Tuesday, May 05, 2009

Hanging in there

Every day is still incredibly hard.  Every day I think of Ian and cry.  But, work still has to be done to pay the bills and I am thankful that I still have the online/internet side of our business to keep me going. Staying busy makes each day more bearable.

I had been thinking of what I can do to immortalise Ian in a way. I had thought about naming a star after him, but changed my mind. I already look up at Polaris every evening - the North Star - for me it represents stability, guidance, an unchanging entity in an ever changing world.  I look up each night and I have a little chat to Ian.

What about planting a tree?  Well, a friend of mine has been coming to tidy the garden every couple of weeks to help out. He runs his own gardening business and even though I told him I can't afford to pay him at the moment, he said "If I can't spend 15 minutes helping out a bereaved friend there's something wrong with the world."  Him and few friends are planning on buying me a tree to plant at the bottom of the garden - a rowan, I think - something to attract the birds which Ian would have loved.

I can definitely feel another tattoo coming on but I need to think long and hard about an appropriate design.  Something to symbolise the love we had and the strength he gave me to get through the darkest of times.

I really need to decide on a weekend to go up to Glencoe to scatter Ian's ashes. Anybody who reads this and wants come along, let me know your preferred dates. I was thinking about sometime in June or July.

Going out is hard to bear. I went out on Sunday for Keith's (the gardner I mentioned) birthday.  I still had to go outside and have a bit of a blub.

I just wish this constant pain would go away. Yet, people have told me it never goes away, it just becomes easier to bear.  I don't know how I can carry if it doesn't ease.  I feel like I'm being constantly choked.  Sometimes I can't eat because of it.  Sometimes it's like somethings wrapped around my heart and squeezing till I can hardly breathe.  It's like a sickness from which I don't know if I'll ever recover.

And then there's the guilt. The fact that I walked away from him just over an hour before he took a turn for the worse and was rushed to ITU.  He wanted me to stay with him and I left him there.  That was the last time I spoke to him.  He told me he loved me and he was so afraid.  I don't think I can ever forgive myself for that.  I hate myself for doing that to him, for leaving him all alone with his fear.

It's not the lonliness that hurts so much.  My heart breaks every time I think of his pain and suffering.  If only there was some way I could have taken it away from him.  To swap places so he could be well again.  I would gladly die for him.

Ian, my love, I miss you.

Posted via email from MrsFirestarter's posterous


  1. Sara said...
    Lisa, I can't even imagine what you are going through. My heart breaks for you and you are in my prayers.
    Saintly Ramblings said...
    Just a couple of thoughts ...

    Yes, the pain of the loss never goes away, but it DOES get easier to live with. It changes from a deep gut-wrenching stab to an ache, and then a memory, and those memories become the good ones. And then at times, when you least expect it, it will rear its head again and tears will come, but those occasions will get less frequent, and you'll feel a lot better after one of them. Maybe you could try reading C S Lewis's "A Grief Observed" which is a small but powerful book on the process and transition of grief.

    Secondly, the guilt about leaving Ian just before he was taken into ICU. In my experience as a CofE vicar/priest/pastor, it is not uncommon for the partner or relative to not be there when the crisis comes. So often they have spent days by the bedside, go out for a breath of fresh air and a coffee, and return to find their loved one has died. I have come to beleive that in many cases the dying person summons all their strength and hangs on whlst their loved one is there. It is only when they have left for a while that they seem to take that opportunity to commit themselves into whatever awaits us. It's almost as if they need that absence to allow themselves to die. So whilst I recognise your feelings of guilt, I don't believe you should dwell on them. Take them, accept them, and move on. It is all part and parcel of this finite existence of life.

    (Sermon over. Sorry if I've gone on a bit or if you don't think any of this is relevant).
    Anonymous said...
    (((((hugs you))))
    David |Dah • veed| said...
    Dear Lisa, you shall feel the loss all your days. And he will be but a flickering thought away. But as the days become weeks, months and finally years, the pain of that loss withdraws. I bear testimony to survival of such loss. And of the sweet, cherished memories that will always linger.

    Work on forgiving yourself for not staying, for Ian has. You could not have changed the outcome. And he is in a far better circumstance today, no longer ill and suffering. And I believe he wishes that same thing for you.

    You continue in my prayers.

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