Death And Relationships

Death changes everything. In an instant it's clear to you, who wants to gossip and provoke you. Who wants to see you pull through. Who has the emphathy to focus on your pain, as opposed to ranting on and on about their life. And there's the initial sympathizers of course, who vanish into thin air, after the customary visit and condolence calls. 

I realised very quickly, there are just four people I need in my life to really pull through this. My parents, my sister-in-law and my brother. These four individuals have lived through the madness with me, and let me emphasize, it was utter, horrific madness. Not only was I traumatized over the death of my young husband, the comments that followed by his "well-wishers" completely threw me off. It was enough to drive me straight to an asylum.

They say blood is thicker than water, I have experienced this first hand, in the last ten months. While my father and brother, took it upon themselves to jolt me out of my pain, it was the women who told them to back off and give me my space. Somehow that combination of nasty, Army-style bullying by the men and emphathy by their better halves, has healed me. Almost.

The road to recovery might take forever, but I know, these two couples, have my back. Who knew, something so horrible, would bond us like never before.

I can speak without judgement in front of them and I can lay out my deepest wounds on the table. I'll either be kicked out of my reverie, or we end up having a roaring match with one another. But no one goes to bed unhappy. All misunderstandings are sorted, with a couple of pegs and some deep fried food.

I may have lost the battle to life, but the war against the world will be fought and won, because these human beings are not made of blood and flesh, they have liquid steel running up their veins. 

If I'm back on my feet today, it's only thanks to them. I do take them for granted, I admit. But the year is mine, to behave badly. I am a freshly minted, young widow afterall. 

I try not to be bitter, but the wounds are still fresh, I can still feel my husband's stiff rigor mortis hands, under mine. The same chap, who brought me freshly baked brownies from Theobroma.

It's hard. But I can get through this.