Shine Bright

When the idea of The Big Garden Fete was conceived I never believed for one minute it would generate the groundswell of goodwill that it did. It is again a source of some comfort to know that my wife was admired and loved by so many, obviously a fact that escaped me during her own life, and quite possibly Susan herself. People contributed their time to the cause, baked cakes, donated prizes and equipment, expressed their love and memories of their good friend, spent money and generally enjoyed themselves in a communal experience that didn't fail to put a smile on everyone's face and a warm glow in the heart. There is something about people you know and people you don't, people you recognise but barely talk to and those that you do coming together in an aim that lifts the spirits and my gratitude and thanks to so many is only matched by the huge positives that emerged from the event. From my special friend Mandy who helps me so much and gave up her garden and kitchen for the day, to her patient husband Ben, Debbie P, Debbie G, Elsa, Michelle, Lee, Lou, Brenda, Janus, Mike and Nikki to all of the partners and the children who pitched in, everyone else who helped, came, took part and spent money, thank-you..... 

I'm in strange place some 5 months, 6 days, approx 14 hours and a few seconds after her death. Amongst other cliches that I have bemoaned about in the past the one transient, moving, evolving certainty is the one to do with time. Time to grieve, time to get on, 'got to crack on', give it time, 'in time you will learn', time when I wake up, time when I go to bed. The clock ticking towards, towards what? Another hour of another day. Making the best of time (Saturday), enduing the worst of times (always). But always time. The one determinant that might improve  things, in guess what, time! This is part of a speech that I gave to close friends at the end of Saturday. I was slightly drunk when I gave it, that's a lie I was very drunk when I gave it but I think I recall I at least got it out. What I wanted to express, to convey was that my wife remains and always will, a part of my life. A permanent memory of love and togetherness. I wasn't drunk when I wrote it I hasten to add, well not that drunk!

I’ll try to share with you some of my thoughts and feelings, as tough as that may be, it would help, to tell you, my dear friends, what goes on inside my head, my heart and my soul, and has done, every day, of every hour, of every minute and every second since that morning on Wednesday 09^th April.

The loss of my wife was and is catastrophic. Utterly the worst thing, the very worst thing for me, Louise and Lily. A complete tragedy the which we will never get over or be free of or forget. Quite the contrary it lives with us always. It lives with me in particular every night, night after night, when Lily and Lou and have gone to bed and I sit alone, in my thoughts. I feel it when I rest my head on my pillow, every night, in the place where Sue and I used to be and all there is now are the diamond encrusted pillows she bought from Next. It lives with me when I wake up at 2.00am, then 3.30am then 4.20am staring at the blackness, quiet, a little standby light on our telly that we used to watch in bed together.  I feel it most when I wake up and have to get ready for the day and I don’t hear the normal “ Make us a cup of tea Matty”,  or when I come home from work and she isn’t there to say, “ Hello Matty!” . These are the times when I don’t forget. And as much as what we do, in her memory, to celebrate the wonderful person that she was, if I’m honest, I really would rather not be doing it. Not have to rely on memories and pictures and the lovely thoughts of my wife by others, nice those these are.  To be truthful I want my wife back. I want my wife to lie next to me again, I want to kiss her hair and smell her face. I want her to smile at me again. I want her to hold my hand. I would trade everything that has happened in her memory, all the wishes, love, memories and cards to have her back laughing, arguing, telling me what to do. And to embrace her tightly, and to kiss her, like we used to do to one another, in the good times, when we needed love. 

But these things will of course never be. So to all of you now, Suze closest friends and now mine. I haven’t moved on, I won’t, can’t, part of me died too on Wed 09^th. But I will learn to get by, and to live with the memory of my life before Sue died. And I will do what Sue would have wanted me to do, as I would, had it happened to me. To turn a page, to start another chapter. To find happiness. I think I'm entitled to that at the very least.

But not for one moment does any of this mean that I will have forgotten, or moved on, or got over it. Just that I am here and will live my life, just like Sue would want for me, as I would for her if it was me dead.

Happy birthday babes for tomorrow, 'Shine Bright Like a Diamond'! You’ll always be in my heart.

   

Impermanence

It's been a while since I last blogged. Much has continued to happen, milestones have come and gone. I haven't felt compelled to express my thoughts, I've been in this sort of weird state, really unlike me, a sort of state of  lethargy.. I'm never normally like that, I'm a 'get up and get at it' sort of guy (god sounds like I'm on a dating site). 

