In loving memory: Our visit to South Africa

Thabo, Believe and Tholiwe. Photo from 2012 Link 4 Life project. 

In July this year, Melissa, Emily and I are heading for a remote area of South Africa, called Bush Buck Ridge. While there, we will meet children orphaned by HIV and Aids and help care workers who look after them day to day.

The reason behind our visit is uncomplicated -- to meet the children, be at their side and help tell their stories.

This is designed to be a lasting connection. There's no big charity fanfare, no massive building project, no international marketing effort, just the prospect of helping. You can imagine how much that appeals.

Each day, we will be guided by a team of care workers to let us know what needs doing and we will get on with it.

Experience of previous visits has shown that this is likely to be helping feed the children or washing clothes, plus a load of other straightforward tasks to lighten their day.

Me, Melissa and Emily have also been set the task of listening to a child's story and helping share it. It's as simple as that. And as someone whose life has been largely taken up by telling stories, it's a role I relish.

I'm doing this in Neil's memory. I hope that one day, maybe not this year, but one day, there will be an element of our involvement, that I can put his name to as a lasting reminder for all to see of his decency and compassion. It's such a cliche, but I know he would like that.

We're members of a 12-strong group travelling to meet and help the children, under a project called Link 4 Life, helping charities called Hands at Work, Mercy Air and the Baby Bear Project.

Our stay comes days apart from a visit from my children's school, where older pupils, plus teachers, will also contribute.

Fellow team members have been so very kind to us, assuring us that our presence is special and that we will bring with us an empathy for children who have lost a parent. That makes me feel useful.
 
There's also an opportunity to visit a hospital in one of the country's poorest areas, where babies are now sent home clothed, rather than in newspaper, thanks to a group of knitters, some of whom are just streets from where we live. This is the Baby Bear project.

I find it amazing that such an unassuming, modest group of people should make such a difference and honoured to be allowed to walk alongside them. It's hard for me to imagine that mothers have so little that their newborns are sent away from hospital wrapped in newspaper but amazing to consider women in my village are easing this burden.

There's a yearly commitment for contact and support with the people in this part of South Africa from the Staffordshire villages of Great Wyrley and Cheslyn Hay. Some people come from our local churches, where we have been sporadic visitors over the years, some from business and some from schools. The aim is to forge longstanding links that will build to bring fruitful relationships.

Already young people from Cheslyn Hay and Great Wyrley are spending longer periods in the community to complete much-needed practical tasks.

Neil and me first heard of Link 4 Life in 2009. We were both interested in taking part, as we worked together from our offices on voluntary publicity material for local media about the project, led by local vicar Richard Westwood.

We looked forward to a day when our girls may be able to join a school group and chatted about how realistic a possibility either or both of us getting involved could be.

Richard was always hugely grateful for our help with fundraising and publicity and I don't think there was ever a time we spoke that he didn't tell me that. As non church-goers our paths didn't cross that often but we kept in touch to follow the progress of Link 4 Life.

And then, in the blur of all that has happened, Richard became a remarkable source of support -- for Neil, me and our wider family.

He married us in January and just months later, led Neil's funeral.

He spent time with us in our most desperate hours in a hospital room.

I can't remember when exactly the idea was mooted that the three of us should join Link 4 Life this year, but it was Melissa's idea and we have stuck at it.

So this has become our "thing", a focus for us to work towards. In our grief and shock, our commitment hasn't lessened. I'm not as far forward as I would have liked to have been with officialdom to do with the visit but I'm catching up now the best I can.


How you can help

I would like to ask for your help if I may, and this is connected with fundraising towards our trip. My daughters have plans of their own with the help of classmates and teachers.

I have £637 from the wonderful journalists' community at JournoBiz and we even went and packed bags at Asda. (I never thought I'd see the day.) We lasted at least an hour.

But now I need to step up my fundraising efforts. I'm going to self publish a book of short stories if enough people are interested, to help, and hope to tap into my lovely works colleagues' expertise for more ideas on generating some cash. The stories are a bit rude (as in earthy humour) and have been received well.

