To coin another of your favourite Americanisms and in view of my recent penchant for all things arithmetical, I thought I would post a simple statistical analysis of our union.
20 years and three months of interrupted and resumed friendship
16 months of continuous contact until the time of your death
90 complete days spent together
1,000 plus emails exchanged
660 hours of phone calls - give or take the odd minute
6,000 plus text messages - a staggering amount - thank God for free text bundles!
20 cards between us, detailing various exchanges of mutual affection and congratulation
5 books proffered as gifts between us
4 DVDs from you to me
6 DVDs from me to you
3 CDs to bolster your spirits
An infinite amount of love
and
One great man who is very sorely missed every single day.
Saturday 31 March 2007
Friday 30 March 2007
Benchmark: the tape-measure of humanity
30.03.07
Oh for the jargonistic speak of the boardroom!
You and I often laughed at how jargonistic our world had become. I particularly remember your references to being an "awesome time locker" when you managed to sneak an email to me during your work day!
So, I thought I would talk about how you have become our benchmark.
A benchmark is that which we measure things by, something to compare to, any standard or reference by which others can be gauged or judged.
You were most certainly my benchmark, great man, in so many ways. From this point in time, I can attest, albeit on a subconscious level, you have become my invisible tape-measure of humanity; the thermometer of goodness.
In the aftermath of your death, I spent a lot of time with my twin brother and it was he who proffered this suggestion to me. I can remember talking to him about how absolutely wonderful you were and how a great part of my sadness was linked to the fact that I simply could not ever imagine knowing another person like you; that I felt cheated that you had been taken from us - just when I had come to see that it is possible to meet somebody who makes you laugh, supports you, listens to you, converses with you and can still love you despite the many flaws you may exhibit. And then you were gone.
My brother, J, then pointed out that of all the many legacies you left us, then mine should surely be that of the human benchmark. And he is right.
As with all good measures, there must be a list of descriptors to help us in any future assessments, so here goes!
Oh for the jargonistic speak of the boardroom!
You and I often laughed at how jargonistic our world had become. I particularly remember your references to being an "awesome time locker" when you managed to sneak an email to me during your work day!
So, I thought I would talk about how you have become our benchmark.
A benchmark is that which we measure things by, something to compare to, any standard or reference by which others can be gauged or judged.
You were most certainly my benchmark, great man, in so many ways. From this point in time, I can attest, albeit on a subconscious level, you have become my invisible tape-measure of humanity; the thermometer of goodness.
In the aftermath of your death, I spent a lot of time with my twin brother and it was he who proffered this suggestion to me. I can remember talking to him about how absolutely wonderful you were and how a great part of my sadness was linked to the fact that I simply could not ever imagine knowing another person like you; that I felt cheated that you had been taken from us - just when I had come to see that it is possible to meet somebody who makes you laugh, supports you, listens to you, converses with you and can still love you despite the many flaws you may exhibit. And then you were gone.
My brother, J, then pointed out that of all the many legacies you left us, then mine should surely be that of the human benchmark. And he is right.
As with all good measures, there must be a list of descriptors to help us in any future assessments, so here goes!
Generosity - from the tiniest to the greatest of gestures. You once got up at five am on a Sunday morning to drive your housemate, whom you only knew in passing, to his work because you discovered his car had broken down and there were no buses running.
Goodness on a grand scale. Through your work especially, you worked tirelessly in the local community, sitting on countless boards and committees which worked towards improving the lot of the marginalised and deprived as well as people further up the social and community ladder. You espoused and committed yourself to the views passed on to you by your father, Billy, who taught you that every person is equal. This was a thread that ran through your life and you demonstrated it.
Capacity for Fun - always laughing, joking, recounting stories and anecdotes; always proud and impressed at other people's achievements; always keen to share good news stories about the people that you knew. Quite amazing really as you spent 17 years of your life with one of the most miserable individuals to ever have set foot on the planet - whose life was one continuous moaning drone; yet outwardly, you continued to laugh and make others laugh, especially with your dubious impersonations and fantastically energetic dance routines.
Liberalism / Impartiality - For me, this is by far the greatest quality you possess. Clearly linked to the values passed on to you by your parents, you had the greatest take on others and their opinions. You were never dismissive, always enquiring and always accepting of other's right to opine. You talked, discussed, negotiated and always helped others move towards agreement without ever letting them feel they had been coerced or indeed compromised in any way.
This was born out of your own capacity to ponder and consider every aspect of a situation before you gave any opinion. I am not sure how much other people saw this in you, but I witnessed it at close range, particularly in your dealings with your ex-wife who really put you through the wringer in every conceivable way - and still you wanted to be reasonable, give her the benefit of the doubt. Quite incredible John. Sadly, when you were married, your attempts to negotiate and compromise were met with stubbornness and intransigence, which you mistook for strength, silly man. You once told me that every aspect of your married life began to feel as though it were a boxing match to be scored on points; whatever suggestion your proffered was always met with definitive "no" regardless of its validity and worth and the ensuing days or weeks would be spent in blind negotiation, only for the end result to be the same: you always acquiesced. So that you know, John, I recognised and loved this quality in you - never ceased to amaze me at how reasoned, reasonable and open to reasoning you were.
Selflessness - as I continue with these descriptors, I see that all these qualities are linked and interlinked - the theme is similar for all of them. You were just a good egg, Johny boy, and that is why it is so hard for us to be without you. There are countless examples of this. Let's see - driving a clapped out old car for years so that your ex-wife could have the brand new car she insisted she needed, though you couldn't afford it. Working seven days a week to pay for it and caring for your new-born son during the night. Caring for your son at weekends, so your wife could stay in bed til after noon. Shopping for your wife's family, because, surprise, surprise, they were also incapacitated. Taking your wife's brother in when he left his wife and supporting him through his marital breakdown without passing judgement. Willingly taking a sperm count test when your 22-stone wife's family insisted that her supposed infertility must be down to you - not the taking of it, simply the fact that you agreed without complaint. These come to mind more than the many others because what is clear to me is that you were treated appallingly in your marriage, and yet still you were able to be kind and generous when most would have simply left long ago.
Affectionate beyond measure and without pre-conditions - this may come as a surprise to some who knew you, but it should be documented that the benchmark here is high. You showered me with love and kisses every day that I spent with you in person and when we weren't together, you articulated your feelings in the most open and direct of ways. You were never shy in discussing your levels of affection and strength of feeling which ranged from the downright bawdy to the tenderest of tender; from the banal to the most intimate and back.
This can serve us all, then not only as the benchmark of our own present and future relationships, but also as the measure of ourselves and how we fare on the John-ometer of decency.
As Mr MacGowan so eloquently put it, John, "you are the measure of my dreams".
Thursday 29 March 2007
Broken Continuum
29.03.07
The continuum is broken.
We are no longer the solid group that is dependent and interdependent, because one of us is missing. Gone astray.
The implications of the term are innumerable, but let me give you a small insight in to this.
If a continuum is any compact, connected set containing at least two elements then you and I were that: compact and complicit in our friendship and love for each other, and as you are no longer here, floating around in the universe as some carbon form as I have been led to believe, then the continuum is broken.
Moving on to another analogy, that of you and your beloved son, who now faces his life alone, fatherless, then that contention is also true - the continuum of P and you is also obsolete, broken, undone.
Furthermore, the continuum of you and your wonderful sisters now ceases to exist in some form, as one part has been vaporised, undoing the tightly compact unit that existed previously, leaving just the two remaining. The interrelationship that was has been transformed.