It's the summer holiday, a time of relaxation, reflection, having fun in the sun, booking holidays and forgetting about work, albeit momentarily..  I don't feel any of that though. Strange as it may seem I have always struggled a bit with the summer holidays. Lots of it alone, or with my Lil's over the years.. We've always done the parks, the swims, the beach, the days out, the days in, spending money, trying not to spend money. We still do from time to time, but Lil's is older now, insists on doing her own thing, the teenage habit of not getting up is creeping in. So that leaves more time on  my own, to look, to think, to brood, again not really me. 

So now its almost 4 months since Sue's death. The shock has subsided, occasional disbelief re-emerges but that too is fading, now I'm into this thing called impermanence, I like this word, it has layered meanings, a sort of change, flux, a continuation of time. It has Buddhist origins I'll let you know!! Nothing stands still, permanency doesn't exist. I think that's where I am, not knowing the future of course, like everyone, but my life changing, shifting, moving; the summer holidays will subside to be replaced by a new term of work. Lily starts a new school, the long days will draw to a close and my old house will creak, groan and shiver in the freezing temperatures of winter.  

My memories change as well. Lots of desperate images of illness and sickness being replaced by brighter, fantastic ones. It was my birthday a few weeks back, the old boy's turned 45. Suze always bought me amazing presents, organised amazing things for me. We were often on holiday so birthday banners, i-touches, cakes and drinks around shimmering pools in Cyprus is one. More vividly it was our anniversary on the 04th August, don't get me started on those memories. We were married in Argostoli Town Hall, Kefalonia. Funny thing it was the registrar's first one, she was nervous and a bit 'bumbly' although of course it was all Greek to us. But then there was someone else, the town mayor. Sue took a shine to him, even on our wedding day. For all the registrar's awkward nervousness he was calmness personified, smooth, dark and handsome, ha, ha... But she only had eyes for me, well sort of. The Waterwheel Restaurant by the banks of the lapping Ionian Sea. An amazing long, leisurely, boozy, hot reception with beautiful friends and family. These are amazing memories. They help me shift and change like the lapping Greek Sea. They make me smile. 

So time does indeed shift and Lily, Louise and I will move with this, move on in our own time, we want to be happy, like all of us we have this right. But I also know my friends and my family who have done so much to help us, I don't forget this, I never will, just like the memories of my beautiful Suze. I know my wife, she would want me to take care of the children and she would want us all to move on and have a happy life!

Screw You

To those that know me they are aware it is not in my nature, I run daily and am watchful to follow the ever conflicting advice about good diet and balance in what we eat the more than the odd aberration on alcohol aside. But grief does sly things with you, it likes to play tricks with you and tests your resilience, strength, fortitude and consistency. Sometimes I have an overwhelming desire to slouch on the sofa, 'wack' some crap on the telly, order the largest Domino's Pizza, pour myself an obscenely large glass of Sue's favourite Chateauneuf-Du-Pape, sink a tub of Haagen Dazs, stick a double two fingers in the air and say screw you, SCREW YOU! Ha, ha.... It makes me laugh......! 

But who am I screwing if you'll excuse the filthy pun? God! No, I've been there before in these blogs, not bothered by him now! The health service, no! The humorous insensitivity of people avoiding anything to do with death, dying, graves, illness or any other 'unmentionables' around me, no none of these. I'm saying 'screw you' to cancer, this despicable, disgusting disease that robs people of dignity, of loved ones and our attempts to live life hoping to avoid terrible tragedy and trauma. By saying 'screw you' often and loud enough we will defeat this illness one day, it will become a disease of the past. Lily competed in a 'Race for Life' and raised over £100 to help defeat this illness. Louise continues to live her life bravely, never forgetting her mum, but living her life, laughing and loving still, by this she is helping to defeat this disease. 

