We're both struggling mightily this evening. I wanted to read a particular book to Nattie at bedtime, but I couldn't find it in her room. So I braved going into Kay's room to see if it was there. As I opened her various cupboards I was slapped in the face by just how unfinished her life is. There are presents from her last birthday that we'd just starting using, the soap making and perfume making kits that she got. There are presents that have not yet been used and there are some that have not yet been opened, a few folorn packages that will wait forever before they get attention.
What on earth are we ever going to do with her bedroom? The emotional cost of even thinking about it is so gigantically enormous that I can't even conceive of a moment when we will be strong enough to face it. That room on its own represents the challenge of a lifetime. But Fortunately there is no need to face it now. But it does sit there casting a heavy shadow over the future. I know that at some point we are going to have to do something about it.
Sunday 31 October 2010
Back Home
We're back home after a long and tiring drive, yesterday. Thanks goes to Frank for taking the hard way home and splitting the driving with me, I don't think I could have done it in one go on my own.
Back home, it is dark and raining and miserable, a full wet autumn seems to be in progress. Difficult to remember that on Friday we were sitting outside sweating from the direct heat of the sun.
My first impression of being home is that the weight of depression is heavier here. Lying in bed his morning it felt like I was being pressed deeper into the mattress by it. The odd thing is that it almost seems like the extra weight is coming from outside me. I don't feel that I'm any more depressed than in France, but it seems that either the depression that I have weighs more here or that there's an additional external source. Whatever, it's more difficult to 'be' here than in France, though France was difficult enough at times.
And then there's Kay's bedroom. The last time I was here I experienced meltdown #1 by entering her bedroom and lying on her bed. Her door's been shut since we got home and now I almost fear what is behind that door. Everytime I walk past it I get a pulse of pain and fear. I've had more panic attacks since we got home than in the preceding days. So all in all, in the 15 hours that ive been home everything has felt much more difficult. But I still feel the sun in my bones and the pleasure of good company which, as long as it lasts, lightens the sense of depression and the impact of the panic attacks.
Tomorrow I suppose that we have to start the process of re-entering everyday life. Nattie has to go back to school, my work needs attention and I have important meetings to attend. Marion has a backlog of administration. I don't know how hard or easy this will be, I don't feel that I've made much progress towards to goal of being at peace with Kay's death. When I look at all the beautiful photos of her and the girls that I hung up France she seems just as real to me as Lauren or Nattie. It still seems that she will walk in the door laughing at some joke or something that has just happened. It cannot be possible that she is not HERE in the same way as Lauren or Nat.
Sunday mornings Marion and I like to get an occasional lie-in. Kay would always come into our bed early and cuddle up with us (something Nattie never does). But after a while of wriggling and chatting we'd throw her out so that we could enjoy some peace. She would stomp out of our bedroom, head back, shoulders back, long hair trailing down her back, under huge protest and complaining that we just wanted her out so we could "do some sexing".
Oh how I miss her. My pictures cry out to me that she should be just here. Not gone forever.
Back home, it is dark and raining and miserable, a full wet autumn seems to be in progress. Difficult to remember that on Friday we were sitting outside sweating from the direct heat of the sun.
My first impression of being home is that the weight of depression is heavier here. Lying in bed his morning it felt like I was being pressed deeper into the mattress by it. The odd thing is that it almost seems like the extra weight is coming from outside me. I don't feel that I'm any more depressed than in France, but it seems that either the depression that I have weighs more here or that there's an additional external source. Whatever, it's more difficult to 'be' here than in France, though France was difficult enough at times.
And then there's Kay's bedroom. The last time I was here I experienced meltdown #1 by entering her bedroom and lying on her bed. Her door's been shut since we got home and now I almost fear what is behind that door. Everytime I walk past it I get a pulse of pain and fear. I've had more panic attacks since we got home than in the preceding days. So all in all, in the 15 hours that ive been home everything has felt much more difficult. But I still feel the sun in my bones and the pleasure of good company which, as long as it lasts, lightens the sense of depression and the impact of the panic attacks.
Tomorrow I suppose that we have to start the process of re-entering everyday life. Nattie has to go back to school, my work needs attention and I have important meetings to attend. Marion has a backlog of administration. I don't know how hard or easy this will be, I don't feel that I've made much progress towards to goal of being at peace with Kay's death. When I look at all the beautiful photos of her and the girls that I hung up France she seems just as real to me as Lauren or Nattie. It still seems that she will walk in the door laughing at some joke or something that has just happened. It cannot be possible that she is not HERE in the same way as Lauren or Nat.
Sunday mornings Marion and I like to get an occasional lie-in. Kay would always come into our bed early and cuddle up with us (something Nattie never does). But after a while of wriggling and chatting we'd throw her out so that we could enjoy some peace. She would stomp out of our bedroom, head back, shoulders back, long hair trailing down her back, under huge protest and complaining that we just wanted her out so we could "do some sexing".
Oh how I miss her. My pictures cry out to me that she should be just here. Not gone forever.
Thursday 28 October 2010
Flashback
Being in public for long periods is a challenge. I've mentioned this before but I seem to have forgotten the lesson. Yesterday when I was sitting in the aircraft at Schiphol, waiting to return here, I had a sudden and horrible flashback. I was back in Kay's intensive care room at the moment that she died.
I had a vivid and new recollection of how medical support was withdrawn from her and how this led to her death.
I remembered one doctor increasing the dose of coma medication to ensure that Kay was adequately sedated for what was to come.
I remembered how immediately after this life support from the ventilation equipment was decreased by the lead doctor, leading to Kay passing away.
I remembered being apecifically aware of the first step, I watched the doctor do it.
I remembered how I'd chosen to have my back to the life support monitors so that I could not see how her life signs faded away.
I remembered that the doctors had shut off all the alarms from the monitors so that we would not be frightened by them.
I remembered silence from the equipment at some point and looking up to meet the lead doctor's eyes and asking her if Kay had passed and the doctor affirming that she had.
I remembered thanking her and asking her to thank the rest of the ic staff.
I remembered then holding on to Lauren and dissolving.
I remembered all this while sitting in seat 4A of an largely full aircraft, surrounded by strangers. And I struggled hugely to control myself, not to suddenly burst into tears in front of all these people. It was very difficult but I must say that I used my iPad to deflect and distract me from these terrible thoughts. Playing Angry Birds for a little while, watching a couple of episodes of House, though this now brings with it it's own set of Kay related problems.
It had never occurred to me before that I could be sitting next to someone on a plane who was fighting off tears because they had just lost someone dear to them. If you think about it and then look around at the strangers that surround you on the train or plane, you cannot but see them in a whole new light. Could this business man here, with his laptop, iPad, iPhone and headset be on the point of dissolving into a puddle of salty water? Could his heart weigh as much as a Neutron Star? Could he not care less if the plane should crash and he die on impact?
There's obviously much more diversity immediately around us than I'd even started to consider.
I had a vivid and new recollection of how medical support was withdrawn from her and how this led to her death.
I remembered one doctor increasing the dose of coma medication to ensure that Kay was adequately sedated for what was to come.
I remembered how immediately after this life support from the ventilation equipment was decreased by the lead doctor, leading to Kay passing away.
I remembered being apecifically aware of the first step, I watched the doctor do it.
I remembered how I'd chosen to have my back to the life support monitors so that I could not see how her life signs faded away.
I remembered that the doctors had shut off all the alarms from the monitors so that we would not be frightened by them.
I remembered silence from the equipment at some point and looking up to meet the lead doctor's eyes and asking her if Kay had passed and the doctor affirming that she had.
I remembered thanking her and asking her to thank the rest of the ic staff.
I remembered then holding on to Lauren and dissolving.
I remembered all this while sitting in seat 4A of an largely full aircraft, surrounded by strangers. And I struggled hugely to control myself, not to suddenly burst into tears in front of all these people. It was very difficult but I must say that I used my iPad to deflect and distract me from these terrible thoughts. Playing Angry Birds for a little while, watching a couple of episodes of House, though this now brings with it it's own set of Kay related problems.
It had never occurred to me before that I could be sitting next to someone on a plane who was fighting off tears because they had just lost someone dear to them. If you think about it and then look around at the strangers that surround you on the train or plane, you cannot but see them in a whole new light. Could this business man here, with his laptop, iPad, iPhone and headset be on the point of dissolving into a puddle of salty water? Could his heart weigh as much as a Neutron Star? Could he not care less if the plane should crash and he die on impact?