The permutations, dear John, are endless, you have undone, unravelled, set aside and removed the core of all these continua - not sure if that is the correct Latin plural, but I am sure you will forgive me, as although my forte has always been the linguistic bent, not the mathematical one, at times of stress we are not always at our best! You have made our perpetuity with you finite and we are defined by that too.
All of this goes to show that my grasp on maths and its workings is proving to be better than I would ever admit to.
Broken continuum = redefined lives + your departure.
The continuum is broken.
We are no longer the solid group that is dependent and interdependent, because one of us is missing. Gone astray.
The implications of the term are innumerable, but let me give you a small insight in to this.
If a continuum is any compact, connected set containing at least two elements then you and I were that: compact and complicit in our friendship and love for each other, and as you are no longer here, floating around in the universe as some carbon form as I have been led to believe, then the continuum is broken.
Moving on to another analogy, that of you and your beloved son, who now faces his life alone, fatherless, then that contention is also true - the continuum of P and you is also obsolete, broken, undone.
Furthermore, the continuum of you and your wonderful sisters now ceases to exist in some form, as one part has been vaporised, undoing the tightly compact unit that existed previously, leaving just the two remaining. The interrelationship that was has been transformed.
The permutations, dear John, are endless, you have undone, unravelled, set aside and removed the core of all these continua - not sure if that is the correct Latin plural, but I am sure you will forgive me, as although my forte has always been the linguistic bent, not the mathematical one, at times of stress we are not always at our best! You have made our perpetuity with you finite and we are defined by that too.
All of this goes to show that my grasp on maths and its workings is proving to be better than I would ever admit to.
Broken continuum = redefined lives + your departure.
Wednesday 28 March 2007
Back to Bereavement
28.03.07
In my quest for some answers, I have continued to search for definitions and meaning.
So I looked up "bereavement" as we are all experiencing that phenomenon now:
be·reave
–verb (used with object),
1.to deprive and make desolate, esp. by death (usually fol. by of): Illness bereaved them of their mother.
2.to deprive ruthlessly or by force (usually fol. by of): The war bereaved them of their home.
3.Obsolete. to take away by violence.
The answer then, is apparent - at least to me.
We are now deprived of you. The desolation that ensues from that is evident - we feel desparate and desolate as a result of this deprivation.
In some way too, there is also the sense of ruthlessness, I would say inflicted upon you by the actions of others and your inability to process that level of damage and hurt which you had clearly endured for a substantial period of time.
Even with your decision to break away from that environment which so restricted you and brought you so much unhappiness, you were still unable to reconcile yourself with your decision as your son, and supposed abandonment of him was held up as a very real and living reflection of your alleged wrongdoing.
In fact, none of us felt that about you; we were relieved that you had finally managed to find some equilibrium and glad that you had found the strength to disassociate yourself from a situation that was so untenable. The relentless bullying and harassment bereaved us of you, John.
The third definition, though obsolete, is poignant indeed; you were taken away by violence - the violence you inflicted upon yourself in taking your life and undoubtedly the emotional violence and bullying which brought you to such a point of no return.
In short then, we are bereaved in every sense of the word.
In my quest for some answers, I have continued to search for definitions and meaning.
So I looked up "bereavement" as we are all experiencing that phenomenon now:
be·reave
–verb (used with object),
1.to deprive and make desolate, esp. by death (usually fol. by of): Illness bereaved them of their mother.
2.to deprive ruthlessly or by force (usually fol. by of): The war bereaved them of their home.
3.Obsolete. to take away by violence.
The answer then, is apparent - at least to me.
We are now deprived of you. The desolation that ensues from that is evident - we feel desparate and desolate as a result of this deprivation.
In some way too, there is also the sense of ruthlessness, I would say inflicted upon you by the actions of others and your inability to process that level of damage and hurt which you had clearly endured for a substantial period of time.
Even with your decision to break away from that environment which so restricted you and brought you so much unhappiness, you were still unable to reconcile yourself with your decision as your son, and supposed abandonment of him was held up as a very real and living reflection of your alleged wrongdoing.
In fact, none of us felt that about you; we were relieved that you had finally managed to find some equilibrium and glad that you had found the strength to disassociate yourself from a situation that was so untenable. The relentless bullying and harassment bereaved us of you, John.
The third definition, though obsolete, is poignant indeed; you were taken away by violence - the violence you inflicted upon yourself in taking your life and undoubtedly the emotional violence and bullying which brought you to such a point of no return.
In short then, we are bereaved in every sense of the word.
Tuesday 27 March 2007
Ten Per Cent
27.03.07
Ten per cent equals one tenth of anything.
So I have been thinking about C S Lewis' assertion that nine tenths of what is worth living for comes from the affection - or love I guess, that we feel or perceive.
To follow that to its logical conclusion then we can only surmise that even with all the love and affection we proffered you, and in large measure you took and assimilated, that the other ten per cent of your life, which was not filled with affection, is the part that carried the greatest weight for you, literally.
All the arguing and frustration you endured trying to gain access to your son took on a greater value than all the love and affirmations of our love for you; and they were and are many.
I cannot think of a day during the last 16 months of your life when it was not articulated or demonstrated to you by the three women you were closest to - and doubtless the many more people around you that had some notion of your hapless plight.
Our endeavours to shore you up, John, were genuine and heartfelt. And I guess what makes me saddest in my analysis of all this is that the one thing that infected you, that single tenth of negative emotion, is the same thing that pushed you right to the end.
And now we see, and you should know that the infected poisonous sentiment was not born out of love, but bitterness at your having left and closed that chapter of your life.
I understand that you felt hopeless about it, but I am still struggling with why you could leave us all behind, and more importantly how you could leave your son behind in the clutches of that same purveyor of noxious notion and emotion.
Still she calls, still she visits the old and infirm to try and assess the fallout, still she asks how much money you left your "widow".
We don't ask any of those questions John, because ultimately, we are without you now.
We are minus you one hundred per cent.
We cannot put a price on that.
Ten per cent equals one tenth of anything.
So I have been thinking about C S Lewis' assertion that nine tenths of what is worth living for comes from the affection - or love I guess, that we feel or perceive.
To follow that to its logical conclusion then we can only surmise that even with all the love and affection we proffered you, and in large measure you took and assimilated, that the other ten per cent of your life, which was not filled with affection, is the part that carried the greatest weight for you, literally.
All the arguing and frustration you endured trying to gain access to your son took on a greater value than all the love and affirmations of our love for you; and they were and are many.
I cannot think of a day during the last 16 months of your life when it was not articulated or demonstrated to you by the three women you were closest to - and doubtless the many more people around you that had some notion of your hapless plight.
Our endeavours to shore you up, John, were genuine and heartfelt. And I guess what makes me saddest in my analysis of all this is that the one thing that infected you, that single tenth of negative emotion, is the same thing that pushed you right to the end.
And now we see, and you should know that the infected poisonous sentiment was not born out of love, but bitterness at your having left and closed that chapter of your life.
I understand that you felt hopeless about it, but I am still struggling with why you could leave us all behind, and more importantly how you could leave your son behind in the clutches of that same purveyor of noxious notion and emotion.
Still she calls, still she visits the old and infirm to try and assess the fallout, still she asks how much money you left your "widow".
We don't ask any of those questions John, because ultimately, we are without you now.
We are minus you one hundred per cent.
We cannot put a price on that.
Monday 26 March 2007
28 Days
26.03.07
It is exactly 28 days since you died. One month on and nothing seems any easier than this time four weeks ago.
Having read up on the subjects of suicide, death, grief, loss and bereavement, I can tell you the following:-
It is exactly 28 days since you died. One month on and nothing seems any easier than this time four weeks ago.
