Eight years

​It’s eight years tomorrow since Tim died suddenly and unexpectedly. The anniversary hits me differently every year. The first year it was raw, and in the run up I really didn’t think I could survive the day. The fourth year, a few days before the anniversary, my friend Claire died and her husband John joined this club that none of us want to be in. And that brought all the rawness of early grief back. Five years on and grief was now a quiet companion rather than a bleeding wound, and I had married a wonderful woman called Dee who understood widowhood. I still missed Tim but I had learned that I could love two people, and that neither love diminishes the other.
 
Each year, the run up is harder than the day itself. And then the actual day comes oddly as a relief. Perhaps the pressure is off.
 
In the early years, the anticipation began on my birthday, which was also our wedding anniversary, in September. It continued through his birthday in December, into Christmas and New Year and then on to his death in February. In the latter years, it has just been February. Last year, I had been unsettled all month – I think it’s triggered by environmental things – the changes in the weather, the emergence of the snowdrops, the feelings of ‘this time that year’, but I almost forgot in the few days before. My body didn’t, though. The night of the 23rd I was in a horrid mood. Scritchy. Irritable. Slept badly. And realised why, the next morning – that it was ‘that’ day.
 
The run up to Tim’s anniversary has been hard this year, and it’s prompted me to look back over the last 12 months, which has had some incredible ups and some really tough downs.
 
My first book was published in December, on Tim’s birthday (he always resented that it was on World AIDS Day), and we raised a glass to him at the launch. I have performed in York, Scarborough and Whitby, and led writing workshops, with more performances and workshops planned. I have two more books in the works. And I’m getting involved in the creativity in a local town which has brought me new friends and new opportunities.
 
However, alongside this, my wife has been diagnosed with a serious chronic illness. This has left me screaming into the void about how unfair it is. My mental health has taken a dip, and the stress has made my ADHD worse. I have had to go back to my early coping strategies, including grounding techniques, and taking life one moment, one breath and one step at a time. I have also had to remind myself that it is okay, in fact vital, to talk and share. And to hold tight to the people who are here.
 
Tomorrow, I will raise a glass of Jameson’s to Tim, and to the lovely times we had. Tonight, I will remember our last, lovely evening together with our friends.