There's obviously much more diversity immediately around us than I'd even started to consider.
Wednesday 27 October 2010
******** French Air Traffic Controllers
NNNOOOOOO! My flight has been delayed from 20:30 to 21:45. Arrrrggggghhhhhhh!
Addendum
Made it! Huge queue at security but I found my first use for my KLM Elite card: the priority channel at security. I'm sure I would have missed the flight otherwise. But the the flight is shown as being delayed by 15 mins, so who knows?
I have to say that it's just as well that passengers don't have to be weighed before they fly. My heavy heart would almost certainly mean that I'd be overweight.
I have to say that it's just as well that passengers don't have to be weighed before they fly. My heavy heart would almost certainly mean that I'd be overweight.
The Reverse Midas Touch
Actually this entry has not a lot to do with Kay but I writing it to illustrate something. I haven't quite decided what yet, but maybe it will come to me as I write. Today I had a couple of important appointments at the office. Important enough for me to break off my holiday and travel from Provence to Eindhoven by way of Marseille and Amsterdam. In order to to this I had to catch a 6:55am flight out of Marseille which meant getting up at 4:15am. The return flight is at 20:30 this evening.
Now France is a mess at the moment. 2/3 of our local fuel stations are closed and I was concerned about a) a very long day and b) leaving enough fuel in our car. So I decided to get a taxi. He arrived at 5am and estimated the taxi fare to be Eur 150-, I had Eur 250 cash. Heading towards Marseille we hit a problem: the motorway was closed, diversion via Aix. Add 25km and extra time. At Aix, the taxi fare reached 180,- so I got out my iPhone and checked the remaining distance using TomTom, 25km. I estimated the fare to come out at 230,-. Then the driver missed the turn off for the direct motorway to the airport in spite of the fact that I told him that my nav system said go right. He went into the centre of Marseille and the proceeded to get lost. I ended up giving him instructions from TomTom.
So we arrived at the airport at 6:10 (!) with the meter reading 280,- (!!!). I paid him 230, and ran. But he'd dropped me at the wrong terminal so I had to run further than I expected. I just made the gate on time for boarding when I saw that the flight was delayed. Still, they boarded it on time, a puzzle. But when we were all seated the pilot announced that the French air traffic controllers were striking and that the flight was delayed by an hour. Whoopee.
Eventually we arrived at Schiphol 45mins late. Due to huge queues for tickets I missed the first train to Eindhoven. The second arrived 10 mins late and then, due to "trains in front", drove most of the way to Eindhoven at a crawl. I ended up arriving at the office 70mins late for my first meeting.
Now on the way back. But again, due to slow traffic in Eindhoven I missed my chosen train to Schiphol and am now sitting here on the following train worrying about missing the return flight. It's in 2 hours. In theory the train should take another 40 mins, then security, then Schiphol is a big place... It's going to be tight.
I hope that the return flight is not delayed. Or should I hope that it is?
At least all this travel hassle is taking my mind off Kay. By this measure I suppose I should be pleased with the distraction. But on the other hand it does feel like everything I turn my hand to at the moment turns to s**t. But then I shouldn't be so self indulgent, if that's the word I'm looking for.
Frank called to tell me that everyone is sitting on the terrace enjoying another glorious sunset. "How fine to know, my dear friend", I replied. Or words to that effect.
Now France is a mess at the moment. 2/3 of our local fuel stations are closed and I was concerned about a) a very long day and b) leaving enough fuel in our car. So I decided to get a taxi. He arrived at 5am and estimated the taxi fare to be Eur 150-, I had Eur 250 cash. Heading towards Marseille we hit a problem: the motorway was closed, diversion via Aix. Add 25km and extra time. At Aix, the taxi fare reached 180,- so I got out my iPhone and checked the remaining distance using TomTom, 25km. I estimated the fare to come out at 230,-. Then the driver missed the turn off for the direct motorway to the airport in spite of the fact that I told him that my nav system said go right. He went into the centre of Marseille and the proceeded to get lost. I ended up giving him instructions from TomTom.
So we arrived at the airport at 6:10 (!) with the meter reading 280,- (!!!). I paid him 230, and ran. But he'd dropped me at the wrong terminal so I had to run further than I expected. I just made the gate on time for boarding when I saw that the flight was delayed. Still, they boarded it on time, a puzzle. But when we were all seated the pilot announced that the French air traffic controllers were striking and that the flight was delayed by an hour. Whoopee.
Eventually we arrived at Schiphol 45mins late. Due to huge queues for tickets I missed the first train to Eindhoven. The second arrived 10 mins late and then, due to "trains in front", drove most of the way to Eindhoven at a crawl. I ended up arriving at the office 70mins late for my first meeting.
Now on the way back. But again, due to slow traffic in Eindhoven I missed my chosen train to Schiphol and am now sitting here on the following train worrying about missing the return flight. It's in 2 hours. In theory the train should take another 40 mins, then security, then Schiphol is a big place... It's going to be tight.
I hope that the return flight is not delayed. Or should I hope that it is?
At least all this travel hassle is taking my mind off Kay. By this measure I suppose I should be pleased with the distraction. But on the other hand it does feel like everything I turn my hand to at the moment turns to s**t. But then I shouldn't be so self indulgent, if that's the word I'm looking for.
Frank called to tell me that everyone is sitting on the terrace enjoying another glorious sunset. "How fine to know, my dear friend", I replied. Or words to that effect.
Tuesday 26 October 2010
Growing Collection
Yesterday can be added to my growing collection of very bad days. In fact it was one of the worst so far. I hope there are fewer of these days in front of me than behind. Like Kay, I feel that every attack leaves me weaker and less able to respond to the next one. Later in the evening I infected Marion, so there were two of us in a bad way. Fortunately Nattie stuck her head round the door and asked if she could bring us something, "Room Service!" she announced with a smile. Such sweetness was enough incentive for us to pull ourselves together. Bless her.
Monday 25 October 2010
No more Kay Cuddles
I've been struggling with another build up of grief the last 24hrs or so. This morning when I came down I looked at Kay's photo and had an overwhelming need to put my arms around her and give her a hug. And then I was hit by the obvious and I could feel the hug vacuum between my arms and my heart, the cuddle-hole that can never be filled. I turned away but the feeling has left me deeper in grief and depression, the stupid realisation that there are no more Kay cuddles in this world.
So after breakfast, feeling worse and worse, I asked Nattie if she had a cuddle for me. The only thing she had in store was a quick, cursory hug and then she had to go back to playing Sims 3. And rather than help this made me feel worse.
So I've borrowed Marion's shoulder for a bit and I'm now a few tears lighter, which hopefully will compensate for the rich French breakfast we just had. But still I feel so so extremely low and miserable. I just want to curl up under the covers and wish this Kayless world away.
So after breakfast, feeling worse and worse, I asked Nattie if she had a cuddle for me. The only thing she had in store was a quick, cursory hug and then she had to go back to playing Sims 3. And rather than help this made me feel worse.
So I've borrowed Marion's shoulder for a bit and I'm now a few tears lighter, which hopefully will compensate for the rich French breakfast we just had. But still I feel so so extremely low and miserable. I just want to curl up under the covers and wish this Kayless world away.
Sunday 24 October 2010
Where is Kay?
I'm struggling to find things to write about, not because of a shortage of material but because I'm boiling over with so many and diverse conflicting emotions and thoughts. Last night when we went to bed Marion had a major meltdown. She so wants to touch Kay and feel her body, she regrets not spending the last night with her (I dragged her away because she was exhausted and all advice that I got was to make sure the Marion got some rest), but perhaps mostly she wants to know where Kay is now.
This is a subject that I'm finding very hard to resolve in my mind. I have not had the clear sense of communication with Kay that I had during the week or so after her passing. I still have a sense of her presence and I still feel her warmth and love. I vaguely hear her talking to me, reassuring me. But equally I cannot be sure that these feelings are real. For instance I only hear/feel Kay when I think about hearing/feeling her. As yet I've not had spontaneous awareness of her presence.
Part of my mind sees my sense of Kay's presence as a symptom of deep grief, of my mind manufacturing comfort, supported by the fact that I only have this sense when I think about it. But what if this is not the case? It is surely more comforting to accept these feelings as some kind of reality, to believe in the metaphysical. But my problem is, essentially, that I’m not easily a believer. So I’m torn in an extremely painful way: if I dismiss the metaphysical I’m left with the terrible, terrible thought that there’s nothing left of Kay, that her last moments of consciousness, which she spent in anger and fear, were truly it. That everything after that was nothing at all.