Having read up on the subjects of suicide, death, grief, loss and bereavement, I can tell you the following:-
- Some psychologists believe that intense grief can last for three years.
- The more accepted period for mourning is a year.
- Bereavement is the term used to identify the loss of a loved one.
- Grief is the physical and psychological response to that same loss.
- Most people who commit suicide do it on a Monday.
- Only one in six of those who kill themselves leave a note and only half of those notes refer to love and not blame.
- The highest incidence of suicide is amongst middle aged men.
- Men who take their own lives tend to choose the more aggressive forms of self death, whereas women ingest typically.
- Grief is a form of fear of the future.
- One way we often cope with sadness or fear is by focusing our attention on our anger.
- CS Lewis states that "Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives."
- The great man also said: "It is hard to have patience with people who say "There is no death" or "Death doesn't matter." There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn't matter. "
So, in all of this I can tell you dear man, that one month on, very little has changed - apart from the very obvious and irrevocable fact that you are dead and gone and we, I have to move on in some shape of form or I too will in some way start to become dead.
We can conclude from the above that the fear we feel is normal, the sense of loss will be with us for a long long time and that your choices in how you ended your life were fairly typical of somebody in that mindset; you were unusual in that you left a note to us letting us know how much you loved us and for that we should be grateful, or comforted or something. I cannot bring myself to use the word happy in this circumstance.
As of tomorrow, we have either another 11 or 35 months to go depending on how you look at it.
Til tomorrow special man.
Sunday 25 March 2007
Angel
25.03.07
As corny as this may be, I am going to do it, because this was one of the songs that you really loved - to the surprise of some, no doubt. I have been listening to it and thinking of you, and somehow it seems appropriate. Hope you have found some comfort somewhere.
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
Theres always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It dont' make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
Youre in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
Youre in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
Sarah McLachlan
As corny as this may be, I am going to do it, because this was one of the songs that you really loved - to the surprise of some, no doubt. I have been listening to it and thinking of you, and somehow it seems appropriate. Hope you have found some comfort somewhere.
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
Theres always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It dont' make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
Youre in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
Youre in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
Sarah McLachlan
Legacy
25.03.07
Dear John
I have been thinking about your legacy - all that you left behind for us to remember you by.
The quantity and quality of soundbites at a time like this fluctuates a little! I am reminded constantly that I should be grateful for the happy memories I have of you and that they can never be wrested from my grasp - actually, I would rather swap them for you, have you back here with us, amongst us and sod the memories! A bit churlish I know, but that is how I feel.
I have cried for you, or should I say, the loss of you every day since you died. Thankfully, it is with less frequency, otherwise my eyes would really be just the proverbial piss-holes in the snow now. It has been noted by closer friends and family that "perhaps I should stop rubbing my eyes if I can"; in fact I am not rubbing them at all - I just cry when I think of you and I guess all that salt has a damaging effect!
So, back to your legacy - here is where a list comes in handy, so I shall let the stream of consciousness take over:
Legacy of love - you gave a lot to others in all sorts of ways. Laughter - mainly at your bad jokes and selected TV offerings; generosity in all its forms; duty and diligence; the sweetest hugs and kisses ever offered to another; a beautiful son; three heartbroken women who will take some time to heal; a zealous love of anything by Scorsese; passion for people, places and a certain football team; honesty; liberalism; tolerance; bravery; a new twist on the word "gauche"; happiness to those you met and interacted with; a true lack of prejudice; clumsiness and forgetfulness - your keys John! Innocence and a certain naivety; faith in others; loyalty; unabashed optimism; commitment; selflessness; a bright bright smile; wonderful blue eyes smack bang in the middle of an honest, open face; sweetness; a simple greatness and our memories of your dangerous but highly entertaining dance routines.
And so you see John, while you have left us all of this in memory form, wouldn't it be much nicer to have you right back here with us?
We miss you sweet man and it hurts.
Dear John
I have been thinking about your legacy - all that you left behind for us to remember you by.
The quantity and quality of soundbites at a time like this fluctuates a little! I am reminded constantly that I should be grateful for the happy memories I have of you and that they can never be wrested from my grasp - actually, I would rather swap them for you, have you back here with us, amongst us and sod the memories! A bit churlish I know, but that is how I feel.
I have cried for you, or should I say, the loss of you every day since you died. Thankfully, it is with less frequency, otherwise my eyes would really be just the proverbial piss-holes in the snow now. It has been noted by closer friends and family that "perhaps I should stop rubbing my eyes if I can"; in fact I am not rubbing them at all - I just cry when I think of you and I guess all that salt has a damaging effect!
So, back to your legacy - here is where a list comes in handy, so I shall let the stream of consciousness take over:
Legacy of love - you gave a lot to others in all sorts of ways. Laughter - mainly at your bad jokes and selected TV offerings; generosity in all its forms; duty and diligence; the sweetest hugs and kisses ever offered to another; a beautiful son; three heartbroken women who will take some time to heal; a zealous love of anything by Scorsese; passion for people, places and a certain football team; honesty; liberalism; tolerance; bravery; a new twist on the word "gauche"; happiness to those you met and interacted with; a true lack of prejudice; clumsiness and forgetfulness - your keys John! Innocence and a certain naivety; faith in others; loyalty; unabashed optimism; commitment; selflessness; a bright bright smile; wonderful blue eyes smack bang in the middle of an honest, open face; sweetness; a simple greatness and our memories of your dangerous but highly entertaining dance routines.
And so you see John, while you have left us all of this in memory form, wouldn't it be much nicer to have you right back here with us?
We miss you sweet man and it hurts.
Saturday 24 March 2007
The Waiting Room
24.03.07
We are all in a waiting room - trying to work out when we will be released from the feeling of nervousness and anxiety that we carry. Waiting for the nurse to call us and put us out of our misery.
Of course, we are all, in some way or another, waiting for you to return to us; just walk in through the door, keys in hand with a smile on your face, as ever. Except, in this new and updated reality, we know that cannot happen. So still we wait.
My attendance on you has been punctuated by more phone calls from a dead man's phone. I guess the guns of poison have turned on me - and they can continue, because one thing I am sure of is that I in some way am stronger than you - proof of that is my continued existence despite my fervent requests to join you shortly after your departure.
It ain't happening! The powers-that-be have decided that those you left behind are here to stay for the foreseeable future, and so we await our fate and ponder our own destiny - without you.
In the meantime, the one that you escaped continues to call and harass. I am guessing that the six o'clock threshold is one of particular inaction within the realms of her own general levels of inertia, as the calls always come around that hour; just after tea and before there is anything worth watching on TV. She must be at a loose end at that time.
The most I can do is document each call and report them to the inept police officers that released the phone back in to her possession despite my continued attempts to retrieve it!! No surprises there then. Ineptitude and the forces of moral authority going hand in hand!
All of this makes me understand that even though you and I had endless discussions about your marital breakdown, subsequent separation and imminent divorce, you were under a lot more pressure than you ever admitted to. I think you led a dichotomous existence, playing down the relentless harassment, barrage of calls and unceasing stream of text messages and led us all to believe that things were being worked out, if with a little difficulty.
Although it is of little comfort, I do have a clearer picture than most of the darker side of what was happening, as I and some of my friends were witness to the circular conversations, the obstructive manipulation and of the impasse you found yourself in.
Don't fret dear John, the positive of sitting in this metaphorical Waiting Room is that it gives us time to think and cogitate, to formulate a plan and run it by others. My own reasoning so far tells me that you were too good, too weak and too vulnerable to really make a balanced assessment of the situation. 20 years of sociopathic conditioning are hard to undo, as we witnessed with the choice you made to end the pain.
