a series of mid life crices

I wrote this diary for my family. I got a bit tired of giving constant updates by text on what we were doing with our lives and decided to write reports when anything changed and post them on Facebook so that they would know where we were and what we were doing. l loved writing while we were travelling but my absolute favourite day was ‘Welcome to Holland’ on November 2nd 2018, it still makes me laugh and reminds me of the happiness we shared.

This is the last entry in this diary. My life is forever changed, I’m no longer a wife, still a mother and yiayia but no longer a wife. I say this twice because it is important to me.

I have had to reevaluate myself and my future. It was very difficult in the beginning because I didn’t think I had a future, I didn’t think life was worth anything, I couldn’t see the point of thinking; even eating, drinking and getting up in the morning was so hard. Slowly and with the support of my family and friends I have recovered to the point that I am ready to start afresh.

For almost the whole of my life I have written, I wrote and still write poetry. I made up stories for the kids and wrote letters to Rickie, especially if I had something important to say. I couldn’t write for eighteen months after he died but the sea and my friends gave me back the desire to once again put pen to paper.

I should have gone to uni and studied years ago but the truth is that I didn’t believe I was clever enough, I thought I had cheated into being able to speak more than one language and that the stuff I wrote was just rubbish. (You never believe your parents, they’re supposed to tell you you can do things!)

I start studying on the 5th Feb this year and start a degree in English language in October this year, I can’t change my mind now because I have written it down so everybody will know. I don’t suddenly think I’m clever I just don’t care if I fail. I will continue to write but with a completely different purpose.

Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the last two years, I cannot express strongly enough how wonderful you have all been, especially to the one who helped me remember who I was, rediscover my own voice and make a choice about my future (you know who you are!) and thank you to everybody who enjoyed reading about our adventures over the last four years, I’m glad to have shared them.

Lots of love from Kären xxxx

I started 2022 with three children and one grandchild and along the way I collected two more children and one more grandchild, I knew they were mine and I have loved them for a long time but when their remaining parent died in August we knew they should be ours. I have an extra daughter, an extra son and am Yiayia to a gorgeous little girl . The beautiful V is living with me and she’s wonderful, Child One always wanted a sister and now she has two. I am so often moved by the kindness and compassion of my children and their partners and by how easy it is to grow love.

We had a fabulous Christmas in the Alps which was, for me anyway, an easing of sadness and a discovery of a new happiness.

I am still struggling to find the pieces of me that I didn’t realise were missing until I was on my own, I want to be an honest and complete representation of who I should be or should have been. Marriage and children create a particular path for one to follow which leaves certain aspects of ones development unmonitored. There are tools you need when you are no longer part of a team, parts of you that have been totally neglected. I am lucky, I have friends who are holding my hands and helping me to stand alone, reminding me of who I was before and showing me who I can be now.

I was asked what were my plans for the future, I walked a long way today and thought about that. I will be 58 next month, where do I want to go with my life now? I had planned to decide in July but why not now, the first day of a new year?

I want to be free to develop myself without compromise, a big ask in this fettered world, but I need freedom from compromise, freedom from the binds of my life as it was, freedom to be entire and complete, body, mind and spirit.

I will commence two projects simultaneously, (while looking after grandchildren) and in July when my deadline arrives I should have decided which path to follow, only time will tell whether I have chosen well.

Here’s to a totally new year.

Two years in the planning, twenty-two people in one chalet and we are going skiing for Christmas!

We had a conversation around the kitchen table when we collectively defied the lockdown rules at Christmas 2020, ‘Wouldn’t it be fabulous to have a snowy Christmas?’ There was a chalet called Rikiki nestled at the bottom of the nursery slope at Courchevel and a rainbow on the day we were discussing whether it would be a good idea, so we booked it, even Mama is coming with her two new hips and new knee!

We are going to ski, I am very proficient at the preemptive fall, I don’t like going fast, going downhill or heights and still came home in a wheelchair last time! Child one has never done it, Thing two snowboards like a stuntman, Lucky and Cal point their skis down the mountain and hurtle as fast as possible. My baby brother is one of those ski obsessed people who go to the gym every day in preparation, Beautiful Sophia is brilliant and Apple Spen skis like a pro. The Italian however, is I fear, going to show everyone up, having skied before she could walk.