There’s a lot of common sense and supporting evidence for this point of view. It’s Occam’s Razor to the max. But it is also the most utterly painful and nihilist view of Kay’s death. That there’s really nothing more than I perceived. That every time I kissed her, stroked her hair, held her hand, that she was effectively already gone, unreachable to me. That her continuing presence is nothing more than a sop invented by my subconscious to help me get through the day.
I really find this nihilist view so so so very difficult to swallow. But the alternative seems to go against my nature, to simply believe in something for which I have no evidence. The only evidence I can find for the alternate explanation, that Kay’s soul is loving us and looking after us, is that I feel better when I think such thoughts.
Fact is that “life is hard and then you die”, a point of view that seems to neatly summarize our experiences to date. In this context we end up back by Occam’s Razor again: there’s nothing, Kay is gone forever in every possible way.
I wrote this recently to Esther, Kay's child psychologist and our fantastic and loving guide through her last weeks. Esther basically replied that there's far more to life than we can know, that we simply do not have the tools or ability to probe these subjects in a quantitative way. She repeated something that I really like, "Feelings are Facts too" and therefore encouraged me to treat my sense of Kay's presence as if it were in fact real because firstly there's no separating one view from another and because it is indeed what I felt. Plus, my own thinking leads me to reason that if the nihilist view is indeed the 'real' one, then there's no harm in accepting the idea that Kay's with me. Whereas the opposite view, that Kay is here and I deny it, is harmful to me in the sense that it will take me down a longer and more painful road to recovery than otherwise would be the case. So the conclusion is that the best thing to do is to accept my experience of Kay's presence as reality and whether that's a nihilist manufactured reality or a metaphysical reality is by-the-way.
I guess the danger lies in what one does when one reaches the conclusion that our children have souls and that they stay with us when they die. I don't plan to do much more than accept that as the way things are. I don't necessarily see it as leading to the conclusion that there's a god, especially after all the other counter experiences that we've had. If I were to conjecture I guess that I'd say about as far as one could go is to imagine a sea of souls with perhaps a distributed hive intelligence. That would match my experiences to date: no single divine consciousness (with throne, beard and penchant for the concept of "glory" and virgin birth), just a collective mind that behaves in ways that an individual mind can't understand.
Still, all this intellectualizing really doesn't contribute too much right now, except perhaps to point the way forward. Right now I remain in a state of shock and denial. Here's an example: yesterday as I was framing a photo of Kay I noticed that there is some light lens flare on the print, partly over her head and face. My thought was, "Oh I'll just reshoot it when the sun's out again". Then the next second, BANG, the hit of electric shock across my chest as a realised that that's not possible. Then BANG as I realized for the first time that my photo collection of Kay is complete, finished, never to be added to again.
Repeatedly I suffer the shock of realizing that Kay's life ended in terror and pain, without us having been able to say goodbye, without the last kiss or last hug. Denial because I don’t want to accept that she has become a memory, that my photo collection of her is final and complete. That my only route to her is through metaphysical terrain.
So, my conclusion is that I/we have not moved on very much in our weeks here. And I cannot imagine how long it’s going to take before I/we move on from this phase and how much pain we have yet to feel before we start to feel less.
This is a subject that I'm finding very hard to resolve in my mind. I have not had the clear sense of communication with Kay that I had during the week or so after her passing. I still have a sense of her presence and I still feel her warmth and love. I vaguely hear her talking to me, reassuring me. But equally I cannot be sure that these feelings are real. For instance I only hear/feel Kay when I think about hearing/feeling her. As yet I've not had spontaneous awareness of her presence.
Part of my mind sees my sense of Kay's presence as a symptom of deep grief, of my mind manufacturing comfort, supported by the fact that I only have this sense when I think about it. But what if this is not the case? It is surely more comforting to accept these feelings as some kind of reality, to believe in the metaphysical. But my problem is, essentially, that I’m not easily a believer. So I’m torn in an extremely painful way: if I dismiss the metaphysical I’m left with the terrible, terrible thought that there’s nothing left of Kay, that her last moments of consciousness, which she spent in anger and fear, were truly it. That everything after that was nothing at all.
There’s a lot of common sense and supporting evidence for this point of view. It’s Occam’s Razor to the max. But it is also the most utterly painful and nihilist view of Kay’s death. That there’s really nothing more than I perceived. That every time I kissed her, stroked her hair, held her hand, that she was effectively already gone, unreachable to me. That her continuing presence is nothing more than a sop invented by my subconscious to help me get through the day.
I really find this nihilist view so so so very difficult to swallow. But the alternative seems to go against my nature, to simply believe in something for which I have no evidence. The only evidence I can find for the alternate explanation, that Kay’s soul is loving us and looking after us, is that I feel better when I think such thoughts.
Fact is that “life is hard and then you die”, a point of view that seems to neatly summarize our experiences to date. In this context we end up back by Occam’s Razor again: there’s nothing, Kay is gone forever in every possible way.
I wrote this recently to Esther, Kay's child psychologist and our fantastic and loving guide through her last weeks. Esther basically replied that there's far more to life than we can know, that we simply do not have the tools or ability to probe these subjects in a quantitative way. She repeated something that I really like, "Feelings are Facts too" and therefore encouraged me to treat my sense of Kay's presence as if it were in fact real because firstly there's no separating one view from another and because it is indeed what I felt. Plus, my own thinking leads me to reason that if the nihilist view is indeed the 'real' one, then there's no harm in accepting the idea that Kay's with me. Whereas the opposite view, that Kay is here and I deny it, is harmful to me in the sense that it will take me down a longer and more painful road to recovery than otherwise would be the case. So the conclusion is that the best thing to do is to accept my experience of Kay's presence as reality and whether that's a nihilist manufactured reality or a metaphysical reality is by-the-way.
I guess the danger lies in what one does when one reaches the conclusion that our children have souls and that they stay with us when they die. I don't plan to do much more than accept that as the way things are. I don't necessarily see it as leading to the conclusion that there's a god, especially after all the other counter experiences that we've had. If I were to conjecture I guess that I'd say about as far as one could go is to imagine a sea of souls with perhaps a distributed hive intelligence. That would match my experiences to date: no single divine consciousness (with throne, beard and penchant for the concept of "glory" and virgin birth), just a collective mind that behaves in ways that an individual mind can't understand.
Still, all this intellectualizing really doesn't contribute too much right now, except perhaps to point the way forward. Right now I remain in a state of shock and denial. Here's an example: yesterday as I was framing a photo of Kay I noticed that there is some light lens flare on the print, partly over her head and face. My thought was, "Oh I'll just reshoot it when the sun's out again". Then the next second, BANG, the hit of electric shock across my chest as a realised that that's not possible. Then BANG as I realized for the first time that my photo collection of Kay is complete, finished, never to be added to again.
Repeatedly I suffer the shock of realizing that Kay's life ended in terror and pain, without us having been able to say goodbye, without the last kiss or last hug. Denial because I don’t want to accept that she has become a memory, that my photo collection of her is final and complete. That my only route to her is through metaphysical terrain.
So, my conclusion is that I/we have not moved on very much in our weeks here. And I cannot imagine how long it’s going to take before I/we move on from this phase and how much pain we have yet to feel before we start to feel less.
Saturday 23 October 2010
Staying up late
It's difficult to write at the moment, my mind is a storm of emotions that I'm trying to control by avoiding. Otherwise I'll spend too much of my time here in sorrow and not enjoying or at least appreciating the good things around me.
Natasha has been going to bed pretty late since we've been here, 10pm or so. Normally I'd be pushing for her to be in bed at a more normal time but I find myself looking for reasons to keep her up a little longer: "if you sit on my knee quietly for a bit you can stay up a little longer". Hmmmm... To whose benefit is this now?
I realise that every minute we have with our children is precious and thus synchronising our sleeping patterns is a good way to maximise that enjoyment, those golden seconds. They are gone way too quickly, prematurely in Kay's case. And we can never know if or when that will happen.
Kay burns in our minds. I completed putting up new photos of the girls, of Kay today. This has been a real labour of love and enormous pain. But necessary. Kay is now all around us here. Confrontational, but also beautiful. It makes her presence more present, if you follow my meaning.
Marion is lying in bed next to me and is struggling with tears. I need to give her some support, but it's so difficult to face her pain whne I'm overflowing with my own. Nevertheless...