However, special man, understand that we hover now outside of that and our judgement, with each day we spend in this room, becomes more lucid, rational and less emotional and we will do right by you.
That is a promise.
We are all in a waiting room - trying to work out when we will be released from the feeling of nervousness and anxiety that we carry. Waiting for the nurse to call us and put us out of our misery.
Of course, we are all, in some way or another, waiting for you to return to us; just walk in through the door, keys in hand with a smile on your face, as ever. Except, in this new and updated reality, we know that cannot happen. So still we wait.
My attendance on you has been punctuated by more phone calls from a dead man's phone. I guess the guns of poison have turned on me - and they can continue, because one thing I am sure of is that I in some way am stronger than you - proof of that is my continued existence despite my fervent requests to join you shortly after your departure.
It ain't happening! The powers-that-be have decided that those you left behind are here to stay for the foreseeable future, and so we await our fate and ponder our own destiny - without you.
In the meantime, the one that you escaped continues to call and harass. I am guessing that the six o'clock threshold is one of particular inaction within the realms of her own general levels of inertia, as the calls always come around that hour; just after tea and before there is anything worth watching on TV. She must be at a loose end at that time.
The most I can do is document each call and report them to the inept police officers that released the phone back in to her possession despite my continued attempts to retrieve it!! No surprises there then. Ineptitude and the forces of moral authority going hand in hand!
All of this makes me understand that even though you and I had endless discussions about your marital breakdown, subsequent separation and imminent divorce, you were under a lot more pressure than you ever admitted to. I think you led a dichotomous existence, playing down the relentless harassment, barrage of calls and unceasing stream of text messages and led us all to believe that things were being worked out, if with a little difficulty.
Although it is of little comfort, I do have a clearer picture than most of the darker side of what was happening, as I and some of my friends were witness to the circular conversations, the obstructive manipulation and of the impasse you found yourself in.
Don't fret dear John, the positive of sitting in this metaphorical Waiting Room is that it gives us time to think and cogitate, to formulate a plan and run it by others. My own reasoning so far tells me that you were too good, too weak and too vulnerable to really make a balanced assessment of the situation. 20 years of sociopathic conditioning are hard to undo, as we witnessed with the choice you made to end the pain.
However, special man, understand that we hover now outside of that and our judgement, with each day we spend in this room, becomes more lucid, rational and less emotional and we will do right by you.
That is a promise.
Friday 23 March 2007
Updating reality
23.03.07
Today I have been thinking about you as always - and the changes that had occurred in your life in the 16 months prior to your death.
We corresponded a silly amount really - and now I am glad of that. I counted, and including all the one line emails, there are more than a thousand that we exchanged since we resumed contact in October 2005. There is a great deal to be said about your history from then until now, that is to say the unravelling of your own life to your death, because that is when it all really started, just six months or so after your mother's death in March 2005.
Reading back over the messages we exchanged, a clear picture emerges of the highs and lows you went through, and although it makes me sad to read them, it also helps me to piece together your life and how you were trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to regain control of it - evidently, you had been on automatic pilot for some years.
It is obvious, too, that your mother's death was a real catalyst for you - in many areas of your life. Through the correspondence that we shared, it is apparent that once you lost your mother, you began to question many aspects of your life, and whether you were truly happy. With time, I hope to post that puzzle in all its pieces here on this blog, so that we can all see your own perspective on your life to date, and not be beholden to conjecture alone.
The first point then, of this puzzle-building should start with your own comment placed on the Friends Reunited website - I am guessing that you updated this at some time in 2006 given your reference to P, or maybe early 2007. It was clear, then, in your own mind John, that you had moved on to a new phase of your life.
Separated form my wife in December 2005 One child P who was 7 in March 2006. Regeneration Manager with a Housing Association in Liverpool. Anyone who remembers me and wants to get in touch please do so.
Today I have been thinking about you as always - and the changes that had occurred in your life in the 16 months prior to your death.
We corresponded a silly amount really - and now I am glad of that. I counted, and including all the one line emails, there are more than a thousand that we exchanged since we resumed contact in October 2005. There is a great deal to be said about your history from then until now, that is to say the unravelling of your own life to your death, because that is when it all really started, just six months or so after your mother's death in March 2005.
Reading back over the messages we exchanged, a clear picture emerges of the highs and lows you went through, and although it makes me sad to read them, it also helps me to piece together your life and how you were trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to regain control of it - evidently, you had been on automatic pilot for some years.
It is obvious, too, that your mother's death was a real catalyst for you - in many areas of your life. Through the correspondence that we shared, it is apparent that once you lost your mother, you began to question many aspects of your life, and whether you were truly happy. With time, I hope to post that puzzle in all its pieces here on this blog, so that we can all see your own perspective on your life to date, and not be beholden to conjecture alone.
The first point then, of this puzzle-building should start with your own comment placed on the Friends Reunited website - I am guessing that you updated this at some time in 2006 given your reference to P, or maybe early 2007. It was clear, then, in your own mind John, that you had moved on to a new phase of your life.
Separated form my wife in December 2005 One child P who was 7 in March 2006. Regeneration Manager with a Housing Association in Liverpool. Anyone who remembers me and wants to get in touch please do so.
Thursday 22 March 2007
Duty bound
22.03.07
Duty is, according to Wikipedia, the following:
"Duty is a term loosely applied to any action (or course of action) which is regarded as morally incumbent, apart from personal likes and dislikes or any external compulsion. Such action must be viewed in relation to a principle, which may be abstract in the highest sense (e.g. obedience to the dictates of conscience) or based on local and personal relations. That a father and his children have mutual duties implies that there are moral laws regulating their relationship; that it is the duty of a servant to obey his master within certain limits is part of a definite contract, whereby he becomes a servant engaging to do certain things for a specified wage. Thus, it is held that it is not the duty of a servant to infringe a moral law even though his master should command it. For the nature of duty in the abstract, and the various criteria on which it has been based"
There is quite a lot to unravel in that definition, but in applying it to your life, John, it is relatively simple.
You very obviously were a person guided by your own conscience, and sense of obedience towards those in your life that you believed you had a responsibility for - in other words those that made your understand from the expression of their guiding principles (however contorted and erroneous they in themselves may have been) that you owed them something, that regardless of your own desires, needs and guiding principles, you had to serve them first. And that is exactly what you did. While you may have questioned and challenged those assertions made to you about your so-called duty, the pull was too great for you and you always put others first.
With the perfect 20-20 vision of hindsight, it is easy to recognise that in effect, this kind of emotional blackmail worked because as an inherently good person, you failed to even suspect that the motives of others may be nothing more than honest and true. And ultimately, you couldn't extricate yourself from that conditioning and train of thought, even though you were aware that perhaps you were being taken for a fool - constantly.
The question for all of us who knew you is a simple one: how could you not see it? In fact, you did, but you couldn't act upon it. Your own sense of self-worth had been so depleted by the years and years of morally corrupt bombardment and continual harassment, that in the end, you did not have the capacity to muster courage and strength to deny the blackmailer.
Of those that truly loved you John, we are still at a loss as to how, in your final note to us you could feel you had no worth and were not worthy of those that loved you. If anything has become clear to us with your departure, it is that if we talk about worth and value, you were surely the most priceless of all of us and it is we who were not worthy of you.
In the words of your favourite band, you were and are precious to us all.
And we miss you precious man.