In the meantime, I have set up a donate button on this blog. I know that times are very, very tough for people, but if you would like to help me do this in Neil's memory, I would really appreciate any amount, however small, you can send my way.

You just need to click on the donate button and you will be taken through how to make a secure payment.

The button is here and also in the top right of the blog:

If you'd like to help but would prefer to send me a cheque, please email me linaitchison@gmail[dot]com and I will reply with my postal address.

Please also email me if you are interested in knowing more about the form my book of short stories will take.

This will be put towards airfare for the three of us. Should there be enough funds raised, more money will go towards local feeding programmes.

Thank you for reading.

Sometimes it's okay not to be okay

I can't remember which kind soul once told me this.

It was in the days I was blogging about mental health, having worked with a branch of Mind.

Now I have found myself reflecting on this simple yet striking sentiment many times in recent weeks.

I have been having the most vile flashbacks to things that happened to our family and feeling overwhelmed by sadness. My memory continues to be very problematic. This has made my usual daily routine of writing and looking after customers, almost impossible.

Being keen to continue at work has created more problems than it has solved. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

I so want to wave a magic wand, to feel okay, to live life to the fullest for me, my children and my lovely Neil, and find it very hard to accept that it's not possible. So I end up beating myself up for being useless. This has to stop.

Last night as I lay in bed, memories cascaded through my mind. But they were happy memories. This has to be a step forward. I have been trapped a little in bad, bad memories, genuine, aching trauma that my mind and body has struggled to process.

After an initial burst of getting on with things at work and declaring I was now going to be 'braver' in business as a result of my situation, I have come to a grinding halt.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, I can't make my mind up which) medical professionals agree. I am clear and they are clear, that I'm not depressed, but I continue to feel anxious and invent negative scenarios purely through stress. My GP sent me to an emotional well-being service (lovely name, so much better than mental health) where I burst into tears at the start of the session, when the question "Who do you live with?" was the trigger. It didn't take long to be told I was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

People who care about me asked what happened next and how this will be treated. It makes me laugh that actually I can't remember! I think I'm on a waiting list.

Meanwhile I fight every urge that says PTSD is a load of nonsense and urges me to get a grip.

I've also been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, following in the footsteps of close family members. My high blood sugar levels have affected how tired I have been feeling and I'm on medication.

This makes me feel crap too - I have been overweight for far too long. But the tablets are working and I am starting to feel more alert. The connotations of laziness and greed that lie behind a Type 2 diabetes diagnosis inevitably play on my mind but I have to be positive and optimistic about my health. For me and my girls it's imperative, now more than ever, that I continue to lose weight (I am a good two and a half stone lighter than I have been.) I don't want to stay on the medication long term and have already significantly lowered my blood sugar through a change in eating habits.

So often I have dished out advice, to family and friends that they need to be kind to themselves.
I need to do the same.

I've been told everything I'm doing, including work and going on holiday is a distraction and that I need to grieve properly. "Shut the door and cry," were the exact words.

So that's what I have been doing. My head feels like it's full of candy floss. 

I've also booked some complementary therapy. What would I say to a friend who has been through all I have? I'd say give yourself a break and stop judging yourself so harshly. Give yourself permission to take time to heal.

Grief is something that has to be let in properly to then be let out, this I try to understand. When I think about what I'm still seeing, I have to acknowledge overcoming that needs strength. But that strength means being strong enough not to pretend to be okay. My neighbour tells me even being upright when faced with such pain is an incredible achievement. 

I need to start to believe her.

It's okay to not 'get a grip' or 'get on with things' or pull myself together sometimes. I am doing my best and that will have to be good enough.

Thanks for reading. 

Stuck

Apparently, my grief is stuck.

I've been having a bloody nightmare. Too often I have found myself blundering around, on a different planet, incapable of remembering something that happened last week or five minutes ago.

