Today my 'there aren't enough superlatives to describe her' cousin Charlotte left to go back to the UK. It has been absolutely fantastic to have her here; she has seen the lot - gentle dripping tears, huge wracking sobs, anger - and she has gone along with everything calmly and kindly. She always manages to find the right words to say. I am so lucky to have her in my life.
I didn't write yesterday as we had Izzy with us and I need quiet time to sit and write. So I need to catch you, my faithful followers, up with things achieved etc in this, my journal/blog/grief downloader. After my pyschiatrist's appointment on Tuesday evening, we DID manage to go and eat - a really nice restaurant I know was open (the Maria Thérèsa in Béziers) and empty (there's no-one in Béziers at the start of this week as they have either left town or are saving themselves for the Féria this weekend when a million or so partygoers will descend on the city) - perfect. We had a lovely meal, chatting and the terrace slowly filled up as evening descended. We had a nice evening. And I realised afterwards that I did not cry once. It feels good to write that. But guilty.
I have been told that this would happen. That as time passes, I might pass a short while here and there without William at the forefront of my thoughts, and that I risked feeling guilty afterwards. I was advised to allocate some time every day to thinking about him in order to account for this. Well, that's fine because every night before I go to bed, I go into his bedroom, sit on his little bed and talk to him. I tell him about my day, but most of all I tell him I love him and I miss him. I don't always cry. But when I do, it's not the angry gut-wrenching despair of the morning (the worst time of the day), it's a tear of simple sadness.
Wednesday morning saw Charlotte and I up and in gym kit once again, but for every high there's the opposing low; my heart really wasn't in keep fit mode. We attempted a few moves, then gave up and showered when my mum arrived.
Izzy was due back and we had plans to go to a beautiful local man-made lake (Les Barrages des Olivettes at Vailhan) after her morning psychologist appointment. Now, you may ask, what is the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist? Well for a start we get the money back from the state when we see the psychiatrist! I don't know why, but we don't for the psychologist. I guess the psychiatrist can prescribe drugs but the psychologist can't; maybe because the psychiatrist studies medicine then specialises in psychiatry it is considered to be a more valid 'treatment'... who knows.
What I do know is that the psychologist took one look at me and said, "Can your cousin look after Izzy - I need to see YOU today". So we did our first EMDR session and talked a lot. I can't say too much but I will say this - this lady is an incredibly insightful person. She asked just the right questions and suddenly so many questions I didn't even know I had about my life were being answered. Liberating. I'll keep you posted on the EMDR - it'll take a few sessions.
So then Charlotte (who had taken the car and miraculously found her way back to me! Love it!) picked me up and off we went to the lake. We met my super-supportive English girlfriends there with their plethora of (older) children and I was quite happy to sit back on my lake-side towel and let life swirl around me, like Baudelaire in his flâneurism mode. I only nearly cracked once, when a toddler started crying in the family sitting near us. But she stopped and I pulled myself together.
So. Water. I've dipped in our very shallow make-do blow-up pool in the garden that we got for Izzy now that we have emptied and covered our real one (she is a fish), but I'm now trepidatious, quite naturally, about actual swimming (I am usually rather gilled and finned too). But I swam. The water was cool and refreshing and I felt no fear, so that was another step forward.
This is turning into a long post, so I'll keep today short. As I've already told you, mornings are the worst time of day. It's the time I miss William the most. This morning I also knew Charlotte was off, Izzy was going back to her dad's and after I had done the airport trip to Montpellier (motorway holiday traffic??), I would have a long afternoon on my own. In fact, Charlotte empathically recognised my reticence to make the journey and suggested using a friend we know who does airport runs instead. Great solution, even if it meant losing an hour or so of time with her, as there was a risk I'd be on the road for a few hours instead of the normal 1.5 hour return route. God I was sad to see her leave. Thank you so much for coming out to see us and help us, Charlotte. Love you loads.
Then, after I dropped Izzy off at her dad's, the deep sense of loneliness and emptiness returned.
Time to get proactive. Any time I spend on my own, my thoughts turn to William and I crumble. I know I need to fill, fill, fill my days. And now I've made the first step off the sofa, that's what I need to try and do. I'm not saying I'll never have another sofa day, but I've got to try and get out there, forge new memories and in my own time meander towards my 'new normal'.
I went to see my friend Bassie, who had offered me an afternoon swimming lengths in her pool - ostensibly to help me rehabitualise myself to pools. It actually turned into four hours of chatting and, for me at least, only about four lengths (but comfortably swum)! Bassie was someone I knew only in passing 'before', but has stayed staunchly in contact 'since' and imparted wisdom and advice from her own life experiences that has created a firm friendship very quickly between us. So I owe new friend Bassie a thank you too.
One last thing. I received books today from Wendy - my longest known best friend from school. She flew from her home in New York to be at my side in the hospital. Now THAT'S a friend. The books she sent were the second Milleniumm book (escapism - yes) and also two books I wasn't expecting, Living With Bereavement by Sue Mayfield and Beyond Tears - Living after Losing a Child - edited by Ellen Mitchell. This last one I started to read today and the parallels to my own grieving process were remarkable - screaming in the car, not being able to listen to music, thinking that you're about to wake up and find it's all a dream, re-living the moment over and over again in your head so you can't sleep even though that's the escape you seek so desperately. I hadn't had the courage to broach the grief self-help books yet but I sense this will be therapeutic, so maybe I'm ready now. So my third and final thank you today goes to my wonderful, faithful friend Wendy - thank you.
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