Duty is, according to Wikipedia, the following:
"Duty is a term loosely applied to any action (or course of action) which is regarded as morally incumbent, apart from personal likes and dislikes or any external compulsion. Such action must be viewed in relation to a principle, which may be abstract in the highest sense (e.g. obedience to the dictates of conscience) or based on local and personal relations. That a father and his children have mutual duties implies that there are moral laws regulating their relationship; that it is the duty of a servant to obey his master within certain limits is part of a definite contract, whereby he becomes a servant engaging to do certain things for a specified wage. Thus, it is held that it is not the duty of a servant to infringe a moral law even though his master should command it. For the nature of duty in the abstract, and the various criteria on which it has been based"
There is quite a lot to unravel in that definition, but in applying it to your life, John, it is relatively simple.
You very obviously were a person guided by your own conscience, and sense of obedience towards those in your life that you believed you had a responsibility for - in other words those that made your understand from the expression of their guiding principles (however contorted and erroneous they in themselves may have been) that you owed them something, that regardless of your own desires, needs and guiding principles, you had to serve them first. And that is exactly what you did. While you may have questioned and challenged those assertions made to you about your so-called duty, the pull was too great for you and you always put others first.
With the perfect 20-20 vision of hindsight, it is easy to recognise that in effect, this kind of emotional blackmail worked because as an inherently good person, you failed to even suspect that the motives of others may be nothing more than honest and true. And ultimately, you couldn't extricate yourself from that conditioning and train of thought, even though you were aware that perhaps you were being taken for a fool - constantly.
The question for all of us who knew you is a simple one: how could you not see it? In fact, you did, but you couldn't act upon it. Your own sense of self-worth had been so depleted by the years and years of morally corrupt bombardment and continual harassment, that in the end, you did not have the capacity to muster courage and strength to deny the blackmailer.
Of those that truly loved you John, we are still at a loss as to how, in your final note to us you could feel you had no worth and were not worthy of those that loved you. If anything has become clear to us with your departure, it is that if we talk about worth and value, you were surely the most priceless of all of us and it is we who were not worthy of you.
In the words of your favourite band, you were and are precious to us all.
And we miss you precious man.
Wednesday 21 March 2007
The Pain Threshold
21.03.07
We all have one, evidently. Some are stronger, more flexible and more malleable than others.
We are all now understanding our pain threshold and where its limits lie. And of course, where yours finally ceded.
The manifestation of emotional pain is probably the hardest to understand, because try as we might, we cannot control it. We cannot give a gesture or signal for it to stop and then enjoy some respite from the hurt. It just seems to continue and continue.
I would like for this to be more controllable - a simple switch or gauge so that I could choose those moments carefully, say select a time of day for the John-pain, and not have to always share it at the most inopportune moments with a total stranger, or people that knew you and who really don't need a living reminder of their own pain and loss rambling on down the phone at them.
So there is a kind of pain etiquette being born out of all this:-
By all means have your grief, let it take hold of you, but don't let it get too much of a grip, because in polite society the two week time slot has passed and you really should pull yourself together. It is, dear John, like navigating your way around the South Circular; everything seems somehow familiar, but you're never quite sure that you are going in the right direction, and every time you stop to ask somebody for help, they give you a vague nod or indication and tell you how they got lost here last time and it is all a bit of a nightmare!
Grief is the emotional reaction to the loss of love; and like love in its first incarnations it is really a kind of lunacy, a madness. I understand the concept of those who go mad with grief, those who never recover and those who are transformed by it.
You would not recognise the girl you knew and loved so now: no fun, no spark, no witty retorts, no spontaneous happiness at the smallest of things; no unbridled excitement at the new shoes or the favourite dish for tea, no breathless anticipationof the next call or visit. Nothing. I am running on empty.
I have passed by the first stage of absolute paroxysms of grief and have reached the point of functioning incompetent. You know John, remember we talked about functional illiterates - those with minimal literacy who manage to get on in daily life but really are challenged by all the small tasks of reading and writing that we take for granted - well it's the same for me now. I function, but in an incompetent way: I can make a cup of tea, answer the phone, watch the news, read a newspaper, all without breaking down, but not in a competent way. I guess you would call it just going through the motions. Most of the rest of my time is taken up with thinking about you, engaging in one-way conversations, musing your past and future, trying to fathom how you reached and jumped into the abyss and wondering why on earth you couldn't stay with us. No answers though. Only questions.
Like I said, it is a kind of madness that takes hold.
PADCM
We all have one, evidently. Some are stronger, more flexible and more malleable than others.
We are all now understanding our pain threshold and where its limits lie. And of course, where yours finally ceded.
The manifestation of emotional pain is probably the hardest to understand, because try as we might, we cannot control it. We cannot give a gesture or signal for it to stop and then enjoy some respite from the hurt. It just seems to continue and continue.
I would like for this to be more controllable - a simple switch or gauge so that I could choose those moments carefully, say select a time of day for the John-pain, and not have to always share it at the most inopportune moments with a total stranger, or people that knew you and who really don't need a living reminder of their own pain and loss rambling on down the phone at them.
So there is a kind of pain etiquette being born out of all this:-
By all means have your grief, let it take hold of you, but don't let it get too much of a grip, because in polite society the two week time slot has passed and you really should pull yourself together. It is, dear John, like navigating your way around the South Circular; everything seems somehow familiar, but you're never quite sure that you are going in the right direction, and every time you stop to ask somebody for help, they give you a vague nod or indication and tell you how they got lost here last time and it is all a bit of a nightmare!
Grief is the emotional reaction to the loss of love; and like love in its first incarnations it is really a kind of lunacy, a madness. I understand the concept of those who go mad with grief, those who never recover and those who are transformed by it.
You would not recognise the girl you knew and loved so now: no fun, no spark, no witty retorts, no spontaneous happiness at the smallest of things; no unbridled excitement at the new shoes or the favourite dish for tea, no breathless anticipationof the next call or visit. Nothing. I am running on empty.
I have passed by the first stage of absolute paroxysms of grief and have reached the point of functioning incompetent. You know John, remember we talked about functional illiterates - those with minimal literacy who manage to get on in daily life but really are challenged by all the small tasks of reading and writing that we take for granted - well it's the same for me now. I function, but in an incompetent way: I can make a cup of tea, answer the phone, watch the news, read a newspaper, all without breaking down, but not in a competent way. I guess you would call it just going through the motions. Most of the rest of my time is taken up with thinking about you, engaging in one-way conversations, musing your past and future, trying to fathom how you reached and jumped into the abyss and wondering why on earth you couldn't stay with us. No answers though. Only questions.
Like I said, it is a kind of madness that takes hold.
PADCM
Tuesday 20 March 2007
The Pursuit of Happiness
20.03.07
Today you would probably have been one step closer to what you wanted - more contact time with your son. You were due in court to report on the access visits to you son, or in this case the lack of them.
All you had to do was hang on and once you had presented the case notes and diaries for the continued obstruction that you were facing, there most probably would have been a movement in your favour. You had already gained some leverage last time as the judge presiding made it clear that your wife's allegations regarding your unsuitability as a trustworthy and competent parent were just that - unsubstantiated, untenable and unlikely - and that you were perfectly entitled to access to your seven year old son.
Were we in America, I would sue the bitch on your behalf - she was, to all effects and purposes, obstructing you in your pursuit of happiness and indeed that of your son. Let's be quite frank, it is not a sentiment I believe she could easily share nor indeed attest to as her very small and insular life revolved around exposing the misery in her own self and infecting others with it.
She managed to fool you too John, because you really believed that it wasn't all bad - the morbid twenty stone obesity of 20 years' standing blamed on everything else but her own lack of self will, control and exercising of free will; the delight at being officially registered as disabled because it meant that you "had saved a load of money on parking fees" (sic); the endless mithering about all the people she knew and encountered along the road and how not one of them had any redeeming features. Your friends' wives were tarts, or far too full of themselves - thought themselves too pretty or intelligent. Your own work colleagues labelled as untrustworthy or not bright enough, and your family deemed unfit to care for or be around your son.