Natasha has been going to bed pretty late since we've been here, 10pm or so. Normally I'd be pushing for her to be in bed at a more normal time but I find myself looking for reasons to keep her up a little longer: "if you sit on my knee quietly for a bit you can stay up a little longer". Hmmmm... To whose benefit is this now?
I realise that every minute we have with our children is precious and thus synchronising our sleeping patterns is a good way to maximise that enjoyment, those golden seconds. They are gone way too quickly, prematurely in Kay's case. And we can never know if or when that will happen.
Kay burns in our minds. I completed putting up new photos of the girls, of Kay today. This has been a real labour of love and enormous pain. But necessary. Kay is now all around us here. Confrontational, but also beautiful. It makes her presence more present, if you follow my meaning.
Marion is lying in bed next to me and is struggling with tears. I need to give her some support, but it's so difficult to face her pain whne I'm overflowing with my own. Nevertheless...
Thursday 21 October 2010
Natasha
I think that we're very fortunate with Natasha. She has always been a self contained child, able to play on her own for long periods. She has a very active imagination, which also keeps her very busy. I was very concerned that when we came here she would be lost in some way without Kay, her life long playmate.
But my worries have so far not been founded. She's constantly busy with something. She is either reading (Kay's backlog of Donald Duck comics), playing on my iPad or on the PC. She has been in the pool for quite long periods almost everyday. She & I have been doing maths exercises on the iPad and I have to say that the child has a mind like a calculator, she's occasionallly faster than me with division and getting faster all the time.
Her active imagination has led her to design a complete entertainment complex that when she gets older she intends to build. This complex started with a shop, "Nattie Fashion", and got extended to a resturant, fun park and geld-pakhuis (money warehouse). She's got all the details worked out and is working on drawing a site plan. She's even promised that Marion & I will be able to visit for a discounted rate - not free mind you.
But all this is not to say that she doesn't miss Kay. I configured a new account for her on the PC here and the first thing that she did was access Flickr and download a photo of Kay and set it as her screen background and login icon (I didn't even know that she knew how to do this!). She talks about Kay in quite a normal way, more normal than I can manage at least. She was extremely pleased when I hung a photo of Kay above her bed here. Once, before we came away, Marion told me that she found Nattie cuddling her huge teddy bear and when Marion asked, she said that she was missing Kay.
She's also able to comfort Marion & I in indirect ways. We don't confront her with our tears, but she knows that we're upset every now and again and, in her own way, she'll come a give one of us a cuddle. Last night the three of us curled up on the sofa here in front of one of Marion's favourite films, Notting Hill. It was lovely, Marion snuggled up on my left, Nattie lying on my chest to the right. Both Nattie & I feel asleep during the film, Nattie was well gone. It was so very nice to feel her body pressed against me, warm, deeply asleep, the smell of her hair. Something that I did with Kay so very many times during the last year.
I think that of all of us, Nattie has the most balanced atttitude so far. She knows that Kay is gone and seems to accept it. She is able to talk about Kay and refer to memories of her. But her life goes on and she's filling it in perfectly without her big sister and playmate.
I only wish Lauren, Marion & I were doing quite so well.
But my worries have so far not been founded. She's constantly busy with something. She is either reading (Kay's backlog of Donald Duck comics), playing on my iPad or on the PC. She has been in the pool for quite long periods almost everyday. She & I have been doing maths exercises on the iPad and I have to say that the child has a mind like a calculator, she's occasionallly faster than me with division and getting faster all the time.
Her active imagination has led her to design a complete entertainment complex that when she gets older she intends to build. This complex started with a shop, "Nattie Fashion", and got extended to a resturant, fun park and geld-pakhuis (money warehouse). She's got all the details worked out and is working on drawing a site plan. She's even promised that Marion & I will be able to visit for a discounted rate - not free mind you.
But all this is not to say that she doesn't miss Kay. I configured a new account for her on the PC here and the first thing that she did was access Flickr and download a photo of Kay and set it as her screen background and login icon (I didn't even know that she knew how to do this!). She talks about Kay in quite a normal way, more normal than I can manage at least. She was extremely pleased when I hung a photo of Kay above her bed here. Once, before we came away, Marion told me that she found Nattie cuddling her huge teddy bear and when Marion asked, she said that she was missing Kay.
She's also able to comfort Marion & I in indirect ways. We don't confront her with our tears, but she knows that we're upset every now and again and, in her own way, she'll come a give one of us a cuddle. Last night the three of us curled up on the sofa here in front of one of Marion's favourite films, Notting Hill. It was lovely, Marion snuggled up on my left, Nattie lying on my chest to the right. Both Nattie & I feel asleep during the film, Nattie was well gone. It was so very nice to feel her body pressed against me, warm, deeply asleep, the smell of her hair. Something that I did with Kay so very many times during the last year.
I think that of all of us, Nattie has the most balanced atttitude so far. She knows that Kay is gone and seems to accept it. She is able to talk about Kay and refer to memories of her. But her life goes on and she's filling it in perfectly without her big sister and playmate.
I only wish Lauren, Marion & I were doing quite so well.
Wednesday 20 October 2010
Can't say anything
I had plans to write all sorts of things on the blog today. But both Marion and I are having a very bad day, we're both either on the edge of tears or in tears. We're being confronted with memories and discovering that we're not really up to them. I'd ordered a bunch of photos of Kay/the girls to hang up here. We bought some frames for them today and this afternoon i started matching photos to frames to wall spaces, with Marion's help. But we're not strong enough, the pain of looking at these beautiful photos is just too much.
I'm also concerned that I'm just going to start repeating myself on the blog. My thoughts are going round and round, revisiting the same themes over and over and it all aims to be getting worse and worse.
That's enough for now.
I'm also concerned that I'm just going to start repeating myself on the blog. My thoughts are going round and round, revisiting the same themes over and over and it all aims to be getting worse and worse.
That's enough for now.
Tuesday 19 October 2010
Natasha is Kept Busy
We have friends staying with us for a few days so I haven't had chance to update the blog. But I thought that I'd quickly post a few photos showing Nattie have a lot of fun playing Monopoly with Joost.
Monday 18 October 2010
Darkness
Oh Kay, I can't sleep. My heart is hammering against my chest, trying to get out, get away from the pain of missing you. I still can't believe that you're gone, every time that I think it I get a shock of fear that it might be true, can't be true. Oh Kay, I miss you so impossibly much, my darling. As each day goes by I learn more about how special you are, about the core role you played in our family, in my life. I have no idea how I'm ever going to get past the hole that you have left.
People say we're doing well, coping. But it doesn't seem like it to me. I feel just as bad as I have done for the last weeks. I'm still struggling to find memories of you, my photos are the only sure ones and they fill me full of pain, of longing, of disbelief. You were just there, a year ago. How can you not be here now?
Oh Kay, My KayKay. Mama misses your help, your thoughtfulness, your willingness to help, always helping. Mama feels more alone because no one helps her anymore like you did.
Kay... I love you so frightenly much. I'm scared without you. What will happen to us? How can I sleep? How can I rest?
Oh Kay, I hear you saying "My Daddy". I'm your Daddy forever, My Kay.
Can you help me sleep? Can you lead me through this darkness?
Oh Kay. Why, My Kay?
People say we're doing well, coping. But it doesn't seem like it to me. I feel just as bad as I have done for the last weeks. I'm still struggling to find memories of you, my photos are the only sure ones and they fill me full of pain, of longing, of disbelief. You were just there, a year ago. How can you not be here now?
Oh Kay, My KayKay. Mama misses your help, your thoughtfulness, your willingness to help, always helping. Mama feels more alone because no one helps her anymore like you did.
Kay... I love you so frightenly much. I'm scared without you. What will happen to us? How can I sleep? How can I rest?
Oh Kay, I hear you saying "My Daddy". I'm your Daddy forever, My Kay.
Can you help me sleep? Can you lead me through this darkness?
Oh Kay. Why, My Kay?
Saturday 16 October 2010
Another Beautiful Sunset
Again, this is why we're here, reminding ourselves that there are many beautiful things in this world:
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| Sunset over La Ciotat |
Big Brother
Beautiful weather here today. A little colder in the shade (18C) but we're sitting in the sun in shorts and tee-shirts. Bit windy though.
For those of you who are concerned that I'm going to blow an artery, here's the results of today's bike ride. I'm being careful, I didn't cycle back up to the house since that's got some sections going above 12%. I generally don't do that unless I'm feeling pretty fit and don't need to lug 5kg of extra fat up with me.