Sometimes the pain is unbearable.

I've felt things build up through the day, going from a mild feeling of unease in the morning to what I'd call a complete disconnection and a head full of fuzz, by the time it's evening.

All the time I am wondering if I have slipped into a clinical depression.

With emotions so close to the surface, my temper has been short and I have yelled in desperation at the smallest thing. I've doubled up in tears and got a parking ticket on a day I ventured out in connection with official matters. I've been buried in mountains of paperwork and after an initial spurt of 'getting back into it' at work, I was forced by way of being a bumbling wreck, to spend some time by myself at home. I felt safe in front of the telly, watching crap. There have been painful tears, helpless crying in supermarkets as I remember stuff from this time last year or the following months.

Songs on the radio have me in floods.

Flashbacks are coming thick and fast.

I felt that the more time that passed since we lost Neil, the further away he feels and I can't bear that. I remain grateful for all I do have, our beautiful children, wonderful family and friends and remind myself how much worse off so many people are.

I have answered my own question about whether my state of despair comes from grief, depression or perhaps both. I am clear that I'm not depressed. Any whiff of that and I would be straight to the doctor, I have always promised myself that, but sometimes it's hard to know the difference.

My grief has turned messy - violent snot-filled episodes of holding a jumper I bought Neil to my chest and howling in the small hours. It helps to let it out.

Our lovely grief counsellor says she would like to see me more often and that I will bring Neil closer again by thinking of good times. She acknowledges how hard that is but that  I have to try.

There have been times when I have been able to think of Neil and smile, on the aeroplane when we went away for a week, for example, as I imagined him there with me. But most of all, recalling how much we loved each other and the laughs and care we have shared, just makes me worse. It hurts too much and sometimes, I get furious that we can't still do those things.

But today, for the first time in ages, I have not only found my way into work, but returned after a lunch break. I realise how lucky I am to have been able to build my own work to the extent I can still be paid and not be here. I need to get on with it.

So that's what I'm doing.

Now when I feel stuck I think of the fact that Neil wouldn't want me to sit there doing nothing. I know he would want me to be kind to myself and to take my time. I don't think there's anything wrong with still grieving for the love of your life months or years after he is gone.

But his words that I shouldn't become a victim are ringing in my ears and I am simply doing my best. Writing it down helps. Thanks for reading.

Why can't I say the W word?

That's widow by the way.


There's a new book due out called A widow's guide to sex, love and relationships.

It's a novel -- not a self-help book :) -- and has reportedly bagged the writer a $700,000 advance.

Here's what author Carole Radziwill says about her work:


I couldn't help but wonder...Can sex and love co-exist peacefully? Are widows the new virgins? Are men biologically hardwired to spread their seed? The Widow’s Guide to Sex & Dating is a novel about death, sex and love, in that order.

And here's an opener about the plot:

While Claire Byrne is on a writing assignment in Texas, her philandering husband Charlie is struck dead in an absurd collision with a rare bronze sculpture. In the odd weeks that follow – funeral, Xanax, a swarthy undertaker, and mounting bills  -- Claire braces for her new life. She surrounds herself with an eccentric chorus of friends, psychics, storytellers and Jungian shrinks to guide her way. 


Described as based on real life but not autobiographical, it's tapping into a fascination with how widows relate to the opposite sex.

The salacious tome has already grabbed the sort of column inches more earnest authors can but dream of.

But it makes me feel a teensy bit queasy. When do we ever hear of widows as anything other than a stoic older woman forever living in the past or at the other extreme, a sex starved predator for whom other people's husbands are easy prey?

I'm neither and nor will I ever be.

"Are widows the new virgins?" what on earth does that mean? I don't know but I do know the answer's no.

I'm interested in finding out about how we view widows and how stereotypes may be challenged.

Do you know of anyone or anything I should read about to help me as I find out for myself what it's like to be a widow? What resources would you recommend?

I'd love to find out more -- even if I can't bring myself to say the word out loud.