This was always dressed up with some kind of faux religious rhetoric or old style working class value. It really does beggar belief. Her own life could be summarised easily:- no friends, no ambition, no self-esteem, but a host of reasons why it was always somebody else's fault!!
And then the flash points of illness which further restricted your life as you knew it - you missed major moments because of them - your graduation, family parties, days out, cancelled holidays - because she didn't feel like it; not well enough. You even left your mother in the last minutes of her life so that you could attend the call of Munchausens; I later discovered that you never really forgave yourself for that, and I am sure that it was a pivotal moment in all the emotional unpacking which started at that point two years ago.
And still there is more to recount about the seemingly moribund, but oh-so-still-alive-estranged-spouse:- The four day migraines - still able to get up and make food to be then consumed in the middle of the four day attack which left her bedridden and unable to do anything but eat and sleep. The Saturday and Sunday morning rest periods which meant after suxh excruciating part-time 20 hour week being rude to the public and moaning about the meanness of all around in her role as the world's most miserbale administrator, she then couldn't get up before noon - leaving you to your normal routine of caring for P from the moment he woke, or you woke him- which you loved and helped you create that amazing bond you shared; born out of many hours together from a very early age - starting with night feeds, when guess what, your incapacitated wife could not get up to feed her child!!
And yet there was no real diagnosis apart from asthma and morbid obesity - one a by-product of the other. Still no desire to change it though. You became resigned to that. Again an incredible irony as you were the world's fittest most health conscious man: gym, boxing, swimming, running and squash every week! We came to realise after you left that you had spent a lifetime eating ready meals as your eyes nearly popped out of your head when we presented you with home-made food; always asking its provenance and how it was made. And always surprised when you discovered it hadn't come out of a plastic tray or tin foil dish!
Food, apart from football, socialism, your own family and P was one of your life's major passions.
So you poor bastard, what life did you have before you escaped the clutches of a sociopathic hypochondriac - just your son, and your immediate family - and that was controlled and monitored from the armchair or the sickbed; just in case you would enjoy yourself too much or risk not being there to lavish attention and jump when beckoned at whim.
You left him behind and your fight to get to him was the focus of the last 16 months of your life; if only you had just kept going darling, your happiness was just around the corner.
Today you would probably have been one step closer to what you wanted - more contact time with your son. You were due in court to report on the access visits to you son, or in this case the lack of them.
All you had to do was hang on and once you had presented the case notes and diaries for the continued obstruction that you were facing, there most probably would have been a movement in your favour. You had already gained some leverage last time as the judge presiding made it clear that your wife's allegations regarding your unsuitability as a trustworthy and competent parent were just that - unsubstantiated, untenable and unlikely - and that you were perfectly entitled to access to your seven year old son.
Were we in America, I would sue the bitch on your behalf - she was, to all effects and purposes, obstructing you in your pursuit of happiness and indeed that of your son. Let's be quite frank, it is not a sentiment I believe she could easily share nor indeed attest to as her very small and insular life revolved around exposing the misery in her own self and infecting others with it.
She managed to fool you too John, because you really believed that it wasn't all bad - the morbid twenty stone obesity of 20 years' standing blamed on everything else but her own lack of self will, control and exercising of free will; the delight at being officially registered as disabled because it meant that you "had saved a load of money on parking fees" (sic); the endless mithering about all the people she knew and encountered along the road and how not one of them had any redeeming features. Your friends' wives were tarts, or far too full of themselves - thought themselves too pretty or intelligent. Your own work colleagues labelled as untrustworthy or not bright enough, and your family deemed unfit to care for or be around your son.
This was always dressed up with some kind of faux religious rhetoric or old style working class value. It really does beggar belief. Her own life could be summarised easily:- no friends, no ambition, no self-esteem, but a host of reasons why it was always somebody else's fault!!
And then the flash points of illness which further restricted your life as you knew it - you missed major moments because of them - your graduation, family parties, days out, cancelled holidays - because she didn't feel like it; not well enough. You even left your mother in the last minutes of her life so that you could attend the call of Munchausens; I later discovered that you never really forgave yourself for that, and I am sure that it was a pivotal moment in all the emotional unpacking which started at that point two years ago.
And still there is more to recount about the seemingly moribund, but oh-so-still-alive-estranged-spouse:- The four day migraines - still able to get up and make food to be then consumed in the middle of the four day attack which left her bedridden and unable to do anything but eat and sleep. The Saturday and Sunday morning rest periods which meant after suxh excruciating part-time 20 hour week being rude to the public and moaning about the meanness of all around in her role as the world's most miserbale administrator, she then couldn't get up before noon - leaving you to your normal routine of caring for P from the moment he woke, or you woke him- which you loved and helped you create that amazing bond you shared; born out of many hours together from a very early age - starting with night feeds, when guess what, your incapacitated wife could not get up to feed her child!!
And yet there was no real diagnosis apart from asthma and morbid obesity - one a by-product of the other. Still no desire to change it though. You became resigned to that. Again an incredible irony as you were the world's fittest most health conscious man: gym, boxing, swimming, running and squash every week! We came to realise after you left that you had spent a lifetime eating ready meals as your eyes nearly popped out of your head when we presented you with home-made food; always asking its provenance and how it was made. And always surprised when you discovered it hadn't come out of a plastic tray or tin foil dish!
Food, apart from football, socialism, your own family and P was one of your life's major passions.
So you poor bastard, what life did you have before you escaped the clutches of a sociopathic hypochondriac - just your son, and your immediate family - and that was controlled and monitored from the armchair or the sickbed; just in case you would enjoy yourself too much or risk not being there to lavish attention and jump when beckoned at whim.
You left him behind and your fight to get to him was the focus of the last 16 months of your life; if only you had just kept going darling, your happiness was just around the corner.
Monday 19 March 2007
The Last Taboo
19.03.07
The unspoken term. Nobody broaches it. Nobody wants to talk about it. You are dead; that is all we are really permitted to discuss in this polite society.
Religions demonise it, quite literally; the good thing is that would just make you smile even more as your own concept of religious dogma and doctrine was limited to say the least. Paradoxical to say the least as it plagued you throughout your life and shaped so much of your life - by proxy and in your relationships with third parties.
Your sense of liberalism meant that you were accepting of other people's dogmatic diatribes even though you found them to have little or no relevance. So accepting were you of other people's right to opine that you accepted major choices from them which would influence every aspect of your life - your son's own religion, his supposed guided dedication and commitment to it. Ironically, you showed yourself to be much more Christian in your acceptance of an imposed view than the so-called Roman Apostolic that hounded you into submission of every single mis-informed and religiously upheld narrow viewpoint: therein lies the paradox of that religious zeal - the desire to overrule and impose when the real crux of religion is about tolerance, acceptance and turning the other cheek. To use one of your favourite expressions: you was stiffed son!
And ultimately we come to the last taboo - the manner in which you died. It is in effect a self death that you incurred. Your choice, however misguided we may feel it is. We should, then, should we not follow your lead, adopt a liberal attitude and be accepting of what you chose as your future - or your non-future.
Seventeen years of attrition, unrelenting dogma and misery finally wore you down. In some way, the choice you made to look for the happiness which you deserved and had so eluded you was too great for you. You felt that you were not worthy of the happiness you felt - so opposed to what you had experienced for so long. So used to giving to and doing for others without complaint that when you finally did move away, make a break, the continuous hounding and voice of unreason convinced you that you had failed her and them in some way. Even then, you couldn't be mean; you still supported, reasoned, tried to do the right thing. And the harder you tried, the worse it got.