We have five children with us, the youngest 4 months and the eldest 6 years, stockings and presents for the fireplace (on not in), matching tops with our names on. Secret Santa presents at the ready. Everybody knows where they need to be and at what time, skis, boots and helmets ordered, ski lessons booked. Suitcases are being packed as I type and I cannot wait. Covid wasn’t kind to our family for the last two christmases so this year we are determined that it will be brilliant.

It’s like herding butterflies; trying to organise this family, but we have had plenty of time to do it and if we can all get to the airport on time with the correct weight of luggage and the right name on the t-shirt we should be allowed on the plane.

France here we come! (Sorry you lost the World Cup)

Two years ago I began my new position as widow.  A shitty title for a shitty status.

I am still me, I am fundamentally the same person that I have always been, a little scarred and sad around the edges but still me.  I like to laugh,  I’m not the quietest person in the room and I can’t seem to grow up properly.    I love my children, grandson, dog, family and friends, not always in that order.

I have always been independent, Rickie and I had very different hobbies and interests and were comfortable doing new things one without the other, which is why we worked so well.

But, and it is a big but, it is my observation that one is viewed differently when unmarried, I know it isn’t my imagination because I have discussed it at length with fellow members of the widowhood/single women club.

Everything is different now, small minds in smaller people misunderstand my intentions; offer a handy man a cup of tea and he feels compelled to tell you he’s married just in case you have designs upon his person.  Laugh with a man you’re not related to and gossip reaches you a few days later.  It is debilitating to have to be someone you aren’t in order to fit nicely into a societal impression of how one should behave when in my position.

I’m not going to comply.  I will still laugh when I’m happy, offer sustenance when necessary, spend time with people I love, do things I want to do and if I am judged harshly for such undignified behaviour so be it.  One lost life is enough,  I refuse to lose mine too,  I’m OK by myself, I don’t need your pity or your  judgement and I still live by my own code that I stole from the Brownies when I was seven;  Think of others before yourself and do a good turn every day.

So fuck off society.  My friend of the too short fringe, I, and all other widowed/divorced/single women the world over can do whatever we want, however we choose, whenever we can, provided we do no harm to another human being, after all it is 2022 not 1822.

P.S.  Mama I’m getting a tattoo.

 

 

I met him when I was 19

We had lately arrived in what I considered to be the back of beyond, miles from anywhere, I was livid at having had to leave my home at such a complicated age, I had moved away from my friends, the place I had grown up, in the days before communication was so easy. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to start again.  It seemed that every couple of years something changed.  School, home, country, language.  I’m not afraid of a challenge so I took my sister and my dog and went to the local pub.  

I had seen him before, he came to the place I was working to see his mate.  He hadn’t noticed me, in the corner behind the word processor but I remember that day, his bright green eyes, his coal black hair, his cocky assuredness.

I made myself a new dress with a big pocket for our tiny dog with the idea that someone is bound to ask me why there’s a dog in my pocket, thus giving me the opportunity to make a new friend.   

It was Rickie, he was the one who noticed me and I remember his first words.

You’re a bit of a freaky chick, aren’t you?

We married eighteen months later.

It wasn’t all moonlight and roses, too opinionated, just out of childhood, with totally opposing views on absolutely everything. Our arguments in the early days were spectacular but making up was more fun.

He lost his father in 1988, Rickie told me his father was going to die and the worst thing would be that he would never see our children.  I can fix that I thought and threw my pills in the bin.  The next morning I saw the error of my ways and decided to start the next packet as soon as I got my period.  I never did, our daughter was born in March.  Sadly his father died on November the 27th, he never did meet her.  Two boys followed and our family of five was complete.

We did what most families do, we worked hard to make ends meet and it was a struggle but we were happy.  

Now he is gone.

I was looked after, carefree, supported and loved, I had freedom to think, feel and do as I pleased, secure in the knowledge that my one person always had my back and I had his.

Does it matter how he died? Does it matter that I waited until 12.50 every day for 15 days for my one permitted call to the hospital to find out how he was doing? Does it matter that for 2 days he improved?  Does it matter that I knew when he died?  I felt it.  I felt him leave me, a pressure built up inside me so big that I found myself pacing around the room and shouting at him to fight until there was a sudden release, a peace, a stillness.  I knew when the phone call came ten minutes later.  I was calm for that moment.  I couldn’t say goodbye.  I couldn’t go to his cremation.  My family could not come to me until he was gone.  And no-one prepares you for the complete physicality, the pain of loss, the inability to stand, to hold your body upright, to breathe, to speak, the screaming, the total unfairness of it all, the rock on your chest, in your throat, in your brain.