Again, cycling in bright sunshine and a cool, fresh wind is unbelievably therapeutic. The depression receeds a little, the imponderables seem less important, I feel calmer and more peaceful. And most important of all I feel closer to Kay.
I got the (vague) feeling today that she's a little annoyed or impatient with me for being so miserable. I don't think Kay was ever miserable for longer than five minutes before she was off doing the next thing.
Just so as you know, this blog and your support and responses are such a huge source of comfort. When I post a new blog entry I'm constantly refreshing the dashboard to see if there are any comments. The wonders of the modern internet world.
For those of you who are concerned that I'm going to blow an artery, here's the results of today's bike ride. I'm being careful, I didn't cycle back up to the house since that's got some sections going above 12%. I generally don't do that unless I'm feeling pretty fit and don't need to lug 5kg of extra fat up with me.
Again, cycling in bright sunshine and a cool, fresh wind is unbelievably therapeutic. The depression receeds a little, the imponderables seem less important, I feel calmer and more peaceful. And most important of all I feel closer to Kay.
I got the (vague) feeling today that she's a little annoyed or impatient with me for being so miserable. I don't think Kay was ever miserable for longer than five minutes before she was off doing the next thing.
Just so as you know, this blog and your support and responses are such a huge source of comfort. When I post a new blog entry I'm constantly refreshing the dashboard to see if there are any comments. The wonders of the modern internet world.
Friday 15 October 2010
Jan Modaal
We have some friends whom we have known for a long time who lead very normal lives. They live in a semi, they have two children, boy & girl. He has a fulltime job, she has a part time job. Their children have grown up seemingly without a ripple. To my eye they have led peaceful and enjoyable lives and have produced two exemplary children. Jan Modaal & family (John Average), if you wish.
I have long admired their world and have said many times to Marion that I wished I could have lived my life in the same way. Contrast with our lives, the highs and lows: divorce, selling our businesses, remarriage, leukemia I, building a new business, leukemia II, death of a child, to name but a few things. Marion just laughed at me everytime I said that I wish I could have lived a quieter life as the neighbour of Jan Modaal: three kids, huisje, boompje, beestje and camping holidays in the summer. She said that it would be like a lion trying to live like a bunny. Ha, we laughed, ridiculous!
But maybe not so ridiculous. I might have said this before, but for many years Marion & I have felt that "the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the next train coming". Everytime we got through one problem, everytime we thought that we'd reached the end of a tunnel another problem would hit us squarely between the eyes (sorry, mixing my metaphores again). The last 15 years or so seem to have been nothing but one long battle with a series of non-trival problems. Indeed, one can argue that some problems have been of our own making. But equally I think that what we have experienced in general puts us so far away from the mean, so far out on the edge of the bell curve, that I'm often left wondering if there's not some meaning in it.
Well, I guess that there are two points of view. The agnostic statisticians amongst you will no doubt be arguing that someone has to be at the extreme end of the bell curve, otherwise it would have no meaning. They would say that the fact that it happens to be me/us living there is merely bad luck, not least because statistics don't apply to individuals.
I would say that that sounds like a very rational explanation. But then I'd argue about just how damned wide this bell curve is and at what point can one conclude that one's experience is so many standard deviations removed from Jan Modaal that one actually lies outside the bell curve and in Job territory. Certainly that's how this all feels to me.
We lie in bed at night and we ask ourselves, why us? What did we do to deserve to lose Kay? What have we done wrong? Where in our lives could we have made a different decision that would have led to Kay being with us now? Why did Kay's leukemia come back when it's practically unheard of for a relapse to happen after so many years? Is there perhaps something wrong with where we live? Xenon gas, heavy metals in the ground? If we'd moved somewhere else when Kay was born would things have gone differently? Etc, bloody etc.
(I just post-added the point about Kay's leukemia relapse, I'd forgotten that one incredible piece of injustice until I reread this text. If you want to know just how far away from the bell curve we are, consider that one fact. Then factor it in to everything else and I don't see how one can possibly avoid the conclusion that we're being dumped on).
But then actually these questions can be broadened: why have we spent so many years facing so many problems? Why have we been consistently tested, time after time? Why have we had to pay the ultimate price? Should we have lain down somewhere along the way and played dead to fate? Stuck our paws in the air and let life roll over us? Should the lion have read the message in the wind and taken up living like a bunny?
There are matters of belief and deity wrapped up in all this but what concerns me here is how to approach the future? What can be concluded from the last 15 years? What should I do differently in the future? How can I try to ensure that we have seen the last of tunnels and trains?
One thing is for sure. Marion & I have reached some kind of upper limit on the amount of negative stuff that we can take. The idea that I'm fated in some way to continue living such an extremely unfortunate life is more than I can possibly take. (And before anyone starts pointing out that the word "unfortunate" hardly applies to someone sitting in his second house in the south of France, let me point out to you in the STRONGEST possible terms that I would swap EVERYTHING to live as Jan Modaal with Marion, Kay, Nattie & Lauren).
Of course, as usual, no answers are to be found anywhere. And this scares me stupid, because we're going to continue blundering along without having learnt anything really important from our lives. How can we know if we've made a mistake? How can we learn if we don't know? How can we avoid repeating the mistake?
I've not really heard Kay clearly in my mind for a while. It's worrying me, has she gone from me? Will I not hear her again? I assume that I'm too deeply buried in grief for her to reach me clearly. But the last time that she 'spoke' to me she told me that Marion & I should rest and that she would look after us. I hope that this means that she will smooth out the future for us, that the price that we have paid by losing her means that no more will we have to battle with tunnels and trains.
Kay, if you're listening, I could really do with hearing from you right now. I'm not really resting my darling and I could do with hearing you in my head, if not feeling you in my arms.
I have long admired their world and have said many times to Marion that I wished I could have lived my life in the same way. Contrast with our lives, the highs and lows: divorce, selling our businesses, remarriage, leukemia I, building a new business, leukemia II, death of a child, to name but a few things. Marion just laughed at me everytime I said that I wish I could have lived a quieter life as the neighbour of Jan Modaal: three kids, huisje, boompje, beestje and camping holidays in the summer. She said that it would be like a lion trying to live like a bunny. Ha, we laughed, ridiculous!
But maybe not so ridiculous. I might have said this before, but for many years Marion & I have felt that "the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the next train coming". Everytime we got through one problem, everytime we thought that we'd reached the end of a tunnel another problem would hit us squarely between the eyes (sorry, mixing my metaphores again). The last 15 years or so seem to have been nothing but one long battle with a series of non-trival problems. Indeed, one can argue that some problems have been of our own making. But equally I think that what we have experienced in general puts us so far away from the mean, so far out on the edge of the bell curve, that I'm often left wondering if there's not some meaning in it.
Well, I guess that there are two points of view. The agnostic statisticians amongst you will no doubt be arguing that someone has to be at the extreme end of the bell curve, otherwise it would have no meaning. They would say that the fact that it happens to be me/us living there is merely bad luck, not least because statistics don't apply to individuals.
I would say that that sounds like a very rational explanation. But then I'd argue about just how damned wide this bell curve is and at what point can one conclude that one's experience is so many standard deviations removed from Jan Modaal that one actually lies outside the bell curve and in Job territory. Certainly that's how this all feels to me.
We lie in bed at night and we ask ourselves, why us? What did we do to deserve to lose Kay? What have we done wrong? Where in our lives could we have made a different decision that would have led to Kay being with us now? Why did Kay's leukemia come back when it's practically unheard of for a relapse to happen after so many years? Is there perhaps something wrong with where we live? Xenon gas, heavy metals in the ground? If we'd moved somewhere else when Kay was born would things have gone differently? Etc, bloody etc.
(I just post-added the point about Kay's leukemia relapse, I'd forgotten that one incredible piece of injustice until I reread this text. If you want to know just how far away from the bell curve we are, consider that one fact. Then factor it in to everything else and I don't see how one can possibly avoid the conclusion that we're being dumped on).
But then actually these questions can be broadened: why have we spent so many years facing so many problems? Why have we been consistently tested, time after time? Why have we had to pay the ultimate price? Should we have lain down somewhere along the way and played dead to fate? Stuck our paws in the air and let life roll over us? Should the lion have read the message in the wind and taken up living like a bunny?
There are matters of belief and deity wrapped up in all this but what concerns me here is how to approach the future? What can be concluded from the last 15 years? What should I do differently in the future? How can I try to ensure that we have seen the last of tunnels and trains?