Two things recently that are also an amazing, living illustration of this. I shared a camping field in Oxford with 9 other dads and their children, all strangers to one another before the weekend but brought together by one defining thing, one terrible, tragic and lasting consequence, the untimely and early deaths of our beautiful wives and girlfriends. I came away from that weekend inspired, incredibly moved and humbled by brilliant, inspirational dads doing amazing things with their wonderful children. Playing with them, disciplining them, showing them the boundaries but loving them, caring and cuddling them or offering advice and as a result the children and young adults that were there were free to express themselves, to be themselves and live their lives just like any other child or young adult does despite their appallingly horrific circumstances, for make no bones about it, despite the fun and laughter, something appalling has happened to us all and continues to happen to us but we get on and thrive, despite this. In this way cancer will not defeat us. So for the Mike's and Mark's, Reece's, Richard's and others, to the beautiful children, the Sophie's, Olivia's and Holly's and others and to those beautiful, absent wives, girlfriends and mothers' to these wonderful children, this was our way to fight back, to remember, to get on and say 'screw you cancer'.

My sisters organised and hosted their garden fete to benefit Sue's charity, A.M.M.F. In brilliant sunshine we bought cakes, eat burgers, played human fruit machine, hooked a duck and sack raced our way to raising £500. I was humbled by incredibly personal but brave stories of defeating cancer and people, strangers listening to Sue's story. I like sharing this! It helps to communicate about what has happened. It's even better to tell people how amazing she was. If I could only tell the whole world how amazing she was, how brilliant Lily and Louise are at getting on, my wonderful sisters and those amazing dads and children, I would. 

Screw you cancer, screw you!

       

Milestones

7.13am. "Keep going babes", "I love you, we're nearly there....", "We're nearly at the hospital darling, you're doing great.." "Keep with me babes, keep with me...." The last frantic words I ever said to my wife as the ambulance raced to the hospital on a sun-kissed Wednesday morning will remain as a sort of fateful milestone in my journey of grief, of life now actually. The last desperate, dramatic, heartbreaking moments of a beautiful life fading into perpetual darkness and my eternal memory is etched inexorably in my mind as a page, a chapter that began on Monday 10th February (sunny, un-seasonably warm outside) with diagnosis and ended on Wednesday 09th April with death.  

But like any good book, this one is a real page turner because as one chapter ended desperately, frantically, violently the images of pulling, ripping, pumping, bumping in a speeding ambulance the next chapter began. 

The next chapter is numb though. It consists of disbelief of a numbed un-acceptance that this tragedy has indeed happened and it isn't some shocking charade or vision where I'm waiting for normality to return and Suze to bounce  back in the room and shine like a diamond. It's filled with things of course, because it's the void that I desperately sought to avoid, so it was filled with things, stuff! Necessary stuff mind you. Cards, flowers, friends, respect, tears, words of comfort, words of disbelief, organisation of a funeral, Tuesday 15th April (grey, rolling clouds) eulogies, orders of service. And the days, weeks that followed, return to work, return to school, new job start-up for my amazing step-daughter Louise, Tuesday 22nd April!  Moving back home, Saturday 19th April, setting up our changed family. 

All important, not so much for what it was, perhaps more for what it did,  to fill that void, that blackness, that horrible, horrible hole that is grief, the empty bottomless well of 'that's that', 'never again', 'shocking lonliness', shrugged shoulders and a heartrenching feeling of a mother to two daughters gone forever. Other things filled this void as well. Better things. Laughter with friends, just being with people who care, Friday 16th May, 'Children of Eden' with the beautiful Miles', random kindness, messages of love. Saturday 17th May my family help me at home. 

These are inexorably good things, wonderful things, magnified so much in grief as to be almost an addition to this life changing chapter. To live my life thinking more of others, caring more about the people around me, kindness and care. Just like Suze did, just as she was! 

And then to the next chapter, learning to live with grief. The getting on, the getting by, the letting go, the never saying goodbye. Glastonbury and waving Sue's flag, the 27th, 28th, 29th June. Wednesday 09th July, 3 months to the day! Lily's graduation, Thursday 10th July, shockingly sunny, hot day, so amazing and fantastic recognising brilliant young people, raising expectations, refusing to give in to the age old moans and winging, just an amazing expression of a wonderful school having done amazing things with exceptional people. Sue was smiling on as Lily collected her certificate. Proud, beaming of our wonderful, inspirational, courageous daughter. 

