Not much energy to write

I don't feel much like writing at the moment. Nothing seems to be going quite right. I wanted to cycle yesterday to see if I could find Kay, but it was a very grey, wet and miserable day. Was hoping to cycle tomorrow but I don't think I'll find her in the rain that's forecast for the whole day.

Marion got up this morning, moved stuff from A to B for a while and then went back to bed in the guest room, pulled the covers over her head and refused to see or talk to anyone. She emerged in the afternoon and disappeared into the garden, eventually returning looking a little less gloomy.

I don't think I've ever experienced such a feeling of depression and gloominess. Yet still mixed with periodic panic attacks. Marion, in a tearful moment, mentioned something to me this evening that hadn't occurred to me yet and that triggered another instant panic attack. In the meantime I'm lost for words to tell people how I am, to comfort Marion, to comfort myself. Everything has been said, every word used to exhaustion. And still none of it is enough.

The image popped into my mind that this situation is like one of those Christmas scenes in a glass bubble that you can shake up to generate a snow storm. Mostly the grief feels like it's just settled on top of me in a big thick blanket, generating a feeling of depression and misery. But every now and again something happens to shake it up and it flies around causing a storm of pain and tears. And it definitely feels like a closed system, none of the snow able to leak away.

I'd better stop writing like this, otherwise you'll all be throwing yourselves off the nearest tall building.

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

And so we begin a new age, one in which Kay is merely a memory, a presence in my head. An age in which we can't hug her or hear her or see her or feel her warmth or join in her laughter. A worse age. One that has a hole in it. One in which we reference Kay in the past tense. One that exists in the shadow of a finer age when we were a complete family, when strangers didn't start off a conversation by saying "my condolances".

But I don't suppose that we're doing so badly for day one on our own, although the atmosphere in the house is somber, depressed and emptier than it should be. I have been to the office for a few hours and discovered that I can still think, even if slowly and ponderously. Marion has been busy round the house and is functioning, to an extent. There's enough going on at the office for my interest to be peaked even through the thick cloud of grief and misery that is wrapped round my soul and mind.

Lauren has been doing whatever it is that teenage girls do in their bedroom all day. "Tidying up" is what she calls it, but there's no noticable difference in the quality of the fetid squalor that she inhabits. We have provisionally agreed that I'll take Lauren back to school on Sunday, which seems to be Ok with her.

Nattie is her usual cheerful and busy self. The only thing that I noticed this morning when I stuck my head in her bedroom was that she was playing the Jan Smit song, "Leef" that was a favourite of Kay. "Silent waters run deep" with Natasha, so we'll have to keep an eye on her. However, on Saturday at the end, she cried her heart out to the extent that I had to carry her from the crematorium. I see this as healthy and an indication that possibly of all of us Natasha is most clearly walking a path that will lead her out of all this grief and pain.

The weekend has provided me with an echo of strength and peace, a pointer towards a place where I might yet find the feelings themselves. So much love and support around us. A feeling that we have done our best for Kay right until the last moment of her physical presence on this Earth.

And yet, I miss her so, so very much.

The Day

If it hadn't been my child that we were cremating I would have found the day singularly beautiful. So many wonderful people, +/-500 at the hockey pitch, so many beautiful words and songs, so much love and support.

We were carried on a raft of support built by our family and friends. We were able to give ourselves over to celebrating Kay's life knowing that we had a safety cushion of care around us.

I don't have words enough to say how grateful we are to everyone whom came, to everyone who sent their wishes, to everyone who supported us, to everyone who hugged and held us.

And now it's a new day, the day after, a day when we have to starting thinking about how to remodel our lives around the gaping hole in our family.

Marion's still sleeping, holding Mickey in a vice-like grip, not wanting to wake up and face the day, I suspect. And I too am terrified by what comes next.

HELP!

The end of the last day is drawing near and I just don't want tomorrow to come. I have a raging sense of panic, pain, fear and some unknown and indescribable feelings coursing through my body. Oh, this can't be my life. Oh, this must be happening to someone else. Oh, please please please let me wake up from this nightmare.

Why my Kay? What did she ever do to deserve this ending? What did we ever do to deserve this life? Better it was my ending and Kay's life.

Oh, oh, oh... don't let this happen. Let me wake up tomorrow and find Kay playing on her computer, chiding me for being a worrying Daddy. Let me put my arms around her and hold her close and feel her warm and life. Let her struggle against my hugs and push me away because she has something more important to do.

No, this can't be my reality. It just can't. It can't be.

Oh my Kay. Ah, words are not enough. Nothing ever will be.

I want my Kay, so very very very very much.

What a morning

I've been behind the computer all morning, discussing and editing texts for the service tomorrow, selecting music for the various steps along the way and blowing & labelling CD's from iTunes playlists. 

A specialist photographer has also been along to make some photos of Kay with Marion, Nattie and I. Marion & Nattie were OK with this, I was half OK with it and Lauren didn't want to be on a photo. All fine by me. I'm very scared about refusing to do something and then regretting it later, but equally nor do I want to fill my head with things I'd rather not see/forget.

This afternoon I have to go to the school to arrange the photo display and work out a couple of other things. More guests will be arriving so the house will be nice and full this evening, people sleeping on camp beds even.

Marion's Aunt & Uncle are being complete saints with the way that they are working quietly in the background to run the house and support us. They are the silent heros of this situation. And then there's all the support we're getting from friends, which seems to know no bounds. We will eventually be extremely grateful for these things, acts of love which will last a lifetime.

"Your friends
will know you better
in the first minute you meet
than
your acquaintances
will know you in
a thousand years"

"Illusions", Richard Bach.

Indeed, I'm falling back to some of the most beautiful books I've ever read.

Busy with terrible decisions and pleasant company

A friend just called, concerned that I'd not updated the blog today. Another thing to add to the huge heap of care we're getting.

Today my family has arrived from the UK so we have been busy on that front. Other lovely and most welcome visitors have dropped by and numerous other things have been going on.

But every day we have to make terrible decisions, things that you never want to think about in your life. And Marion, who draws a lot of comfort from the fact that she can still see and touch Kay, is increasingly facing the realisation that that will end on Saturday.

So things continue to get harder and harder.

Saturday

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].