Smear campaigns, lies, documented untruths in a court of law and allegations, abusive declarations, insults, self-pity underpinned by self -loathing - all attributed to you of course. A very heavy burden to carry and your shoulders were certainly not made to carry that cross. And when that didn't work, just good old-fashioned blackmail.
In some way, we should recognise that while this treatment was unfair - and ironically persists even after your death with your estranged wife declaring herself a widow to all those who will listen and hell bent on indicating that she knew every detail of the last 16 months of your life - even though you were separated and living completely separate lives - on the point of divorce, served by her and hell bent on finally destroying you; even asking for your mother's inheritance as part of a final settlement; this is also the result of a choice you made initially and then the subsequent desire to undo that.
You had, for the record endured several attempts at separation - all to no avail. Invented pregnancies and miscarriages abounded - two to be precise; the emotional pull of a sick and dying parent and the inevitable declaration of keeping the family together. And if in doubt a quick manifestation of the basest of sexual rituals to remind you of what you might be missing when you tired to leave. Not that it would be much as you later confided - because even that had been a source of unhappiness, lack of fulfillment and emotional blackmail during those very restricted and restrictive 17 years.
Sunday 18 March 2007
Post Mortem Messages
18.03.07
After death. The messages after your death have been multifarious and manifold.
There is the obvious sadness that you have gone - that you died at such a young age and of course the unspoken horror at how you died.
There is the sense of senselessness; the waste of a good life and a great man.
And still we wait for messages. There are none yet and I wonder how long it will take before we begin to settle into this new present. Minus you.
Two days ago, I picked up my phone and checked the missed calls list. Three from you. The adrenalin started running all over again as I tried to reason how you could be calling me if you are dead.
There are two explanations: you can make calls from the other side - which as much as I want to believe it, I very much doubt!
And the other one is that your phone has been claimed by your next of kin (your estranged, soon-to-be-ex wife) and that she is calling me. Nice!
I am of course considering what to do next. Rest assured that I won't be as sweet and understanding as you were. Harassment is harassment and, I believe, a criminal offence. So if I have to, I will take action. It's clear that her life revolves around a certain type of obsessive behaviour - pernicious, noxious, pervasive and unrelenting - as we witnessed with you.
I can assure you that the buck will definitely stop with me. I promise you that.
After death. The messages after your death have been multifarious and manifold.
There is the obvious sadness that you have gone - that you died at such a young age and of course the unspoken horror at how you died.
There is the sense of senselessness; the waste of a good life and a great man.
And still we wait for messages. There are none yet and I wonder how long it will take before we begin to settle into this new present. Minus you.
Two days ago, I picked up my phone and checked the missed calls list. Three from you. The adrenalin started running all over again as I tried to reason how you could be calling me if you are dead.
There are two explanations: you can make calls from the other side - which as much as I want to believe it, I very much doubt!
And the other one is that your phone has been claimed by your next of kin (your estranged, soon-to-be-ex wife) and that she is calling me. Nice!
I am of course considering what to do next. Rest assured that I won't be as sweet and understanding as you were. Harassment is harassment and, I believe, a criminal offence. So if I have to, I will take action. It's clear that her life revolves around a certain type of obsessive behaviour - pernicious, noxious, pervasive and unrelenting - as we witnessed with you.
I can assure you that the buck will definitely stop with me. I promise you that.
Friday 16 March 2007
A Ghost in this House
16.03.07
That's the first line of one of my favourite songs by Allison Krauss. Whenever I played it, you always asked who was singing - so I know you liked it.
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
You took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
It seems very appropriate at the moment. There is some irony there that those who die and leave us behind also take some of our life with them, in more ways than one.
After you died, the first time I took a shower, it was like I was looking in on myself and washing someone else's body. Such a strange sensation. I didn't have any real consiousness of myself as a person, just as this shell to be cleaned and cared for.
So what we all have to try and do now is recover some of the life we have lost with your passing. How do we do that?
That's the first line of one of my favourite songs by Allison Krauss. Whenever I played it, you always asked who was singing - so I know you liked it.
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
You took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
It seems very appropriate at the moment. There is some irony there that those who die and leave us behind also take some of our life with them, in more ways than one.
After you died, the first time I took a shower, it was like I was looking in on myself and washing someone else's body. Such a strange sensation. I didn't have any real consiousness of myself as a person, just as this shell to be cleaned and cared for.
So what we all have to try and do now is recover some of the life we have lost with your passing. How do we do that?
Thursday 15 March 2007
The Hard Part
16.03.07
This is when the sad and the hard part starts John, all over again.
When the friends come to check that you haven't taken the same road; spent a while talking about anything and everything to keep you distracted from your thoughts; brought you food you accept but never eat, offered you drink you never drink in the vain hope that somehow we will be distracted from the thought that runs through our core every hour of every day - you!
It does work, let me tell you, but then your mind wanders, just like when you were here: back to you and all we had, and all we miss and all we can't have again.
As Sinead would say, "I went to the doctor and guess what she told me ?"(not he in this fantastic equal world), she said it was normal that I should miss you and it is only two weeks. And I thought, "what the fuck would she know?" because she is not me, and she hasn't lost you and she cannot even know how sad I feel.
But in a way she did. So all power to the NHS that has supplied us all with life and love and drugs for those that abuse it. I didn't take the scrip, because it never worked for you and it sure as hell won't work for me. If I am a ghost in this house, just let me be that spirit and see how we fare.
I miss you more each day, as any cheesy love song would say. You still don't appear to me and I still have no answers. I am as lost as the day that you left.
Can I have the map now please?
This is when the sad and the hard part starts John, all over again.
When the friends come to check that you haven't taken the same road; spent a while talking about anything and everything to keep you distracted from your thoughts; brought you food you accept but never eat, offered you drink you never drink in the vain hope that somehow we will be distracted from the thought that runs through our core every hour of every day - you!
It does work, let me tell you, but then your mind wanders, just like when you were here: back to you and all we had, and all we miss and all we can't have again.
As Sinead would say, "I went to the doctor and guess what she told me ?"(not he in this fantastic equal world), she said it was normal that I should miss you and it is only two weeks. And I thought, "what the fuck would she know?" because she is not me, and she hasn't lost you and she cannot even know how sad I feel.
But in a way she did. So all power to the NHS that has supplied us all with life and love and drugs for those that abuse it. I didn't take the scrip, because it never worked for you and it sure as hell won't work for me. If I am a ghost in this house, just let me be that spirit and see how we fare.
I miss you more each day, as any cheesy love song would say. You still don't appear to me and I still have no answers. I am as lost as the day that you left.
Can I have the map now please?
Wednesday 14 March 2007
Unravelling
15.03.07
We are all unravelling now.
As the first sign of life is the crying voice of the lungs filling with air, then it is logical that the last sign of your life for us was the silent cry you made alone in your room. And our last moments with you were filled with the same wracked cries of inconsolable loss and fear of our own futures without you.
With the passing of time, we are beginning to unravel your last hours.
The last time I heard your life-filled voice was in the early hours of Monday 26th February 2007 - a short conversation about the night I had spent with my friends in a bar in Belgrade - mainly talking about you and how brilliant you were; how the future looked good, despite the obvious blips and obstacles on the horizon and how I was happy to be coming home to you again. I would see you again three days after returning, so just a little more time to wait and we would be together again.
I know you never made the Monday morning appointment you had with your solicitor - she confirmed that you didn't show. So I am guessing that some time on the morning of that fateful Monday, you composed your note, organised the last few things outstanding and then took your own life.