The end of another summer term for me and the beginning of the long summer break, Thursday 10th July. I know what I want, I know the milestones I want to happen. Balmy days snoozing on a sun-kissed beach as afternoon fair weather clouds roll by, making, sharing and storing memories of London's bustle with Louise and Lily sipping cocktails in a Thameside bar, running long distances with the sun in my face and the corn swaying in the fields, wet feet from getting caught in a shower wearing only sandals, the sound of my daughters laughter, the sound of people together enjoying one another. These are the things, the stuff I hope for this summer. These new milestones, the next chapter. Friday 11th and Saturday 12th July camping with dad's and kids who have gone through loss at such a young age like me. Sunday 13th July, my sisters garden fete in aid of A.M.M.F. Saturday 30th August, Louise's birthday, Tuesday 02nd September, Lil's starts new school, Tuesday 16th September, babes 45th birthday. 

Dates, milestones, anniversaries, birthdays, part of the pages, the content of each chapter. Positive, bright, good times,all in her memory, how she would want us to be. Remembering what Lily wrote, "To me she'll live on in my heart and my mind, her beauty and fun and being extra kind. My mum was so special, her smile and her touch, good night my sweet angel, I love you so much!" We journey on babes but we never forget.

 

Time

I have agonised since Sue's death about the fact that we did not tell our youngest daughter what the matter with her was. The agony is questioning why we did this and more importantly whether I can ever answer if this was the right or wrong choice?

 Part of the agony is that what was once a joint decision; shared, discussed, thought about together, rationalised as mum and dad, husband and wife not just a mere few months ago is now pondered, ruminated on and lost in my present isolation. We didn't tell her because we wanted to spare a young child something to fear, the natural instinct of protection. We also didn't tell her because we never gave up hope, if we were going to tell her then at least be able to couch it in "but we're getting better, mummy's really fighting it." We just needed to wait until a bit more time gave us the chance of firmly setting us on the road of hope. But inevitability and death I have now come to see are no respecters of time. We ran out of time more sudden than it takes the hand of a clock to stop, the ticking to cease. I now think another reason we were waiting, not telling,  was because of our own fear!  

Only time will now tell whether this will have any lasting effects or impact. Maybe good, perhaps not so. There's that thing again, time! At the time we only did what we thought was best, what my dying wife actually wanted, so at the time this was all that mattered, end! Others I am sure might have done things differently. One thing I know, no-one, no-one actually knows the truth, the right answer or solution especially if they have never experienced it themselves, especially this. So I think about these things all the time and I think about whatever might have been done or said can never be undone. It can never be undone but it might be possibly mended, so now we try to talk. Trying to talk is important even if it doesn't always happen, in fact I guess it rarely happens, routine goes on, but it is there, my step-daughter and I are there!

Hope was loaded at the time with the biggest irony. If what I talk about is an expression of the adult to child relationship, then what of the adult to adult? Friends to friends, family to family. Who knew the seriousness of it all? How much of this was shared? Who spoke to whom and about what? Who dared to, or stay silent? Secrets, half-truths, hope, blind hope! Knowledge, facts, statistics, hope, phrases. "Have you Googled it?" The Internet! Vocal intonation, miracles, body language, facial expressions. "You do appreciate this is very serious." Palliative care. Life expectancy."It's not good news I'm afraid."  Wards, corridors, trolleys, uniforms, bags of pills! Disinfectant, sanitiser, car parking, hills, bags of pills! Tea, coffee, coffee, tea, water, sweets, tea, coffee, coffee, tea, water, toilet, bored, "Hi mum", bags of pills! Wait, waiting, minutes, hours, iPad, Independent, D.V.D, nurse, staff nurse, Macmillan nurse, consultant with nurse, pull the curtains round and silence, looks, moments then news, bad news!

I love my step-daughter. I care about her. She helps me by advising me about my youngest, that's a good thing. At Glastonbury my daughter and lovely friends remembered Sue in a place she loved, that's also a good thing. We laughed and joked, eat, drank and by god did we endure those toilets. We cried at songs as we waved Sue's memorial flag. Fluttering high in the wind for all to see, 'shining bright like a diamond', just like our memories of Sue. Just like them!  

  

The Letter

Dear Sue,

I'm trying my hardest to look after Lily and Louise, to allow them to be who they want to be, to take care of them and provide a nice home, a sense of comfort and somewhere they can rely on and call their own.

It's not easy though babes, it doesn't necessarily come naturally to me though I'm trying to learn fast. I know I need to.