One thing is for sure. Marion & I have reached some kind of upper limit on the amount of negative stuff that we can take. The idea that I'm fated in some way to continue living such an extremely unfortunate life is more than I can possibly take. (And before anyone starts pointing out that the word "unfortunate" hardly applies to someone sitting in his second house in the south of France, let me point out to you in the STRONGEST possible terms that I would swap EVERYTHING to live as Jan Modaal with Marion, Kay, Nattie & Lauren).
Of course, as usual, no answers are to be found anywhere. And this scares me stupid, because we're going to continue blundering along without having learnt anything really important from our lives. How can we know if we've made a mistake? How can we learn if we don't know? How can we avoid repeating the mistake?
I've not really heard Kay clearly in my mind for a while. It's worrying me, has she gone from me? Will I not hear her again? I assume that I'm too deeply buried in grief for her to reach me clearly. But the last time that she 'spoke' to me she told me that Marion & I should rest and that she would look after us. I hope that this means that she will smooth out the future for us, that the price that we have paid by losing her means that no more will we have to battle with tunnels and trains.
Kay, if you're listening, I could really do with hearing from you right now. I'm not really resting my darling and I could do with hearing you in my head, if not feeling you in my arms.
As the Sun Went Down...
...so did I. I was heading for bed when another huge wave of emotion suddenly rose up in me. I couldn't contain it and Marion & I then spent a very tearful half hour clinging to each other. This morning I again feel super depressed, my eyes sore from the tears. My heart feeling like a lump of lead pinning my chest to the bed, my limbs drained of the strength to move, my mind void of the capacity to override the lethargy.
It's so very very quiet here that you can hear your own heart beating and wonder how it continues to do so when every beat brings so much pain and grief.
Time to do another bike ride, if only I can find the strength to even get out of bed.
It's so very very quiet here that you can hear your own heart beating and wonder how it continues to do so when every beat brings so much pain and grief.
Time to do another bike ride, if only I can find the strength to even get out of bed.
Thursday 14 October 2010
One Year Ago: The Beginning of the End
One year ago today our nightmare began. I can't really add anything deep or meaningful to this statement, in the last year I've said most of it. It still feels like I/we have fallen through into a ghastly parallel, nastier universe. And I still have an overwhelming desire to know why this should have happened to us, even though I know that there are no answers. And I still have the feeling that this is a big mistake, as though Kay's going to come walking in the door any minute with a cheeky expression on her face, laughing at the big joke that she's pulled on us.
This evening the sky is clear and the stars are out. In summers past we used to do some star/planet gazing. I had the "Starry Night" software on my laptop and we used to use it to navigate our way round the sky. Jupiter has been prominent in the sky for the last years and the girls used to love looking at it. I've been meaning to buy a telescope for a while but never got round to it. Instead we used some image stablised binoculars or a long lens on my camera, mounted on a tripod. Not optimal but we could see the moons of Jupiter.
Kay loved looking at the sky and Jupiter in particular. The Dutch often tell their children that when someone dies they become a star. If that's the case, Kay must now be occupying Jupiter. Big, Bright, Red/Brown, Dominant, The Bringer of Jollity. Oh how I miss her...
I had been expecting that we'd have a bad day today. But the weather has been super, bright sun and warm all day. We took Nattie down to the beach because she wanted to do some wave boarding. And then we had a nice lunch in the sun with a very nice bottle of Bandol wine. We came home and Nattie jumped straight in the pool. So the sun and the warmth and the activity have held off our living nightmare for a little while at least.
This evening the sky is clear and the stars are out. In summers past we used to do some star/planet gazing. I had the "Starry Night" software on my laptop and we used to use it to navigate our way round the sky. Jupiter has been prominent in the sky for the last years and the girls used to love looking at it. I've been meaning to buy a telescope for a while but never got round to it. Instead we used some image stablised binoculars or a long lens on my camera, mounted on a tripod. Not optimal but we could see the moons of Jupiter.
Kay loved looking at the sky and Jupiter in particular. The Dutch often tell their children that when someone dies they become a star. If that's the case, Kay must now be occupying Jupiter. Big, Bright, Red/Brown, Dominant, The Bringer of Jollity. Oh how I miss her...
I had been expecting that we'd have a bad day today. But the weather has been super, bright sun and warm all day. We took Nattie down to the beach because she wanted to do some wave boarding. And then we had a nice lunch in the sun with a very nice bottle of Bandol wine. We came home and Nattie jumped straight in the pool. So the sun and the warmth and the activity have held off our living nightmare for a little while at least.
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| Natasha and Daddy trying to ride a wave(let) |
Wednesday 13 October 2010
Popstar Wisdom
If anything, today has been a little less intense emotionally than the last few days. Marion stayed in bed until 9.30-ish, when Nattie and I dragged her out for breakfast. Then she went back to bed again to 'read'. Around 11.30 I went up to check on her and she was sleeping. She's snoozed in the (vague) sun this afternoon and so has had a restful day.
It was raining a little this morning so I was happy to hang around the house, but it cleared up mid-morning so I had no excuse not to drag my ass out for a bike ride. When I checked the air temp it was around 14C, so I put on a light jacket. However, when I got down to Bandol it was 24C and I was cooking. Since my fitness has taken a hit I chose a shortish, flatish route - all relative, this region is anything but level. There's a lovely climb from Sanary through Olllioules and then through a beautiful gorge back to Le Beausset. It looks quite a challenge when you drive it, but actually it's a pleasant 3-4%.
Once I was moving on my bike I realised (stupidly) how much I need to cycle. I felt much less depressed as I rode along. My head is way too disturbed and noisy to be receptive to anything except my own loud and turbulent thoughts. But equally I realised just how full of s*** my system is, stress, worry, medication to name but a few things. It's clearly imperative that I exercise and I'm definitely in the right place for that. Next time I'm going to do my standard route round the airport, 40km and about 600m climbing. That should clean me out some more. And I need to start attacking the rubber ring that I've grown around my middle.
To be honest though, I'm finding it very difficult to relax and rest. Whilst Marion seems able to stay in bed, when I wake up I feel the clock ticking. I have a long list of jobs to do, mostly private and money administration. A lot of stuff that has been hanging around for too long and that is starting to worry me. There are also plenty of jobs to do around the house and future stuff to think about. I guess that I should just sit down for a couple of days and work through the admin, but tiredness and general lethargy stand squarely in the way. It's a difficult balance to strike.
Anyway, I'm going to keep things light today. Tomorrow will be another heavily emotional day, I suspect.
It was raining a little this morning so I was happy to hang around the house, but it cleared up mid-morning so I had no excuse not to drag my ass out for a bike ride. When I checked the air temp it was around 14C, so I put on a light jacket. However, when I got down to Bandol it was 24C and I was cooking. Since my fitness has taken a hit I chose a shortish, flatish route - all relative, this region is anything but level. There's a lovely climb from Sanary through Olllioules and then through a beautiful gorge back to Le Beausset. It looks quite a challenge when you drive it, but actually it's a pleasant 3-4%.
Once I was moving on my bike I realised (stupidly) how much I need to cycle. I felt much less depressed as I rode along. My head is way too disturbed and noisy to be receptive to anything except my own loud and turbulent thoughts. But equally I realised just how full of s*** my system is, stress, worry, medication to name but a few things. It's clearly imperative that I exercise and I'm definitely in the right place for that. Next time I'm going to do my standard route round the airport, 40km and about 600m climbing. That should clean me out some more. And I need to start attacking the rubber ring that I've grown around my middle.
To be honest though, I'm finding it very difficult to relax and rest. Whilst Marion seems able to stay in bed, when I wake up I feel the clock ticking. I have a long list of jobs to do, mostly private and money administration. A lot of stuff that has been hanging around for too long and that is starting to worry me. There are also plenty of jobs to do around the house and future stuff to think about. I guess that I should just sit down for a couple of days and work through the admin, but tiredness and general lethargy stand squarely in the way. It's a difficult balance to strike.
Anyway, I'm going to keep things light today. Tomorrow will be another heavily emotional day, I suspect.
As a last remark, last night Marion was watching a bio about George Michael. Talking about the death of his mother, he said that he thought that there are two types of people in the world, those who have experienced great loss and those who haven’t, yet. I thought that this was probably very true but equally a fact that I’d rather not know. I hope knowing it doesn’t mean that I now have to start hanging out in men’s public toilets.