He was 57 years old and I thought we would grow old together.

We made it through the first Christmas, he hasn’t been gone a month until tomorrow. There’s such a big space without him here.

The pain is not so consistent now, it ebbs and flows in waves, sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, always unexpected, triggered by the smallest things.  Bursting into tears in Waitrose when someone says happy Christmas, opening the jam I made with the apricots he froze when he was stuck in Corfu and I was stuck in England. Who would have imagined then that he wouldn’t be here to eat it.  I’ll never again see the pride on his face when he cooked me a meal and it was delicious.

The sadness in the eyes of my children is the hardest thing to bear, I’m the mother and I can’t make it better, I can’t bring him back.

It doesn’t matter what you say as long as you say something

Here I find myself two months on, living in my mother’s house with my youngest son.  I am at a crossroads.  I have contacted the appropriate authorities to find our investments and money, I have a house in Corfu, empty and waiting for me to come back and I feel it calling me, the pull is getting stronger every day.  Owing to travel restrictions I can’t go anywhere at the moment but I feel I have a choice. I could give the money to the children and go and live my life in Corfu but then I will have left my grandson.

Knowing you will never again be held by someone who loves you best, you have empty arms and a weight in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.

I don’t want to spend the entirety of my days living a life that other people want me to live, I so want to choose my own path.

I started therapy yesterday, 24th February

Saw a headline today, granny tackles bag snatcher

I shall get chickens and ten cats I’ve already starting knitting so I shall have tea cosies for my head

I’m writing you a letter to thank you for your time.

For days and weeks and months and years

For tantrums tears and smiles

We crossed a lot of bridges

We didn’t ‘wait ’til later’

But lived the here and now 

We made each other happy 

Never really knowing how

We didn’t make a plan or map out our future

We lived and loved and built a family of strength and joy

My heart is surely broken but I will survive

You taught me well and carefully 

I hope I make you proud.

How lucky I am to have had something that makes saying goodbye so hard

Spoke to financial advisor today, I’m not going to starve for that I thank you.

Do not say that he has passed

Do not ask if I have lost my husband?

He is not lost, I did not leave him in Sainsbury’s

This brutal disease

Stole him

He is dead

The world keeps turning 

I have to put one foot in front of another

But do not feel that I am gossamer 

There is nothing you can say to make things worse

And your words cannot make it better

Walk by my side and do not judge me

I will survive.

I am a glass half full kind of girl but I find I do not function quite so well when my glass is taken away and my life spills out all over the place

I bought a handbag today, and some sheets for my first house alone.

Good things about being a widow;

Not shaving armpits – are we French? Nothing else.

World has not stopped turning because you’re not in it

First day on my own since  last December

They tell you they haven’t invited you because they didn’t think you’d be up for it but the truth is that they don’t want to see you, they don’t know what to say to you. They are worried that you’ll bring down the mood.  Especially the people who so clearly wish it had not been you who’d survived. 

You don’t only lose your partner, you lose the security of happiness, friendship and love.  

My grandma gave me whisky glasses and told me keep a little bit of my heart protected just in case, I should have listened.

I bought new Dr Martens today not quite the same as the boots I was wearing when I met you, these are covered in flowers not studs, I didn’t make my own dress but the dog wouldn’t fit in my pocket anyway.  I was going to wear our Italian shoes but they didn’t match.  Look how far I’ve come that I care about coordinating.

 My bedroom is not quite as much like that of a Montmartre prostitute as you would have expected from me.

It is a year on Saturday since we held your memorial and I have started to believe in life again, our daughter is getting married next month and finally I feel excited and happy, not too  scared to write your speech, stand up and tell her how proud we are of her. 

I am so very grateful to the people who have carried me, pushed me and pulled me back to life.  I dived into the sea last weekend, I didn’t keep going I came back to the shore to live the life I’ve been dealt.

Over and out.

 

We have spent three weeks in a tuscan villa perched in the hills above Rome with Child One’s Italian fiancee and her family.  I had only met her mother briefly after R’s funeral and never met her father but we arrived here, complete with our dogs, Sunny and Rainbow to spend Christmas.  They are very brave.