You were amazing, like you were in most things. They loved you yet you could discipline them, they wanted so much from you and yet you managed to make them aware of being grateful for the small things. You watched me flounder with giving in as a dad and were always there to remind me about what I should and shouldn't be doing in that respect. That's why it's hard babes, you're not here to do that any-more, and as difficult as it is being a dad on my own, it feels even more difficult that approaching 3 months on from the last time we sipped tea together, 3 months on from the last time we looked into one another's eyes and said together, "I love you babes," 3 months on from the time you slipped your hand in mine and squeezed it tight, I miss you more than words can say. I miss you, love you and need you like you wouldn't believe. Time is still not kind to me on that front.

You'll be warmed to know though that what gets me through the seconds, minutes and days is our children.

They do well, they get on with their lives and they thrive babes. They miss you dearly too, there is not one day, one moment that is not filled with the memory of their mum, her laughter , her care, her joy,  even her discipline. You have inspired us all, Lily, Lou, me, family and friends.

What has come to pass, what this wonderful, magical , brilliant tribute has become is the realisation of how amazing you were. Don't tell me to stop though, don't trivialise this, for it's the truth.

You cared about so many, adapted to all your friends varying temperments, demanded nothing from anyone but the truth, were self taught, knowledgeable and able and above all, even at the bitterest, dreadful end, brave.

Good god, my beautiful Suze, to keep us from unbelievable pain, to spare us the agony of really knowing, you did this to help me, and for that, that selfless bravery in the face of the most severe adversity, that bravery continues to inspire and help me and more importantly to help our daughters and our friends, all of whom who miss you just as much as Lou, Lily and I  do.

So that's a good thing babes is it not? What better tribute to how amazing you were than to use that brilliance to continue to inspire our daughters, to remind your friends of what is and isn't important and to keep me afloat as I try to survive this grief thing for all our sakes.

Love you babes....

Matty

p.s. Glastonbury this weekend. I know what you're thinking, the last time I went I got pushed in a ditch. We'll remember all the good times though and Mandy, Ben, Hallie, Sam and Lil's will look after me and smile and do it in the way you would want us to. But it's hard babes and it isn't getting any better but something will get us through I'm sure, I hope! Something and nothing in this journey we're on.

Speak again soon but for the moment it can never be overstated, enough repeated or once again reiterated, "I love you babes and living life without you continues to be unbearably difficult but we are trying, we are all trying!"

 

Seasons of Love

There are lots of moments and experiences in my life that I am happy to describe as lovely. I can find lovely in grief and it's, well, lovely! Lovely is warm and positive, it is always welcomed and affects you strangely in much the same way as grief does. Surprised, crying, hopeless and empty for grief; surprised, smiling, laughing and good for lovely.
My girls are lovely on Father's Day. Celebrating me as a dad! They buy me gifts, they take me out and the 'lovely' to cap it all is they tell me 'I'm amazing' and a lovely dad for them. I hope I am ?  I don't really know? But the lovely I describe is part of accepting where I am at the moment. I'm remembering, longing, wishing, craving for that beautiful and lovely Susan to be close to me again. As much as I know that can never be there is a momentary thought that is actually lovely.
I drive at speed down the motorway in her car. I put the roof down and turn the music up. The cloudless sky is above, the wind  rushing around as I tempt myself to break the speed limit hurtling towards the setting, amber sun. In this moment, in this exact moment, Sue and I are in love all over again, laughing and smiling, looking at one another and touching each other's hands. For a brief moment, for more than a second, even minute this was lovely! Me and Sue were together again, for a moment, just a moment and it felt lovely.
5788800 seconds, 96480 minutes, 1608 hours since Sue died! How do you truly measure a life and love together? I count our lovely times together; the laughs, the loves, the children, friends,  the disagreements, the tellings off, the cinema, the theatre, the music, holidays and goings out, the simplicity and complexity of being together. These moments are worth more than the seconds, minutes, days and hours that actually accounted for our life together and that is what is important now for Lily, Louise, family, Mandy, Ben, Hallie, Sam, Jane, Nanny and Pa. The beauty of moments together and taking care of one another through our 'Season of Grief'.
There was this time that we took for granted. It was all of us together living our lives and enjoying one another's company, tales and stories, laughter and advice. It was exactly 5788800 seconds, 96480 minutes, 1608 hours ago that something happened to abruptly end all that and teach us not to take anything, anything for granted and to enjoy and love one another for the now, both us and life itself. It's summer now but next it will be Autumn and so on and so forth. Sun will burn and then leaves will fall but facts will never ever change. We won't forget but we carry on always searching now for these lovely moments. I know that Sue would want that for us all, find those lovely moments and babes we found it today in our beautiful, amazing daughters. They looked after me today on Father's Day, they look after me for all days as I try to do to them. I'm proud of them and they would make you proud. That's a lovely thing.