Tuesday 12 October 2010
And Finally, A Beautiful Sunset
This is why we're here...
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| Sunset through my shady olive tree |
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| Sunset over La Ciotat and under my tree |
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| Every sunset is unique here |
Something Beautiful to Cheer Up the Day
Take a look at the following photo series: click here
I shot these photos this afternoon in the garden here. This is why I love digital photography in general and my beautiful Canon 7D in particular.
According to the internet it's a Hummingbird Hawkmoth.
If you're into techno babble: the series was shot at ISO 2000, 1/2000 sec, F5.0, 200mm using a Canon EF 70-200 F4.0 IS USM lens. I then used Lightroom 3.2 to remove the noise caused by ISO 2000 and to adjust the image. I've done this using an uncalibrated monitor, so the colours may be off. I'll process them properly when I'm home.
I shot these photos this afternoon in the garden here. This is why I love digital photography in general and my beautiful Canon 7D in particular.
According to the internet it's a Hummingbird Hawkmoth.
If you're into techno babble: the series was shot at ISO 2000, 1/2000 sec, F5.0, 200mm using a Canon EF 70-200 F4.0 IS USM lens. I then used Lightroom 3.2 to remove the noise caused by ISO 2000 and to adjust the image. I've done this using an uncalibrated monitor, so the colours may be off. I'll process them properly when I'm home.
Ikea
We have been busy "functioning" all day. Cleaning the house, buying some stuff, changing light bulbs and other things necessary when we haven't been here for a while. But both of us are in shit state, excuse the French. Marion wished she was dead this evening, she finds the pain so hard to bare. And I know what she means. I feel a fire of pain, grief and panic in my stomach and chest. I feel sick almost the whole time. Kay is everywhere and nowhere.
This afternoon we went to Ikea to get some bits and pieces. While walking through the bedding department Nattie pointed to a big wall display and said, "Look, there's Kay's duvet cover and pillowcase". It was, the same one that I'd soaked in tears & snot on Saturday morning. The one that Kay loved. The one that I spent a good hour or more lying on. Oh dear. I didn't know what to do, caught myself staring at it. Nattie said something to me, but I replied that it was too painful for me to look at and walked on.
Last Saturday week, Marion said that she didn't want to come away because she didn't want to leave Kay behind and I didn't really understand what she meant. But as last week went on I started to get an increasing 'vacuum' feeling in my stomach. Didn't know why. But on Saturday as I was packing my stuff I had the overwhelming urge to go and lie on Kay's bed. I've avoided going in her bedroom except incidentally, but after I was done packing I felt very tired and went and lay on her bed. And then it struck me, what Marion meant about leaving her behind. And I lost it completely. I cried harder and deeper than ever in my life before. I was completely lost to grief, for the first time ever. And now I don't feel stronger as a result, the contrary in fact. I feel the pain and grief more acutely than before. And I understand even less why she had to go. And I feel even more strongly that this is not the right ending for her life. The strong and the brave and the fit and the courageous should win their battles and Kay is all of these things and more.
I so regret not having being able to talk to her about death, not being able to say goodbye to her. That her last minutes alive were minutes of terror and fighting. That we never had a peaceful moment when we could exchange final promises of eternal love. That we were rushed into an inadequate parting forever. That my last memory of her alive was the anger and fear on her face as she was put into a coma. I'm never going to be able to rid myself of those memories.
Maybe we're trying to take the grief process to quickly, would be typical for Marion & I. But then, it can't go fast enough, the pain and suffering it's causing. We're both at the end of our tethers. I think for the first time that Marion realised just how badly I'm suffering, on Saturday. She said later that my pain broke her heart.
So this is how we are. Terrible, fragile, desperate, bereaved, grief stricken, shocked, empty, full, clinging to the wreckage of our lives.
This afternoon we went to Ikea to get some bits and pieces. While walking through the bedding department Nattie pointed to a big wall display and said, "Look, there's Kay's duvet cover and pillowcase". It was, the same one that I'd soaked in tears & snot on Saturday morning. The one that Kay loved. The one that I spent a good hour or more lying on. Oh dear. I didn't know what to do, caught myself staring at it. Nattie said something to me, but I replied that it was too painful for me to look at and walked on.
Last Saturday week, Marion said that she didn't want to come away because she didn't want to leave Kay behind and I didn't really understand what she meant. But as last week went on I started to get an increasing 'vacuum' feeling in my stomach. Didn't know why. But on Saturday as I was packing my stuff I had the overwhelming urge to go and lie on Kay's bed. I've avoided going in her bedroom except incidentally, but after I was done packing I felt very tired and went and lay on her bed. And then it struck me, what Marion meant about leaving her behind. And I lost it completely. I cried harder and deeper than ever in my life before. I was completely lost to grief, for the first time ever. And now I don't feel stronger as a result, the contrary in fact. I feel the pain and grief more acutely than before. And I understand even less why she had to go. And I feel even more strongly that this is not the right ending for her life. The strong and the brave and the fit and the courageous should win their battles and Kay is all of these things and more.
I so regret not having being able to talk to her about death, not being able to say goodbye to her. That her last minutes alive were minutes of terror and fighting. That we never had a peaceful moment when we could exchange final promises of eternal love. That we were rushed into an inadequate parting forever. That my last memory of her alive was the anger and fear on her face as she was put into a coma. I'm never going to be able to rid myself of those memories.
Maybe we're trying to take the grief process to quickly, would be typical for Marion & I. But then, it can't go fast enough, the pain and suffering it's causing. We're both at the end of our tethers. I think for the first time that Marion realised just how badly I'm suffering, on Saturday. She said later that my pain broke her heart.
So this is how we are. Terrible, fragile, desperate, bereaved, grief stricken, shocked, empty, full, clinging to the wreckage of our lives.
Sunday 10 October 2010
Total Meltdown
Yesterday it was my turn: complete meltdown, worse even than when Kay died. It lasted for what seems like ages and in the end I had to get Marion to rescue me, a first. Today I can still feel a post hysteria hangover. But yeh, in the meantime we're in Nancy on the way to our house in the south. Got 8 hours of driving in front of me, so no room for the hysterics. Audio book on, head down, drive.
Friday 8 October 2010
Too much to say
My blog posts are sparse at the moment, not due to a lack of material, but due to way too much. It's a huge struggle to try and deal with all the thoughts that occur to me about Kay's death and what our lives (will) hold as a result. Trying to form them into subjects that I can write about is almost impossible.
I'll try and answer the question "How are you?" here, but I warn those of an emotional disposition not to read any further.
Last night I got into bed after saying nite nite to the girls, to KayKay. As I have done every night, I looked at the big beautiful floodlit photo of her on the speaker in the corner of the lounge. As I have done very night, I stroked her cheek and looked deep into her beautiful eyes. As I have done every night, I realised yet again that she's gone. And as it has done every night, my heart broke, again.
This week is worse than last week. Fresh awful thoughts continue to pile up and life just seems to get heavier and heavier. We're functioning at a certain level, but our hearts are not in it. We go through the motions of living. We laugh with Nattie and chat with friends. And yet we both feel so depressed and sad and in pain the whole time. It's difficult to believe that it can get worse, but it does. It feels like we continue to walk further into a long dark tunnel, further from the light.
I haven't heard Kay so clearly as in the few days after her passing, probably because my mind is more disturbed than it was then. But I still have a strong sense of her presence and I feel a "message" from her that she will now look after Marion & I and that we should leave it to her and we should rest. She says that everything will be alright. That's difficult to believe, but at the same time the strength of the warmth of the love that I feel from her is almost enough to let me trust in her and let go. But my feelings of grief are yet too strong for me to let go of them.
Funny enough, I'd always thought that Kay would be the one who looked after me when I got old. It seems that she's taken on the role already. But then, that's typically Kay - always concerned about others and ready to care for them.
This is how I am / how we are (dare I say "we"?).
I'll try and answer the question "How are you?" here, but I warn those of an emotional disposition not to read any further.
Last night I got into bed after saying nite nite to the girls, to KayKay. As I have done every night, I looked at the big beautiful floodlit photo of her on the speaker in the corner of the lounge. As I have done very night, I stroked her cheek and looked deep into her beautiful eyes. As I have done every night, I realised yet again that she's gone. And as it has done every night, my heart broke, again.