Rome is the most beautiful, breathtaking and serene city I have been to and, considering the circumstances (Brexit and Covid) the people are incredibly welcoming and friendly.  But the scenery!  Every corner has a secret, every building has history.  I know a  little about the Roman Empire mostly from Spartacus and the Life of Brian, I’d like to add I Claudius but I can’t but nothing prepared me for the reality.

The beautiful Mama Rosella and I spent a week exploring on our own while the others worked.  We visited the Imperial Forum and stayed for hours, searched the churches for hidden masterpieces, my new favourite artist is Caravaggio, we saw work by Canaletto, Michael Angelo and so many others. She showed me her city and I was entranced.

I loved it and her as each day I felt myself uncurl.

Lucky arrived by aeroplane on Thursday, we immediately introduced him to Roman food by means of a restaurant belonging to a family friend.  Pasta as a starter, a steak as big as his plate and he was hooked!

We all went to Pompeii – we could only go for a day because of the dogs which wasn’t enough – we will go back, we barely saw half of it.  My two offspring went off by themselves on a body hunt which left me to spend as long a I liked looking at things and absorbing the place.

We went to the seaside, a 30km beach, ate vongole which the Italian had been craving for months, they have a summer home at the sea because it’s too hot in Rome in the summer.

I must describe the dogs, Sunny is as noisy as can be, Rainbow an adorable and gorgeous puppy, Bart is an elderly old gentleman and Lisa is an  absolutely lovable walking dustbin.  They formed themselves into a little gang, teaching each other dreadful things, Rainbow covered the whole house in sticks, Sunny and Lisa emptied the fireplace, Bart sat quietly observing them and expending discipline as necessary.  We were very careful to remember to put food away but on our last night Child One had placed a bowl of cooked endive in the middle of the kitchen table, hearing a noise I ventured upstairs to see Lisa in the middle of the table exactly like a mountain goat, finishing the last of the vegetables!

It has been a fabulous holiday and a wonderful Italian Christmas with a beautiful family who have welcomed us into their home and their lives.  I hope they forgive me for bringing a Christmas pudding and setting actual fire to it in their microwave (underestimated the power) leaving behind us the gentle aroma of burnt sugar and raisins that will take days to dissipate.

We head home today, Lucky and I, the girls go home by plane.   We had planned to spend a few days exploring together, choosing where to spend new year.  We can’t, France won’t let us, we have to be in Calais within 48 hours of leaving Italy.  I am currently at the bottom of the Alps, cosy and warm in my bunk with Lucky and the dogs ‘downstairs’ listening to the wind blowing down from the mountains.  We’re crossing via Mont Blanc tunnel tomorrow and hope the French let us pass.

 

 

I did it, I drove on the wrong side of the road all the way to Rome!

We made it to the channel tunnel in time, checked in the dogs and went straight to the train.  The dogs were ok with the pressure change, Sunny cried last time but I think that was more to do with his lack of space than anything else!  We drove off and I kept repeating to myself ‘stay at the edge’.  It worked perfectly and we drove without incident to Dijon.  Stopping for a picnic and to let the dogs stretch their legs on the way we ended up in a tiny village outside the city we found a beautiful campsite (we couldn’t actually tell it was beautiful until the morning).  The restaurant was open and we had a delicious meal, fabulous local wine and the girls had cocktails.

It rained in the night, two dogs and mud up to our knees, trying to keep everything clean convinced Child One that she prefers a hotel with an ensuite.  I knew there was a reason we call her a princess.

The next day we found the most delicious bakery and ate while we drove to Bologna through the alps.  It was exactly like driving on a Christmas cake until the snow started.  Pretty little flakes, us oohing and aahing in the car with Christmas songs playing, as we drove on it got thicker and thicker until we could hardly see, it got a bit scary, we couldn’t decide whether to stop and  put on the snow chains, which none of us knew how to do.  Suddenly, out of nowhere a snow plough appeared and we followed it until we were in the clear.  Bit different to snow at home!

We went through the Mont Blanc tunnel and down the mountains with our ears popping and stopped for pizza at a service station.  I was informed that mine was spinach and sausage but it tasted of fish, I thought that it was off but apparently they had given me spinach and anchovy by mistake, bit of a shock!  Not a fan.

We stayed at an immaculate campsite outside Bologna and went for supper with the Italian’s brother – utterly delicious, not an anchovy in site and 50 year old balsamic, which I naively asked if I could put on salad, it wasn’t until later that I found out how precious it is!