Dying to Know : Belief

Dying to Know : Belief: It's impossible to know what the future holds for grief and bereavement but I know it is better to talk about it and to tell someone how...

Belief

It's impossible to know what the future holds for grief and bereavement but I know it is better to talk about it and to tell someone how you feel. Being alone and inside your head is an inevitability though that I have come to accept, occasionally I want it! Being alone gives you time to seek something quiet, it is the time I really think about my Suze and imagine what I know can now never be a reality; her arm around me, her smell, her laugh and her embrace. The embrace bit I really never stop thinking about because it encompasses so many other emotions and feelings; love, compassion, want, hope, safety and comfort. In lonely times these are the virtues you think about and wonder if you'll ever experience again? I think also about my friends and other family, they must also experience the type of loneliness that I describe, different, but still loneliness. Being alone in your thoughts, thinking by yourself of mine, your's, all of our memories and experiences of Suze. As a friend, mum, daughter, sister and wife!

This day is a bright day, a hopeful day. Lily has run a 'Race for Life', in her mum's memory. She would be so proud! I express part of my grief through this blog, Lily has expressed her's through the designs on her running vest. "I miss you mum..", "for Susan, the best mum in the world...", her friend also, running in memory of her grandad and the "beautiful Susan Sheppard", amazing words, amazing deeds from children. What a day really! Bright sunshine, a sea of pink in a park, all there to do something, to make a stand, to remember someone special and to provide hope. I liked seeing Lily smiling with her wonderful teachers, I liked it even more seeing them holding hands. I like'd the messages of love on the runners vests, the effort, warmth and humanity. The runners and non-runners, dogs, children and well wishers The old and young, mums and dads, boyfriends and girlfriends. These are mighty fine things in our world, worth cherishing and believing in. I believed in today and for Lily, Lou and I it was a force to be reckoned with. I'm beginning to see the importance of belief when in grief. 

I met with Suze consultant in the week, to really get some sort of closure on the medical questions that inevitably emerge and fester a bit as time creeps on. My memory of the meeting though was not one that I had expected. Not about treatment and care, drugs and admissions but more about advice. "Try to remember her not at the end, but before all this happened. She was a lively, positive person, in the brief time I knew her she struck me as someone who must have lived her life this way." I hadn't countered on emotional advice, just clinical, so it was thoughtful and as I think now right and correct. So although my grief, and as I'm sure others who knew Suze too, can vary, it is right that I remember, perhaps we remember more her brightness, her fun, like Lily and thousands of others today. Pink and Bling. Shine on babes positively in our memories! Our daughter was beautiful today! Shine on with belief!

http://www.justgiving.com/Matt-Sheppard1

 

The Vision

With this and that, with the thing I'm dealing with, me and on behalf of the girls, you often live in the mind. You have to with grief. You also live in the now of course because you have to do that as well. The phrases I struggle with, "getting on," "getting through it,"  and god do I hate this one, " Are you baring up?" or worse still, " You seem OK." People only mean well. I know!

But what on earth does this mean? OK?

I'm allowed to drive to work am I not? Laugh occasionally, smile, share good times with friends and family? This is called love isn't it? Is this getting on, or is it mere coping? Why shouldn't I be entitled to do this? This is my entitlement. Selfishly! But not for one second, not for a moment do I ever believe I'm any where near ' through it'.. That means it's a tunnel, dark and somewhat nebulous. No answers. If that is what is meant by getting through it, I haven't even begun, can't start the motor, it's broken down in a lay by....But reading these words back I sound angry. I'm not most of the time, but if this is a journey then I have to live in the mind, in the imagination and make believe. In my tunnel there are other people, we fish around with one another shuffling about with batteries to light our way, we make one another laugh as they drop to the floor and get humorously impatient with one another (as Sue and I did)  as we struggle to clip plastic fixings together with cold hands. Bumping one another for fun. Kids kick stones and maybe, maybe we can see light or we shine it nonetheless in the distance and it gives us hope..

