Dear Beth, I miss you.

5 04 2012

Dear Beth,
you’ve been gone for 16 weeks. 16 weeks today.
I don’t care what the date was, I’ll always know it was a Thursday. I was there when the phone rang at 5.30am, wrenching us from sleep with an instant knowing that something was wrong. No one rings at that hour. Blinking my eyes quickly I saw my beloved standing in the doorway, her face horrified, clutching her chest in disbelief, yelling at Dad. I sat up, my heart was pounding and tried to make my ears work properly. This isn’t real, I can’t be hearing right, it’s a dream, I’m having a nightmare, a night terror. I tried again to wake up, shook my head, blinked, slapped my own face. She sat on the edge of the bed pale and stunned. Dad’s words repeated through the speaker-phone, his voice reduced to a small, husky choke. You were gone.

Just like that.

We farewelled you the next Thursday in an overcrowded chapel. I keep hoping I’ll wake one Thursday and it will be different. It’s crazy-making. My mind knows you died but my heart still holds you alive. Sometimes my heart and mind argue and I’m caught in the middle.

My mind knows you’re gone. I was there when they carried your body away. We all huddled together and I said a prayer. As your body left your house I asked you to stay in our hearts. And you did. My heart still holds you alive, tricking me, replaying your voice, your laugh, causing me to take a second hopeful look at ladies lunching in town before it sinks again. Oh, that’s right…

Some days I go along fine, I talk to you and think of you or point out lovely things to you when I’m window shopping. My throat doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t heavy and I can miss you with pure thankfulness and love, grateful for you being part of my life.
But not today.

Today is one of those days.
They come regularly, privately, suddenly.
I miss you deeply. I long to hear from you. My throat hurts and my stomach tightens. Parts of me feel like they physically peel back as tears well up from nowhere. They’re not from nowhere though. They’re from deep within, in a sacred heart space where we shared warmth and joy and love together, laughter, a knowing look, an understanding, a great respect. Now you’re gone that space echoes without you. Why do the tears start? I don’t know, they just come on at random times, as uninvited and impossible to stop as a sneeze.

I didn’t realise how much I loved you. I feel foolish now that I didn’t show you enough. I hope you recognised what I couldn’t see. Next week I’ll go to that new fabric shop I passed near the bakery and I’ll show you around. There are some really nice table runners in there I know you’ll like… Maybe I’ll buy some handkerchiefs. x x x




14 responses

5 04 2012

Very touching. I’m so sorry for your loss…

5 04 2012

Just so you know, incase tomorrow never comes. I love you.
I love the way you write, you make me laugh and cry. I love how thoughtful you are. I am blessed to know you.

6 04 2012
Gilly Gee

A very tender and touching tribute, I’m sorry for your loss.

6 04 2012
Cee Neuner

You wrote this with such grace and a tender loving heart. Beth is with you now, I know that for sure. I love how you wrote she stays in your heart, so very true my friend. I wish I could hug you when you need to cry and listen when you need to talk, don’t judge when you need to scream. You are wonderful!!! Love you lots.

6 04 2012
Chris Alice Donner

Oh, you made me cry with that one. Many hugs, my dear friend. And pass them on to Rell.

6 04 2012

it is so hard to lose someone suddenly, when shock combines with loss and grief … take care of yourself dear louise … and may your loving memories of Beth bring you comfort as tears bring healing … love and life from all around supports you in this process of acknowledging, remembering, anguishing, protesting, moving in your own way through this time …christine xx

6 04 2012
Leanova Designs

I’m so sorry, very touching.. You made me cry, I still can’t believe the my 31 year old cousin had a stroke and died, on a Thursday as well, only two weeks ago.. May god give you the patience to deal with very difficult time.

6 04 2012

As usual your beautiful words express what we all feel so deeply. Thank you so much for loving Mum and for loving me too. Our family is so blessed to have you as part of us. We are better because of the love you share so freely with us.
You are truly the most amazing person it has ever been my priviledge and honour to meet. I’m not just saying that because you are my beloved wife but simply because of the person you are.

7 04 2012
weavers journaler

Your writing is like your photography – straight shooting. I find your honest description so moving, and so encouraging, thank you.

7 04 2012

That was so sad and beautiful! I am so sorry for your loss Louise! Take care!

18 04 2012

So, so sorry for your loss. May Beth Rest In Peace… 😦

27 06 2012
A new name – A new identity « The Sacred Cave

[…] year.  We’ve muddled through a year of grief with the family after the sudden loss of Beth last year.  It affects all we do.  Six months later, we still have ‘crying’ days […]

9 09 2012
Gaining Perspective « The Sacred Cave

[…] that the future may never come.  I’ve been reflecting on my life. Less than a year ago, Beth died suddenly, aged 64.  I’m faithfully putting money into my superannuation scheme so that when […]

22 01 2013
Waking up to the rat race « The Sacred Cave

[…] the months after Beth’s death, we discussed the absurdity of our lives. I can’t being to express the shockwaves that we […]

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