Yesterday was a big day in British sport. It marked the 20th anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster when 96 Liverpool fans lost their lives in a tragic incident at their team's FA Cup semi-final held in Sheffield. The constant words from commentators leading up to this memorial were about just how hard it must be for families who suffered bereavement on that day. I, no doubt with countless others across the UK, understood the sentiment intellectually but got nowhere near emotionally.
For me, how that all changed within 24 hours. Today, April 16, would have been my wife's birthday. However, Katey sadly passed away last October. I did not know how I would engage with this day and it has proved an interesting learning curve. As with all these experiences, negotiation is only available live. There is no appropriate 'Grieving for Dummies' that cuts it. Somewhat like sailing around the world solo, the moment Katey died I cast off and left the safe haven of a comfortable harbour and have had to rely on my learnt skills and inventive genius to handle what the weather throws at me day to day, even hour by hour.
Today was the first day which completely transported me to the self same emotions I experienced walking away from the hospital moments after Katey departed. Numb, uncertain, isolated, and blearily observing the world through eyes that constantly filled with gentle tears.
I had thought maybe I was well on the way to managing this loss, but what a surprise. I was literally ambushed by my emotions and could just about navigate my way through the day hour by hour. This I did as honestly and constructively as possible. The wealth of memories that raced to fill my mind, the sound of her voice, her smile of enjoyment, the scent of her perfume. How much more powerful are our unconscious senses to our conscious ones.
Yet I realised this is indeed a journey I must take alone. Disappointed, though not at all cross, I had to come to terms with the fact that not one member of my blood family remembered - or if they did no-one picked up the phone, dropped me a card, or sent around flowers. The loss of one's spouse is a very isolating experience, the more so when one's loneliness is emphasised. I am not cross because I know I have failed to remember or connect with friends at important times. So I am talking to myself as much, if not more than to anyone else.
So we need to remind ourselves again that, 'no man is an island'. We are built for community and companionship. I for one continue to work to secure my place in such a creative community, both freely to give of myself in the support and service of others, as well as to become a beneficiary.
But just as I sit down to write this there is the sweetest moment of the day, a sign of fresh growth in the abandoned landscape around me. One of Katey's oldest friends, Candy, drops a note through on Facebook just to say she has noted this day and sends her love. It is like a cool bottle of water in an arid desert after a days trekking. Someone who I am sure has also struggled especially with this day. I retire to bed encouraged and grateful for this voice of compassion and warm embrace of understanding. What a difference a day makes!
