Friday, 27 August 2010

HOW AM I?

It occurred to me that when Davy was ill he knew everyone needed to be kept informed. He was too ill to speak to anyone and encouraged me to pass information on through this blog, which I did. The one thing that I found difficult was writing about was how I was coping. I don't find it easy to speak of my own emotional pain. In a situation like this Davy would say "If you don't speak, I can't see you". One of his many, many wise sayings. So here I go - I speak.

Concerned friends and colleagues ask how I am and, naturally, I say "fine". I actually am fine most of the time. I have built up "coping mechanisms" throughout difficult periods in life and this has helped me now.

But every so often pain gets under the radar. An example - "Last of the Summer Wine", one of our longest running TV sitcoms. It's a charming, gentle tale of friendship between aging men who behave like naughty young boys, getting into difficult situations as the result of their endless curiosity. It was one of Davy's favourite programmes.

I wasn't particularly interested in it, but used to love hearing Davy laugh out loud watching their mad behaviour. It seemed to release the little boy within. This helped me to "see Davy" who didn't normally "belly laugh".

Recently there has been much talk of the series coming to an end. The "coping me" thought "sad, but hey! it's inevitable. All things have to come to an end".

So...this morning the inevitable happened - after nearly 40 years the final episode is scheduled for this Sunday and it is now a news item. Without warning Breakfast TV played the signature tune. Under the radar! Hearing that music bought memories flooding back again and I had a massive physical pain in the pit of my stomoch. I "felt" the mellow Sunday evenings when we would sit in quiet companionship, side by side, him enjoying the programme, me enjoying him. We thought it would never end, but inevitabley it did.

I have been preparing myself for the fact that today is our wedding aniversary and I was OK, but hearing the signature tune of that programme made me come unglued. Now isn't that odd?

So, how am I? Fine, I get through most days with interest, hope and optimism, enjoying life in the way that Davy taught me, but every now and then something gets under the radar to stick that red hot poker into the pit of my stomoch.

23 comments:

DogLover said...

That's a brave posting! I know what you mean.

[And as I write this, they are playing the Last of the Summer Wine on TV news in the next room - just as you say !!!]

You are wise old thing and know how to cope, but it's never possible to be invulnerable all the time. I think that when these occasions occur we should just face them and remember everything we can about them and be fond or sad or both. And then, when the moment has passed, move on - do something entirely practical that demands mental application or telephone someone about some important meeting or something - anything that induces a change of mood.

That doesn't mean, though, that such moments aren't almost unbearable. We just have to survive them as best we can.

Retiredandcrazy said...

You hit the nail on the head there DogLover. It's never possible to be invulnerableall the time. How true that is.

I'm now off the cinema with two of my greatgrandaughters to see a steet dancing film and then on to lunch at a "family pub". How exciting is that?

Alcoholic Daze (ADDY) said...

I too saw that news item on breakfast TV. I am so sorry you are having a bad patch and that today is the first wedding anniversay. (If you remember on mine, I scattered his ashes!!) I've been told (and it helps) that grief comes in waves and hits you from nowhere unawares. The aves come frequently at first and then less and less so, as time goes on, but they can still catch you out unawares at times. The best thing to do when those waves hit you, is to bob about like a cork in the sea and let the grief wash over you and recede. Like the little cork, you'll stay afloat to cary on again. ((((Cyber hugs)))).

Alcoholic Daze (ADDY) said...

ooops - a few typos there!

The Wrenns said...

I have often wondered if you were truly doing okay--even through all your travelings and keeping busy. From what I read on your blog, I sense that you are a strong woman and have held up well--of course you will have moments of overwhelming memories. I am glad you reached out and shared these feeling with us (some of us being total strangers). You have your readers' support and love!

RNSANE said...

I feel for you today, Ann. I know anniversaries must be hard...your and Davy's wedding anniversary. The anniversary of Davy's death will be another hard one. You have been so busy with all sorts of things in the past few months but, of course, when the quiet intrudes, you'll be having feelings of sadness. And that is as it should be.

Maggie May said...

Thank you for sharing this....... It seems strange that The Last of the Summer Wine is ending but maybe it is a sort of closure. However there will be many other things, I suspect that will stab at you without warning.......... because I believe that this is part of the grieving process.
Well done for the wonderful way you are handling things.
Brave lady.
Maggie X

Nuts in May

Sandi McBride said...

I've been away for awhile, but now I'm back I find that so much has changed for so many of my friends. I hope you will continue to share your self with us, let us know how you really are and know that we share the same things, being humans. So often we say "I know how you feel" when we should say "One day I'll know what you're going through"...you've really tohed my heart tonight. We can't be strong all the time, sometimes we need the healing tears to help us face another day. I wish you were here, I'd make you a nice meal and we'd go walking through the meadows cats at our heels, wind in our hair. My door is always open,
love
Sandi

Retiredandcrazy said...

Your words are very comforting Addy. "Waves" certainly describe the process very well don't they? One minute I seem to be coping then "wam" something unexpected happens and I'm a bit of a wreck for a while.

Retiredandcrazy said...

Thanks "the wrens". Sorry, I don't know your name, you sound a really interesting person. Thanks for you kind words.

Retiredandcrazy said...

That's the word isn't it Carmen? When the "quiet" intrudes! How profound and descriptive. Thanks for helping me through this tough time.

Retiredandcrazy said...

I have heard heroes from the battlefront described as brave and they honestly don't know why because all they have done is react to circumstances. I feel like that Maggie, I'm actually not at all brave, but thanks to Davy I learned to live "one day at a time".

Retiredandcrazy said...

I would love to visit for some tlc right now Sandi, but life intrudes doesn't it? And you need some R&R after your busy summer! Love you.

Mare Freeborn said...

You are in my thoughts often. Hope you do OK on your anniversary. Bet ya Davey is smiling down at you right now.

Suldog said...

Isn't it odd how something will blindside you like that, bringing emotions to the fore? Every so often, even 16 years after his passing, I'll be watching something on TV, and think, "Gee, My Dad would really like that." Then, I realize he isn't here to share it with, and I get misty.

If you didn't get those feelings every now and again, then it wasn't love. It's OK. Let the tears loose for a bit and you'll feel better.

Eliza said...

(((((((hugs)))))))))

Strawberry Jam Anne said...

It is strange isn't it that the "little" things get to us most. The last straw etc....
Still early days for you though RAC and I think you have been marvellous. A x

Retiredandcrazy said...

Yes, I think Davy is smiling down on me for a number of reasons Mare!

Retiredandcrazy said...

One of my problems Suldog is that, being British, I find it hard to show emotions, but for some odd reason I can write about it and this helps. Odd isn't it?

Retiredandcrazy said...

Thanks for the hugs Eliza. They helped.

Retiredandcrazy said...

Your are right Anne, it is still early days.

Grit said...

thank you for telling us; my mum was the same. small things would catch her out, like she would wait with the car door open for dad to get in, and then realise it was three months past and he wasn't coming. little things like that were hard to bear.

Retiredandcrazy said...

Yes, grit. it's not the lions and tigers that get you, it's the rabbits that kick you to death you have to watch out for!