Thank you.

Sec Ed feature on helping bereaved pupils

Thank you to everyone who replied and offered their insights about helping bereaved children at secondary school.

The resulting piece is published today and you can read it here.

I'm pleased to have been able to contribute this feature and hope that it can help raise awareness of how grief isn't a straightforward journey for teenagers.

Thanks for reading.

This time last year

Tucking into mouth-watering seafood in a plush Welsh hotel restaurant, Neil beamed with happiness and pride on our twin daughters’ 13^th birthday.

We watched peacocks strut past the window.

"Why do they have those colourful feathers?” asked our daughter Melissa. Neil smiled and explained why the birds fanned their blue-green tails.

“Don’t you love the way Dad knows this stuff?” I laughed to Melissa and her twin sister, Emily, savouring our meal at Ruthin Castle, Denbighshire.

It was a fantastic night.

Our enjoyment was made all the better because our stay was part of an expenses paid trip as guests of a local tourist organisation for our family travel site Have a Lovely Time. 

I wrote in my review that when you think of a weekend away with the family, North Wales Borderlands possibly isn’t somewhere that first pops into your head – as there’s no beach in paddling distance.

Taking two teenage daughters and hoping to keep them entertained all weekend can be difficult at times, wherever it is. But this area was jam-packed with adventures, I said. I added that the luxury that we stayed in was brilliant and provided us with some precious memories to treasure.

Little did I know how much I would want to cling on to those memories. 

We stayed our first night in Celyn Villa, a lovely little B&B near Holywell, with the breathtaking Clwydian Hills and Moel Famau as a backdrop.

Pauline and Les who run the B&B really made a fuss of us, with balloons, cake and chocolate  for the girls, as well as preparing a succulent steak dinner.

Wherever we went we had a standing joke about how a posh breakfast was the best thing about our stay. But breakfast time on our latest trip brought a new worry.

Neil was in pain. He feared he’d hurt his back playing golf.

We were supposed to be climbing nearby Moel Famau. When Neil said he couldn’t manage it, I knew things were serious. As our girls ran ahead, I huffed and puffed my way up and took in the wonderful view.

Then tears came, I was so worried about Neil and what on earth may have been wrong.

But I had no clue what life had in store and how cruel it could be.

Two days after coming home Neil was finding it hard to breathe. We were sent to New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton.

That's when our nightmare began. Neil went through so much and we were there with him for every step. It's too painful for me to write about and I am still getting flashbacks.

This year, as our girls approach their birthday, it's five months since we lost Neil. I am inconsolable that he isn't here to see his beautiful girls on their special day and besides myself with sadness that they have only known their amazing, loving, decent dad for 13 years.

I am doing my best to look forward to all we have planned with love and hope and to keep going day by day.

But it's not easy.

Thank you for reading.

Telling our story in the Daily Express

A piece I wrote about me, Neil, our girls and our plans for our life without him appeared in the Daily Express yesterday:

We'll see the world in my husband's memory.

I wanted to see a story in print about how much we all love Neil and how we are determined to live our lives to the full.

I'm hugely touched by the incredibly positive and supportive reaction I've had since sharing our story. Thank you to everyone who has been in touch. People have shared their own stories of loss and told me they have been moved by ours.

The phone rang with people telling me how much they appreciated my feature, others emailed me and Facebook and Twitter was awash with people sharing the link and passing on their good wishes.

It was lovely for me to see this reaction, thank you.

I'm now also telling our story in a women's weekly magazine so I'm pleased about that too.

One thing the experience of working on this hugely personal story for a newspaper has helped underline for me is that I can be positive and look forward with love. This has made me more determined to carry on this blog as well and be positive when I can.

It also gave me a push to pick our travel site, Have a Lovely Time, back up. I haven't been able to bear to look at it.

I'm trying my best to think about what we have rather than what we don't. That's a lot. It's when I think what we have all lost that I'm inconsolable.

Thanks for reading.