Arthur and I ate Arthur's favourite treat, fruit mince pies and drank  a glass of port wine as we listened to Christmas Carol records, with our dogs sitting next to us. In preparation I always decorated the house and set the Manger scene under the tree and a Star on top.

I would join in the carols and Arthur would hold me. It was a time for just him and me and our dogs with love. Christmas Eve was our special time together.

This year my Mum visited my brother on Christmas Eve. I was alone, with Chelsea and Trafford, and Mum's little dog Shep. I lit the big lavender candle that was at Arthur's funeral service. I found two fruit mince pies and a tiny glass of Scotch. I put on carols on You Tube with the laptop, the ones we always listened to. I held Arthur's suit jacket, the one he always wore on ANZAC Day with his medals that I had sewn in place many years ago. I sat Chelsea and Trafford with me, and just remembered.

I remembered the Christmases past, Arthur's smile, the children opening presents, Xmas dinners at restaurants for us all, baking for Xmas, decorations, trees, his arms about me, his kiss and the way he said he loved me.  I remembered holding him when he was too weak to hold me, and the last Christmas in 2010 when I sought the best seafood, Alaskan Crab, prawns and oysters, cold meats, salads and ice-cream, all set in a tempting cold buffet.

My Mother, my son Jason, Arthur and me, enjoyed a lovely informal Xmas lunch. Jason hooked up the laptop and I located You-Tube videos from England. Arthur saw his home town of Brightlingsea, historical videos of Manchester United Football Club, and many other things he was amazed and happy to see. It was a magical, special day, the last we Christmas we ever shared together.

This Christmas Eve I held his suit jacket to my breast and cried out the tears I have held back since the day he died, or at least some of them; the others are still behind the dam wall, that is flood I too much fear.

The year 2011 ends, a part of my life ends. I go from wife to widow and happiness has died within me.  The clock moves on and drags me with it, away from my old life, into the one I do not want.

The only happiness for me now is to find Ajax ad Stamp.

May 2012 bring that comfort.

 www.ajaxstamp.com

Sandra, he always called me SAHn-drAH.

My best friend helped me out when I was feeling low. Jill is a wonderful friend. I give thanks for Jill, my friend,.

This sad time has opened big emotions for everyone. For my middle son, he suffers the effects of emotional trauma, for his two brothers, anger. They turned on him and castigated him for his faults, of which he has quite a few. There is no doubt his faults, which stem from his sad feelings, low confidence and self-centredness, impact on the rest of the family. However, the others were not here to see him rise to the circumstances, in ways which they did not. They shied away from the sadness and tragedy that unfolded, and my middle son bore the brunt. My daughters too, I kept most of it from them. My eldest daughter had already broken contact with me four years ago so there was nothing to say to her and, anyway, she lives overseas. For my youngest, I needed to shield her from it, and as she lives interstate it was easy to tell her little.

My other two sons spent this last weekend in furious electronic communication with me, trying to get me to drop my middle son in favour of them, citing his behaviour, The eldest son did some distressing things, including distributing photos of my middle son's messy house. It was messy in part because of the trauma of the burdens of the situation, and his brother's action caused great embarrassment and hurt. I helped my middle son to start seeing a counsellor, and just as he was starting to make progress, he was traumatised again by his brothers' rejection.

My Mother is shocked at my two sons' behaviour and tells me to ignore them until they wake up to themselves.

Neither of those two of my sons seem concerned with my immediate welfare. They think my long-term prospects are better if I am not trying to help their brother, but all they did was hurt and traumatise me. It unleashed a wave of grief and loneliness which took me days to control.

I am still fragile. I miss Arthur, I just want to hold him again. I want him to talk to me again. I want to hear him say 'Sandra' in that High English or Italian way he always did, "SARn-drAH'; Sandra and Arthur,

I am tired. I have withdrawn from my university subject and I will take it up later,

For now, I need rest.