There is this great space of nothing now and I can totally give in to its eternal, unanswerable non-end. But this vision thing reminds me that she left a mark that fills this hole, it was her existence. Her being . She was and therefore I have to be now. I am! End of it, grow up.... I don't want to just visit this world and simply open up various doors as a father. That's not being a father. That's a doorkeeper. I want to live in this world and I want my girls to do the same thing. To live, exist and thrive.  That's our expectation our learning entitlement.  

In my mind another vision, they shift constantly. Perfect days; sunshine, Lily and Louise laughing, running and floating, being confident and Suze. Suze still walks in and out of my imagination constantly. She comes into our kitchen as we're eating a meal, smiling. She kisses Lily goodnight in her bed, she walks into friends houses when I'm there, she sits by me in the car up to work.  She always wants to come back to Lily, Louise and I first of all, to check on us. I like it when she comes back to us first. It makes me cry. I think she does it to check I am doing a good job. To reassure me. My vision jolts me and reminds me to do a good job. To be a father, to be that and to also be something else, a mother now! So I wear an apron, I cook,  I wash up, I clean, I hang wet things up. I change the sheets. I think I know what it is to care, I think I know what it is to love! I hope I do! 

The Magic

My youngest daughter continues to astound me with her maturity and resolve; children do indeed sometimes deal with grief with more maturity, more grace, more dignity than adults! And there I am again talking about those virtues, grace and dignity, virtues that came naturally to my beautiful Sue, virtues that my amazing daughter demonstrates in ever growing and evolving ways. 

The obvious sign of my tears is greeted by, " You alright dad, we'll be OK?".... The staying away, the going places, the sleepovers with friends, they are always followed by, "I wanted to come home dad, to be with you, to check you are coping!" "I've made you an AMMF Loom bracelet."

"THE GIFT OF HEALTH IS KEEPING ME ALIVE." c

My wife wrote notes and messages in capitals during her battle where amazingly she gave thanks for everything she had. She extolled the positives and embraced the beauty of Lily, Louise, Mandy and all her friends and family despite the appalling inevitability of her wicked disease. She even found time to say how amazing I was? How much I cared for her, loved her and nurtured her in those final, agonising weeks. But although I read these words back again and again with some degree of introspection I am, by my very nature, overcome more by my emotional responses than my logical ones. It might well be shattering, the words that Sue appears to utter from beyond the grave unbelievably heartbreaking, but the words themselves, their honesty, truth, even brutalness offer the one thing that is a glimpse of light amongst the darkness of our despair and grief and that is hope!  Hope for Louise to continue to be successful in her job, to enjoy her life and relationships, hope for Lily to continue to grow as a mature, amazing person full of success, ideas and brilliance. And hope for me maybe that in some small way I can act and conduct myself in a manner that would make Sue proud and grateful, content and happy in a place now where she desperately misses her daughters and friends, family and life.

"I AM BLESSED TO HAVE THE MOST AMAZING DAUGHTERS." c

There's a narrative here, a story, it has a natural beginning that involves a sudden, un-explained pain, an exposition of people, hospitals, treatments, equipment and places. The middle is terrible! It's someone at the end of life in this world, showing courage and beauty amidst such pain, shattering tragedy and then ultimately death. And then the end. But no end, life continues, the narrative and our journey continues, to live our life, to remember our beautiful mother, wife, sister and friend, to make sure we honour her amazingness and to try to get a little bit close, just a little bit to who she was and who she touched by our actions and deeds. Amazing and inspiring, touch-felt, human and courageous. Sparkling! "Shine on like a diamond!" 

"I AM SO GRATEFUL TO BE SPENDING MORE TIME REGULARLY WITH MIKE." c

So hope, a desire or expectation for something to happen, a wish but also importantly an assumption of finding my way, our way beyond the grief and into the next stage of our narrative, because it's ours now, Louise's, Lily's and mine. Ours! Always with Sue in our mind, but ours and our family and friends! 

"I AM SO GRATEFUL MY FRIENDS HAVE SHOWN SUCH LOVE AND COMPASSION TOWARDS ME AT THIS TIME." c

Shine on friends....... 

