We will commemorate Kay's life on Saturday 25th September in the assembly hall of Kay's school, De Muzenberg, Kijkakkers in Maarheeze starting at 12pm. Following this we will move to the Hockey field on the Philipsweg in Maarheeze, where we will say a final goodbye to Kay on the centre spot. Kay's family and relations will then escort her to the crematorium in Heeze.
If you would like to attend, please bring a purple flower for Kay. You will have the chance to place this flower next to her at the Hockey field. Should you be moved to do more than this, we will have collection pots for the Ronald McDonald house in Nijmegen available.
[You have no idea how painful it is to write these kinds of things].
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
The Thoughts of Chairman Howe
Ok, what I'm going to write next is rather kooky to say the least. Before I write there are some caveats to worth mentioning. Yes, I'm in an extremely distressed state, but No, I don't think I've lost my mind or suddenly gone bonkers. Further, if anything, what we're going through has made me even more cynical towards the "metaphysical" world, in all its glory. I've spent every minute of the last few weeks making sure that I didn't start manufacturing information from noise, because let's face it, when you have been through what we have been through in the last weeks, your mind grasps at any straw going, even ones manufactured from noise.
But nevertheless, I've heard Kay speaking to me.
On Monday I went out in the sun and the wind on my race bike to feel life around me and to feel me body moving and to try and find some peace from the rhythm of cycling. And after about 20mins I found that peace. My grief subsided and I felt the joy of the sun, the wind and the motion of my bike. And then I suddenly heard Kay, she was laughing at me and calling "Daddy" over and over again. She was dancing in light and radiated happiness. And I felt her love for us.
Now, I didn't actually hear her with my ears, more like hearing someone else's thoughts in my head. But neither did I have the idea that I was manufacturing the information. What I was hearing felt real, very specific even. She's in the right hand side of my head, in the area above and behind my right ear and the stronger her 'signal' becomes the more I feel her in the right side of my head.
Indeed I tried to dismiss all this as the fabrication of an exhausted and grief stricken mind. But you know, I want to hear so much that I couldn't push her away just because my rational mind wanted to dismiss what I was experiencing as a byproduct of my grief. What if it really is Kay? Think what you want, I know what I think.
Today I went on my bike again, this time with some expectation. Another sunny, lovely day full of life. Again, but with more trouble this time, I managed to enter a meditative state, the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the wind, the motion of cycling. And Kay was there again. This time I was not going to dismiss her. I listened to her. She can see into our hearts, she can see how much we love her, she can see how much we're hurting but she sees through it (and is a little impatient). She 'said' that Mama's so sad she can't hear her (Kay).
When I got back I told Marion that the only reason she can't hear Kay is because she's hurting so much. So hopefully Kay will reach Marion soon and we can share the feeling of her being with us.
Unfortunately, I cant keep up this kind of mediation for very long, not least because I'll end up riding into something. And when I stopped, the grief swept back in.
So, you can decide whether I've now gone completely round the bend or whether I'm being incredibly stupid. Or whether my Kay is talking to me.
I'm going cycling again tomorrow.
But nevertheless, I've heard Kay speaking to me.
On Monday I went out in the sun and the wind on my race bike to feel life around me and to feel me body moving and to try and find some peace from the rhythm of cycling. And after about 20mins I found that peace. My grief subsided and I felt the joy of the sun, the wind and the motion of my bike. And then I suddenly heard Kay, she was laughing at me and calling "Daddy" over and over again. She was dancing in light and radiated happiness. And I felt her love for us.
Now, I didn't actually hear her with my ears, more like hearing someone else's thoughts in my head. But neither did I have the idea that I was manufacturing the information. What I was hearing felt real, very specific even. She's in the right hand side of my head, in the area above and behind my right ear and the stronger her 'signal' becomes the more I feel her in the right side of my head.
Indeed I tried to dismiss all this as the fabrication of an exhausted and grief stricken mind. But you know, I want to hear so much that I couldn't push her away just because my rational mind wanted to dismiss what I was experiencing as a byproduct of my grief. What if it really is Kay? Think what you want, I know what I think.
Today I went on my bike again, this time with some expectation. Another sunny, lovely day full of life. Again, but with more trouble this time, I managed to enter a meditative state, the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the wind, the motion of cycling. And Kay was there again. This time I was not going to dismiss her. I listened to her. She can see into our hearts, she can see how much we love her, she can see how much we're hurting but she sees through it (and is a little impatient). She 'said' that Mama's so sad she can't hear her (Kay).
When I got back I told Marion that the only reason she can't hear Kay is because she's hurting so much. So hopefully Kay will reach Marion soon and we can share the feeling of her being with us.
Unfortunately, I cant keep up this kind of mediation for very long, not least because I'll end up riding into something. And when I stopped, the grief swept back in.
So, you can decide whether I've now gone completely round the bend or whether I'm being incredibly stupid. Or whether my Kay is talking to me.
I'm going cycling again tomorrow.
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
It's the small things...
...I don't need to wash my hands with alcohol after using the toilet anymore.
I have discovered that there are no words that remotely can do justice to the pain I feel. And it just gets worse, every minute, every hour.
I have discovered that there are no words that remotely can do justice to the pain I feel. And it just gets worse, every minute, every hour.
Monday, 20 September 2010
Stabbed through the heart
I'm preparing a photo display for Kay's commemoration service at the weekend. But every time I open a picture of her with Lightroom, I get stabbed in the heart. I can't believe she's left us. I can't believe that these pictures are all that I have left of her that my eyes can see.
Oh, oh, this is so unbelievably, indescribably hard.
Oh, oh, this is so unbelievably, indescribably hard.
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