Sons and Daughters

I visited my eldest son on Sunday, July 3rd. He made dinner for me, and we went out and walked his dogs. During the walk I spoke to him of that last day with Arthur. He was in Victoria on a job when it happened. He has been distant during this time, and even on Sunday he was more into solving practical things than giving me any emotional support, He seemed to shy away from anything emotional, which I understand. But it did make it plain to me that I no longer had someone who would put their arms around me and hold me, or tell me it will all be okay. I just wanted a hug. I wanted to get into the car and go to my best friend, just to get someone to comfort me. But I know I need someone like my son to think of the practical things too.

This week the local housing agency came and fixed the light switch in Arthur's place. He was waiting for months for them to do that, also to paint his bedroom. His windows and doors needed fixing and again, they didn't come. He always paid his rent on time too, for over forty years in the one house. That disappointed me, though they did put in a ramp for his wheelchair. Arthur would not move into my house, I wish he had, for I am sure I could have looked after him better there, but he wanted us to be in his place, so I respected that. It is hard though, because I have to let it go, the place where many of my memories were formed.

My second son moved his catamaran today, and this caused an argument with my eldest son, over the trailer. I am sure they will work it out tomorrow but truly I do not have the energy for my offspring's squabbles.

I have thought a couple of times that maybe soon I should have Arthur's ashes interred, but I am not ready yet. I had his funeral service too soon for me, I was not ready, but my children, or at least my daughter and youngest son pushed me into having it only seven days after Arthur died. They said I needed to get it over with and they could not stay, as they had return flights and jobs they could not be away from for too long They thought they were helping me, but it was not the case. In the end only my middle son went with me to the funeral service, so the others may as well have left me to have it in my own time. 

My middle son says he stills cries himself to sleep at night, and he is getting help from the doctor.

This has affected us all, in different ways.

The Luxury of Tears.

Two days ago, I felt an internal shift. I had this tiny calming feeling, that Arthur was with me, in some way. I do not know if it is real or the result of my mind, desperate for relief, tricking me into thinking it is so. It was nothing dramatic, just a feeling that all was not lost, that Arthur knew what was happening to me. Is my psyche finding a way to care for me, or is there actually a link with Arthur, a thread so fine only a distant echo of our lost connection can traverse its span? I do wonder.

Today is one calender month since Arthur's funeral service and I have not contacted the director about interring his ashes. I am not ready yet, for that.

I applied for a part-time job this week. Arthur left me some money but I cannot stay out of work for very long. My children suggested I retire and they give me an allowance. I told them they need to save for their old age as having funds makes all the difference to quality of life.

I tell Arthur what I am doing,sometimes, am I being silly? I hope Arthur is with God. I fear the atheists' idea that death is the end;  it is a horrible thought.

I am keeping grief at bay, I tell myself not to give in to grief and I hold it off. I am not weeping all the time. There was a time when I could weep and there was someone there to comfort me. His arms would encircle me and I could cry my hurt into his shoulder, when the relief of tears was my privilege. Arthur is not here to do that for me anymore and I am afraid to weep alone.

Driving Home

My friend's birthday dinner was nice, with about a twelve people attending. Her mother and sister were there but her mother has early stage dementia and my friend's sister took her mother home early. My friend's Mum remembered Arthur and said he was a lovely man. I appreciated that.

I enjoyed the company and especially I enjoyed talking to another couple who had a Tenterfield Terrier. We spent some time showing each other dog photos on our phones.

I stayed overnight with my friend and her husband. I sometimes did this over the years. I would stay the night because of the laws about driving and drinking alcohol. Arthur would always be glad when I got back. I would ring to say I had had a couple of drinks and would be coming back in the morning. He would get a bit short with me and not be too pleased about it, but when I came back next morning (or sometimes after lunch) he would be at first a bit grumpy. Sometimes I got a bit upset too, but mostly he was just glad to see me. Of course this was before he got sick and needed me to care for him. While he could still get out of bed and look after himself, I would be away for some hours, mostly with my son to do things.