"THANK-YOU, THANK-YOU, THANK-YOU, FOR THE PERFECT RESOLUTION." c

c- copyright Susan Frances Sheppard      

Faith

Straight afterwards , I mean even when the hospital nurses and doctors are shocked, or more fearful actually of imparting the news of a loved one's death it's so difficult to understand and appreciate that what was here moments, seconds ago is now gone forever. Like this line drawn in the sand, or chalk hurriedly scrawled down a board, we're all on this side now still the same, breathing! But they're that side, dead, and not! How is this? Not death so much although that's bad enough, but the line more, the time, seconds between here and gone, moments defining 'with us or not'. I think about this, about the time it takes for love, life, presence to go and what is left? Our life, but not their's. Perhaps we should be thankful therefore. To whom I don't know, god? More about him later.
Grief and death make you think a lot, I've always been a thinker, it's my job, it's who I am, I've always questioned and thought this way and that, what if ? Could it be done differently? I encourage my students to do the same. Now I'm doing it more than ever.
If a person is old and dies quietly and peacefully in their sleep in the full knowledge of a life lived it is sad. If someone goes before their time it is incomprehensibly tragic, especially when they were so full of life, that's it full of life, if there is a difference, that it is. Gone before they should because of a life still to be lived. That is my grief at the moment. Grief, so many things, but ultimately private, personal and alone. Lou, Lily, me, alone with it ourselves!
Sue is not at rest, she didn't wan't to go, none of us wanted her to go, so that euphemism doesn't apply here. To the elderly who were in pain maybe, to those who state they can't go on, I understand. But Suze was a mover, circulating, orbiting never stopping, she didn't want to rest, that was the last thing on her mind. And I know she is missing her Louise and Lily like you wouldn't know, I think and hope she misses me? So all four of us are actually grieving for one another, us here, Suze somewhere else.
And so to god, heaven, wherever she might be looking down at us or living on within us and as part of us. I don't really know about any of these if I'm honest. Comfort comes in peoples' kindness here and now not making things up in our imagination I think. I can see her in Lily though, and in the way Louise laughs and can only do what I know she would want me to do. That I do know for sure. Which is, not to dwell, or be maudlin, self pitying, succumbing, feeling sorry for myself, but in helping my daughters so they can live their life, as she did, to the full and without care to conforming or following what might be expected in some rule book. And to touch people as she did. To touch so many, many people with just who she was and what she possessed. Grace, knowledge, style and love. We love you babes! 
   

Dying to Know

It never goes away and nor do I expect it to anytime soon if ever. It sometimes lurks in the background and at other times it completely envelops you rendering you silent and still, battling certain thoughts and images or just overcome with remembering. It can occasionally be hopeful. Reading posts on depression one might believe this is what I describe, depression itself is terrible, an awful thing that needs much more awareness, discussion and empathy.

But so does what I describe, and perhaps they are similar, I am not sure, I am not a clinician in mental health. I am a person, a father but also now a widower. For the feeling or state  I describe is grief. I lost my beautiful wife on Wednesday 09th April, tragically and suddenly. And this is where these words begin.

My beautiful wife was taken so suddenly and viscously on the 09th April 2014 from a little known cancer that originated in the liver bile ducts, cholongiocarcinoma. The speed of her departure in fact the acceleration from diagnosis to death has not only left me breathless but disbelieving that she won't just walk back in through the door saying it had all been a big test, an elaborate hoax concocted to analyse something and now she's back she has a few things to say. But I know this won't happen, this isn't to be. 

My grief seems to change from quietness and staring out of numerous windows for seconds, minutes on end in silence and stillness, just remembering to feeling a lump in my throat and an ache in an empty heart that induces tears. Sometimes it is forgetting totally and suddenly realising this is not a dream (guilt) to thinking of good times, of fun, love and laughter to dark times and illness, sickness and desperation. I get help , I get advice and words of comfort. I like words, I like kindness even more. Strangely I like loneliness too, or quiet, silence and nothing for a time. 

And the purpose of this, the justification for this expression of grief and my own words. To help my daughters Lily and Louise. To help them come to terms with things in their own way. To be strong for them. And for other reasons too.

• to share my grief with the grief of dear friends to help one another through this 
• to keep the spirit, memory and joy of life Suze had alive 
• to raise awareness and money for A.M.M.F the U.K's only specialist cholongiocarcinoma charity

I'm Dying to Know the answers to some questions that will never be answered. So much now left unsaid, much confusion and emptiness.
Helping Lily, helping Lou, helping friends, helping me to survive grief.