We stayed in Bologna for the morning as the Italian had to work, Child one and I walked around the town which is fabulous and well worth a return trip, especially to see the statues.  We got mortadella rolls from the deli round the corner from the brother’s house, left at about two and drove the rest of the way to Roma!

As it took me eight goes to pass my driving test I’m feeling pretty proud of myself now!

We had a plan, Child one and the Italian were to arrive at my home at nine thirty in the morning on Friday, where they would both work until 4, whereupon we would pack the car and prepare everything for the 6am departure.

I had planned to do my packing on Thursday afternoon so it really all went wrong when my lovely B offered me a haircut which I obviously accepted,  This meant I hadn’t packed when I went to bed on Thursday night and was unprepared for  the email I received from Eurotunnel telling me I needed a Covid test before I left for France.  I dutifully booked three tests for 11am the following morning.

Sunny was booked into the groomers at 9, I took him, expecting the girls to be there when I got home.  The car the girls had rented was late being collected, so I changed the time for the test.  The paperwork for the dog was ready at the vet at 8am.  The girls forgot to collect it, realised half way up the M4 and had to go back to London.  The Italian had a meeting which meant they wouldn’t be able to leave before 1pm thus missing their Covid tests, after 45 minutes on hold I had given up trying to change them again.  I rushed to Sainsbury’s to buy food for the trip (forgetting most of it) and drove to Swindon to take my test.  The girls booked different tests for later.

Baby F was coming at 3 to give our Chilean the chance to check out a nursery and the moment he arrived the groomer phoned to say Sunny was ready.  I had taken out the car seat and our baby wasn’t feeling very well.  I tucked him under one arm and carried the seat back to the car to collect the dog.   By the time I got home I had lost the impetus to organise anything so I went ahead and packed the car with the bedding and food, bravely assisted by my sister.  The girls arrived and we had to pretend that their dog hadn’t been in the rental car so Child one had to hide around the corner.  They left the paperwork for the dog in the rental car.

They remembered just in time.

We then had to drive to Reading for additional covid tests by which time it was dark.  Waiting for the traffic lights to change a lady in a delightful white Mercedes decided to take the opportunity drive into the back of Vanley.

So here we are, not properly packed, no covid tests, white car attached to Vanley’s arse, causing a massive traffic jam in Newbury and supposed to leave in less than 12 hours.

Luckily Vanley has a tow bar, a big chunk of metal which caused the front of the white car to collapse and not actually touch my lovely van at all.  We exchanged insurance details, my Sister took photos, looked at the driver sternly and we left her in the middle of the road, she even tried to cause further damage by driving into the side Vanley but the Italian stopped her.

We headed to Reading, running late and two Covid tests were taken and were negative.  We were so hungry we ate drive through McDonalds…….

We leave at 6 am and I have only driven Vanley overseas twice, each time for less than an hour and on familiar roads.

We drove home, chucked the cases in the car and went to bed.

 

My darling R

Thank you for your time.

The days, the weeks, the months and years

The tantrums, tears and smiles

We didn’t ‘wait ’til later’

And we surely didn’t plan

We lived the here and now each day 

And watched our children shine

We lived and loved and built a family of strength and joy

My heart is surely broken but I know I will survive

You taught me well and carefully 

I hope I make you proud.

How lucky I am to have loved you

Thank you for your time

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

We have had an idyllic three months since we arrived on Corfu but our future is stolen and my darling R died yesterday, 27th November, in Corfu hospital, he was only 57.  I am heartbroken.

We had been making plans for the future, going to the beach, on long walks with picnics, having holidays, planting a garden, staying quiet and being together.

We didn’t go anywhere that would put us at risk, we wore our masks, we social distanced, I don’t know how, but still this hideous disease stole my husband and has left me to walk my path alone.

I cannot express how hard these past three weeks have been for his family and how hard he tried to live.

We Were the lucky ones, we were happy and loved each other for 35 years. We welcomed our children, grandson, nieces, nephews, friends and family who enriched our lives and increased our love.  He was the kindest, most generous, clever, funny, loved and loving man you could ever meet, our lives are less because he is not here.

I will pack up the house and leave this island that welcomed us with open arms to bring him back to his devastated family in England and open a new chapter with my heart in little pieces.