As Arthur became frailer I could only be away for a couple of hours, while the workers were there. I once took a puppy to someone down the coast and was away for about six hours . He was alright, and I had made arrangements with my Mum for her to be on standby if he needed her but everything was alright. I felt bad about leaving him alone for that long. Now I wish I hadn't gone, because I rue any feelings of loneliness that Arthur had. However, Arthur was glad the puppy went to such a lovely home, with an older couple whose old dog had passed away.
 
In the last months I would just go out while the workers were there, down to the shops. There were even doctor's appointments I never attended, and if any of my family or friends asked me to anything I would say no. I told the Terrier club I could no longer help with fund-raising days anymore and I stayed in the home with Arthur.

This dinner party was the first time I accepted an invitation since 17th May, and it was only because it was from my best friend. Late at night we talked and she revealed to me that her first experience of death was as an eight year old girl when the family doctor's daughter was accidentally run over by her father driving his car out of the driveway, and the doctor committed suicide a few weeks later. Evey decade of her life she lost some-one she knew. I contrasted this with my situation, I told her that as my family is scattered across the country and I didn't have any contact with my extended family, this is the first time anyone close to me has died. I once met Arthur's cousin Dorothy when she visited Australia. We drove all the way to Queensland to see her when she came out to visit her sister Katie, Arthur's favourite cousin. Ten years later we visited England and Arthur's home village. Katie was still living in Queensland near her son, but Dorothy had passed away. I told my friend that was the first time I had stood at the grave of someone I had known in life. That was in 1994.

My friend told me she is impressed at how I am handling this. I told her it is because I am still in shock, still horrified, and I probably have post-traumatic stress. It did help, though, to talk and put it into words. 

On the drive back I took a detour along the seaside road for a while and gave thanks that Arthur got to see the ocean one last time during his stay at the nursing home for respite. I cried as I was driving. I was driving to my Mother's house, I was not driving home to Arthur. I should have been driving home to Arthur, to him being glad for me to come back home, to being greeted by the dogs and Arthur. I was always a bit worried that he would be a bit unhappy but he was always glad to see me. Now there is no-one to care if I come home or not, or to miss me and be happy to see me come in the door. I just wanted to go home to Arthur and I seem to be knowing it will not happen. I do not want to know this.

It is just over one month since Arthur died, and I am getting further in time from when I was with him in life. It is getting longer since I was with him alive and I do not want the time to go, I do not want to be further away from Arthur.

Like today driving back from my friend, I just want to go home.

Sorry, Arthur.

Today the hire bin was collected. Most of it was stuff that was water-damaged or broken. I found some photographs, and greeting cards and trinkets, and saved it all. I also found some of Arthur's first wife's things that I had stored away. She died before I met Arthur, he must have been in this kind of grief when he met me. I have carefully put those aside too.

I feel sad every time I pack his things. I say 'Sorry Arthur' over and over out loud, particularly when I lock up and leave the house. I say it as if he can hear me. I wonder if, and hope, he is somewhere where he can.

Last week's feeling that I had, that any minute I should be driving off to visit Arthur, has changed. That has faded, and is replaced by the regret and guilt of the things Arthur will not know or experience again. I just want to keep saying sorry.

I cannot look forward and looking back hurts too much, so here I am; nowhere.

Writing is hard. Packing up a life is harder,

I flinch away from writing this diary, I fear to touch the wall of grief. I know I have an appointment with pain.

Today, my best friend and her daughter helped me fill the big bin I had delivered. We cleaned out the rubbish from the garage. For a long time I have been stashing stuff in there to make room for Arthur's equipment. We found many things, including cards, photographs and ornaments, which I have carefully put aside. It is so sad to see Arthur's little things being packed away, and to see the cards we gave each other and photos of us doing things together.

I found the letter that Arthur found in France in 1945, on 6 June, D-Day. He just picked it up, with no envelope, on the ground. I must find the family one day.

This is almost too painful to write. I have packed up a lot of things, and I have found a workman to move it. And all I can do is say sorry, sorry, sorry Arthur, that I have to do this, that I have to pack away your life. I am sorry I cannot stay in the house anymore, but I cannot stay there without you. I cannot bear it.