I’ll just put this here I think.
And add to it, postcard style, as and when I need to talk to you. It’s not really for anyone else, just us. Postcards seem quite apt really, because we had planned for so many little journeys of our own in the future. Cancer obviously had other ideas. I expect other people do this kind of thing too, I also expect that the frequency of postcards varies considerably according to the writers and passage of time. It’s been two months since you slipped away, I could talk for hours, as if we hadn’t seen each other in years…
Hi Kitty.
28 July 2017.
This evening I’m back at The Gardens. Back at Franklin’s. The club is hosting a 7s tournament involving all 12 of the Aviva Premier sides. Tonight and tomorrow in fact. Saints squished in one of those meet and greet sessions too. You’d have loved it. You know you would. I smiled at a few of the old guard, got just three autographs but two (Paul Hill and Nic Groom) would have been new names on your list for sure. Truth is, my heart wasn’t quite in it. The selfies went the way of the pear. They were your speciality. My heart is wherever you are, especially when I’m doing something which WE should have been doing together. The rugby isn’t really important tonight. I’ve got the season ticket, I have also moved seat. I hope you don’t mind? I have a whole season to get used to doing this alone. Obviously, I’m not looking forward to it, but what choice do I have? Actually, a part of the moving seat thing, resulted from a change in pricing for single game tickets, so I kind of got an upgrade. Go me.
I miss you. Suppose that goes without saying really.
Your Bear.
Hey gorgeousness. 13 August now.
Gardens again. And hair. Mostly hair. Less hirsuteness. I’m. Having. My. Hair. Cut. At the Gardens (where, incidentally two different Saints 15s, minus most of the big guns, but including some of the newbies, beat the Dragons — also shorn of big names, 71 — 21 yesterday, first PSF you know)
Anyhoo.
For charity, well two actually. The awesome Cynthia Spencer Hospice, which you know well. Plus The Leon Barwell Foundation, which you know less well, for various unfortunate reasons. Just Giving pages, publicity, the works. This is happening on 9 September at Franklin’s. While Saints and Tiggers battle on the pitch. You always said that I should keep. The hair. I did, for you, for both if us. It was a part of being Bear. I’m still going to be Bear, just a less hairy one. I’m raising money. And I’m going to look like Dylan Hartley. That’s the style and length I’m aiming at. Just go with me on this, it’ll be fine.
I’ve learned to write when I’m wobbling…
Wish you were here. Now. With me, where I need you to be.
Bear.
3 Sept. 2017
September. A month of change my darling kitty. This is part of my therapy. If I want to be with you, I write to you — the crystal is a, yes and no thing, no real detail. It also makes me, cry when it works. You amaze me. The weather is changing. It’s cheating by looking the same only with less heat. Autumn is approaching and the kids return to school this week. Each. On. A. Different. Day. Almost worth repeating. Tuesday for bug. Esme in 6th form starts on Wednesday, with the yr 7 newbies. Theo on Thursday. Why? I am going to visit you this week, before I return to work on Monday next. Just to see, alone, that place we left you. I’m still a mess. Just a more resigned mess. No direction, good weeks, bad days. I know, regardless of where or who I turn to that this is for life.
9 September. 08.48
My senses - and you, tell me that even in death, we do not have forever. Kate and I reviewed the beliefs which underpin your being felt and sensed around friends. The energy you are, you are a part of is massive. But sometime soon, you will become new. And Kate & I lose you all over again. That brought tears. Put simply my efforts or abilities which show me you are here and giving me answers, will stall. I have to be ready for this. Sucks, right?
It’s the day. The hairless day. It’s, a marmite thing too, because some are saying hell, shiny head have it all off. Others are pleading with me to leave something on there. That’ll be a proper Medium submission for later. Oh, yes it will. Xx
So laters my kittywifeofawesomeness. 😊
16 September 2017.
I lose something today, kitty. In the name of moving forward. I’m saying goodbye to Meredith. She’s grey, has 7 seats , and carried us all on our most significant adventures. OK I know we replaced her with the Venga Bus for one holiday, and her hurt manifested itself in a refusal to play until her battery had been replaced. A heart transplant? I don’t know.
I can remember and smile at the day we found her. Didn’t want to buy a car, and she was quite expensive. But the excitement of sitting in something so nearly new, so ours, was just too much. She came home with us and Esme chose the name because we were binging on Greys Anatomy at that point. Meredith seemed perfect.
So farewell, then, Meredith. I know kitty, that she will go onto give another family a lot of miles. A lot of years. I won’t mention her replacement here, I don’t want to hurt her feelings. But it’s another little unravelling. Something which is full of memories, being replaced by something which needs to be filled with something.
Later baby.
It’s Christmas Eve.
We have a tree. It’s decorated, I put my own personal things on it, but the children did the bulk of the draping and festooning.
We have food, but not the amount that we would have had a few years back. I don’t have your organisational skills Kitty.
We have presents. Or rather, the children do. I only want one thing this year, and I can’t have you.
We have people too. All four children, plus the father of three of them. Plus me. Stepfather to three and a stranger to the fourth.
No you.
It’s the first time we have tried a, Christmas without you, let’s be clear, it’s not my idea of fun. I’m lost. Almost a stranger in my own home, it’s just another day without you, as I sit here typing in tears.
It is what it is.
I wish it wasn’t.