This week is worse than last week. Fresh awful thoughts continue to pile up and life just seems to get heavier and heavier. We're functioning at a certain level, but our hearts are not in it. We go through the motions of living. We laugh with Nattie and chat with friends. And yet we both feel so depressed and sad and in pain the whole time. It's difficult to believe that it can get worse, but it does. It feels like we continue to walk further into a long dark tunnel, further from the light.
I haven't heard Kay so clearly as in the few days after her passing, probably because my mind is more disturbed than it was then. But I still have a strong sense of her presence and I feel a "message" from her that she will now look after Marion & I and that we should leave it to her and we should rest. She says that everything will be alright. That's difficult to believe, but at the same time the strength of the warmth of the love that I feel from her is almost enough to let me trust in her and let go. But my feelings of grief are yet too strong for me to let go of them.
Funny enough, I'd always thought that Kay would be the one who looked after me when I got old. It seems that she's taken on the role already. But then, that's typically Kay - always concerned about others and ready to care for them.
This is how I am / how we are (dare I say "we"?).
Wednesday 6 October 2010
Hugging Should Be Forever
In the week immediately after Kay's death (those words still don't / can't fit together) hugging everyone was the rule of the day; man, woman or child; family, friend or acquaintance. Since her memorial service social norms have slowly started to creep back into place. Last week I could still get away with hugging everyone who came in the door. This week it's starting to seem, um, "unconventional" shall we say? I suppose that in the following weeks hugging visitors is going to meet with polite stiffness.
I never thought that there would be anything about these last weeks that I'd want to retain, but I have to say that (fiercely) hugging friends and family will be sorely missed. It has been / is such a lovely expression of the depth of feelings that people have for each other. It seems such a shame to have to retreat back into the shell of social norms that are seemingly there to prevent us embarassing ourselves by public displays of warmth and emotion.
I've never had much feeling for 'community', not being a particularly sociable person. But these last weeks have taught me so much about the value of being part of a circle of people who care about us cq for whom we care. And hugging seems such a concrete expression of that value, of the feelings within that community.
May we long continue to hug each other.
I never thought that there would be anything about these last weeks that I'd want to retain, but I have to say that (fiercely) hugging friends and family will be sorely missed. It has been / is such a lovely expression of the depth of feelings that people have for each other. It seems such a shame to have to retreat back into the shell of social norms that are seemingly there to prevent us embarassing ourselves by public displays of warmth and emotion.
I've never had much feeling for 'community', not being a particularly sociable person. But these last weeks have taught me so much about the value of being part of a circle of people who care about us cq for whom we care. And hugging seems such a concrete expression of that value, of the feelings within that community.
May we long continue to hug each other.
Tuesday 5 October 2010
Everything I Own
Is there someone you know
You're loving them so
But taking them all for-granted
You may lose them one day
[Something] takes them away
And they don't hear the words you long to say
I would give anything I own,
I'll give up my life, my heart, my home,
I will give everything I own
Just to have you back again
Just to touch you once again
"Everything I Own", song by David Gates / Bread.
Ah, my poor heart. Where's my girl?
You're loving them so
But taking them all for-granted
You may lose them one day
[Something] takes them away
And they don't hear the words you long to say
I would give anything I own,
I'll give up my life, my heart, my home,
I will give everything I own
Just to have you back again
Just to touch you once again
"Everything I Own", song by David Gates / Bread.
Ah, my poor heart. Where's my girl?
Monday 4 October 2010
Nice Airport
One of the problems with re-entering normal life is trying not to burst into tears in public. I'm currently at Nice Airport waiting for a flight home. Last time I was here was with Kay, Nattie, Lauren & Marion on the way to Ibiza. Can't get it out of my head, but nor can I risk a meltdown.
Tricky.
Tricky.
Saturday 2 October 2010
Staff Roll of Honour
I'm terrible at remembering names, it really is a big weakness of mine. So during the last months of Kay's treatment in Nijmegen I worked very hard to remember all the names of all the people who were so kind to us and caring of Kay. I don't want to forget anyone, not one single person. And yet my memory of the last months is already starting to lose definition, I suppose as part of the healing process that we're starting.
So I'm going to list the names of everyone I can remember. I want to create a permanent Roll of Honour, an digital plaque of remembrance for all the kindness and care that we received. A place where Marion & I can come back a read the list of names and remember the untold acts of kindness associated with them. And there's nothing like posting something on Google to make it last forever.
For the sake of privacy I'm going to use first names only. I'll also add the following caveats: I didn't know everyone's name so if I overlook you, please forgive me. It certainly doesn't mean that I've forgotten. Please also forgive any spelling mistakes, that's another of my weaknesses. Finally, there's no particular order to the names, only the order my befuddled brain spewed out.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Leonie, Nieke, Johan, Laura, Monique, Mieke, Rosalie, Suzzanne, Dave, Roger, Els, Sylvia, Parrijn, Jonja, Anita, Christien, Crystel, Maartje, Agmar, Trudy, Jolanda, Marianne, Cathrien
Ellen, Koen, Marushka, Jacqueline, Peter, Annelies, Jan, Paul, Natascha
Joyce, Coby, Yvette, Daniella, Gerda
Annelies, Ruud, Carin, Anniek, Joris, Johan, Chantal
Esther
--------------------------------------------------------------
So I'm going to list the names of everyone I can remember. I want to create a permanent Roll of Honour, an digital plaque of remembrance for all the kindness and care that we received. A place where Marion & I can come back a read the list of names and remember the untold acts of kindness associated with them. And there's nothing like posting something on Google to make it last forever.
For the sake of privacy I'm going to use first names only. I'll also add the following caveats: I didn't know everyone's name so if I overlook you, please forgive me. It certainly doesn't mean that I've forgotten. Please also forgive any spelling mistakes, that's another of my weaknesses. Finally, there's no particular order to the names, only the order my befuddled brain spewed out.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Leonie, Nieke, Johan, Laura, Monique, Mieke, Rosalie, Suzzanne, Dave, Roger, Els, Sylvia, Parrijn, Jonja, Anita, Christien, Crystel, Maartje, Agmar, Trudy, Jolanda, Marianne, Cathrien
Ellen, Koen, Marushka, Jacqueline, Peter, Annelies, Jan, Paul, Natascha
Joyce, Coby, Yvette, Daniella, Gerda
Annelies, Ruud, Carin, Anniek, Joris, Johan, Chantal
Esther
--------------------------------------------------------------
Popstars
Yesterday evening Marion had a major breakdown. She'd promised Kay that she would watch "Popstars" for her and so, because the girls & I wanted to stare at other moving wallpaper, she set herself up in the kitchen. As I have a habit of doing when I don't hear Marion for a while, I went to check on her and found her outside in the dark weeping her heart out. I brought her in and sat her on the sofa with Nattie, Lauren & I and we watched Popstars with her (though I was nearly weeping at the quality of the contestants).
She sat through the whole thing being plagued by Kay flashbacks and crying her heart out in waves. She misses being able to touch Kay, her soft skin, etc, etc. I really didn't know what to do except wrap her up in the family and let her cry. But it's extremely difficult when someone is hurting so much and there seems to be nothing you can do to help them.
I need to keep moving or I'm going to end up back in bed again. Today's challenge is to empty the garage and office of a huge pile of accumulated crap. First problem to be faced is where to put Kay's mountain bike...
She sat through the whole thing being plagued by Kay flashbacks and crying her heart out in waves. She misses being able to touch Kay, her soft skin, etc, etc. I really didn't know what to do except wrap her up in the family and let her cry. But it's extremely difficult when someone is hurting so much and there seems to be nothing you can do to help them.
I need to keep moving or I'm going to end up back in bed again. Today's challenge is to empty the garage and office of a huge pile of accumulated crap. First problem to be faced is where to put Kay's mountain bike...
Friday 1 October 2010
The Good in the World
We're touched everyday by all the good in the world: food brought & cooked by friends, a pleasant evening's eating & drinking with good company, flowers from far and wide, cards from people known long ago, comments on the blog. It all helps keep us afloat while we're trying to process our grief.
Things here are very very hard. I'm constantly hit by these panic attacks feelings and I still really can't get my head around the idea that Kay has gone. I know it, but my heart and my hopes have yet to accept the reality. I just want to wake up from this nightmare but it goes on and on.
We have pleasant interludes, yesterday evening drinking too much wine with friends for one. But the moment that everyone had gone and we were on our own again both Lauren and then Marion were in tears and I was hanging on by a thread so that I could comfort them.
I wonder how long it will be before a day passes by when I don't feel the electric pain of immediate grief?
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