It is only logic that dictates this illogical finale to your existence: the curtains to your bedroom were closed, but not the ones to your living room. I had sent you a text at 11.15 Serbian time, so one hour earlier GMT, and you had not responded - so either you were preparing yourself, or you had already left. I know now that your failure to answer was not dictated by any other factor - you hadn't gone in to work as you normally would have done after a morning appointment. I continued to send you messages throughout the day - evidently without any answer and by early evening, I was very concerned. I left a couple of voicemail messages for you and then my instinct told me that this was much more serious than any of us could have imagined. So I called your sister.
The chain of events which followed has been much talked about: your sisters went to your flat and were unable to wake you - thought you might have fallen asleep. S's boyfriend saw the note on the door and knew. He found you. Checked for signs, but knew that you were long departed.
And the rest is fairly obvious. Paramedics, police, statements. You were pronounced dead at 23.45. No CSI moments here, no deductive scientific and evidential calculations to reckon the true hour of your death; just a simple confirmation of when your lifeless body was found.
I was waiting for you to call, as I knew you would. My phone rang a 2.04 GMT and when I saw your sister's name appear, I didn't even have to speak to her to know that awful truth. She told me you were dead. I asked them how. They told me.
From that point on, the unravelling began. And it continues.
We are all unravelling now.
As the first sign of life is the crying voice of the lungs filling with air, then it is logical that the last sign of your life for us was the silent cry you made alone in your room. And our last moments with you were filled with the same wracked cries of inconsolable loss and fear of our own futures without you.
With the passing of time, we are beginning to unravel your last hours.
The last time I heard your life-filled voice was in the early hours of Monday 26th February 2007 - a short conversation about the night I had spent with my friends in a bar in Belgrade - mainly talking about you and how brilliant you were; how the future looked good, despite the obvious blips and obstacles on the horizon and how I was happy to be coming home to you again. I would see you again three days after returning, so just a little more time to wait and we would be together again.
I know you never made the Monday morning appointment you had with your solicitor - she confirmed that you didn't show. So I am guessing that some time on the morning of that fateful Monday, you composed your note, organised the last few things outstanding and then took your own life.
It is only logic that dictates this illogical finale to your existence: the curtains to your bedroom were closed, but not the ones to your living room. I had sent you a text at 11.15 Serbian time, so one hour earlier GMT, and you had not responded - so either you were preparing yourself, or you had already left. I know now that your failure to answer was not dictated by any other factor - you hadn't gone in to work as you normally would have done after a morning appointment. I continued to send you messages throughout the day - evidently without any answer and by early evening, I was very concerned. I left a couple of voicemail messages for you and then my instinct told me that this was much more serious than any of us could have imagined. So I called your sister.
The chain of events which followed has been much talked about: your sisters went to your flat and were unable to wake you - thought you might have fallen asleep. S's boyfriend saw the note on the door and knew. He found you. Checked for signs, but knew that you were long departed.
And the rest is fairly obvious. Paramedics, police, statements. You were pronounced dead at 23.45. No CSI moments here, no deductive scientific and evidential calculations to reckon the true hour of your death; just a simple confirmation of when your lifeless body was found.
I was waiting for you to call, as I knew you would. My phone rang a 2.04 GMT and when I saw your sister's name appear, I didn't even have to speak to her to know that awful truth. She told me you were dead. I asked them how. They told me.
From that point on, the unravelling began. And it continues.
Sleeping with the Light On
14.03.07
It’s just over two weeks since you died, but somehow it seems like a lifetime.
Time is a very elastic concept at the moment. It has no real meaning for me – which is a great paradox as you and I marked everything by time, to quote Billy Bragg, wishing the days away until we next saw each other, and then cursing the fact that time passed so quickly when we were together.
I am finding it a real comfort to write when I can’t stop thinking about you and I feel so overwhelmed. Mornings are the worst because I wake up and almost come to - find my level of consciousness again and realise that this waking nightmare is continuing. Can’t do a Dallas on this one and walk into the shower to find that you are really alive and this has all been some kind of hallucination. Not a chance.
I am finding it a real comfort to write when I can’t stop thinking about you and I feel so overwhelmed. Mornings are the worst because I wake up and almost come to - find my level of consciousness again and realise that this waking nightmare is continuing. Can’t do a Dallas on this one and walk into the shower to find that you are really alive and this has all been some kind of hallucination. Not a chance.
I am sleeping with the light on. I don’t know why. I guess the happiest times spent alone in this room in the dark were with you; enfolded in you with my head against your chest, blissfully happy and aware that my greatest blessing was to be with you – even if we couldn’t be together all the time. Those weekends and nights together are very precious to me John. We always laughed a lot and kissed a lot. It was impossible for us to sit apart from each other for too long – I always felt this overwhelming desire to kiss you and entwine myself with you. You had an amazing depth of emotion and shared your feelings with me. Our physical connection was astounding and each time we were together, it felt as we were getting closer and closer. I never believed I could feel so happy and complete with a person – and to quote those lovely Proclaimers boys: “then I met you”.
So I am struggling with this feeling of being without you. I cannot fathom how you could give all this up. You told me that I was the love of your life. And I knew you were the love of mine. So how does it work that you took yourself away from all that? Why would you leave it behind?
So I am struggling with this feeling of being without you. I cannot fathom how you could give all this up. You told me that I was the love of your life. And I knew you were the love of mine. So how does it work that you took yourself away from all that? Why would you leave it behind?
Irrefutable Facts
13.03.07
Each morning when I wake, I remember that you have left us. You killed yourself. You are dead. We can’t reach you any more.
John, I want to understand why you did this, but I cannot. Why did you leave me here without you? I hope every night that when I sleep I will find you again and I don’t. I am desperate to remember every detail of our life together, of all the things we said and did, and even though I can recall things, I still can’t see you.
I never thought it was possible to feel so much pain. I want so desperately to assimilate this, but I can’t. I want to ask you sweet man, how, when you had so much love around you and people to whom you meant so much that you could do this to us? I wonder if you see the pain we are in. Do you realise the hurt you have caused to those you left behind? I know from the questions I asked that you were crying when you died – so I know you were also in pain. Jesus Johnny, was there no other way?
So desperate am I for a sign from you or some sort of contact with you that I called a psychic last night. I wanted some answers to these questions that swim around in my brain and never stand still. I wanted a way to stop these tears which still keep coming. I found out what I think I already knew:
You had been suffering from long term depression – I think this really stemmed from you mother’s death in March 2005. Your then-wife had called you away at the last minute, when it was obvious that your mother would die – to run an errand for her because she was so incapacitated and unable to function with one of her imaginary illnesses no doubt; your mother died when you were away and you never forgave yourself. You never grieved and your hypochondriac Hal wife soon had you at the doctor’s to pump you full of anti-depressants. You once told me that you never felt the same after taking them. I know that counselling helped you, and I realise that the number of times you asked me about this that perhaps you were thinking of returning but couldn’t find the strength to ask or broach it again.
You had considered all ways of ending your life and settled on the one you felt would be least distressing for us to cope with – wrong big boy – you idiot. We are distraught as you can see and nothing can change that. Perhaps the fact that you didn’t blow your brains out is marginally helpful, but not much believe me. The viscous and revolting reality still stares us in the face; you planned and executed your own death at the age of 43, leaving a trail of emotional destruction in your wake.
You couldn’t talk about your problems. A compassionate and deep man, you tried to put a brave face on, but your were deeply troubled by the fact that nothing seemed to go right for you – you said as much in your note, that you believed that everything you touched went wrong. I think you had tunnel vision as so much was going right in your life: - access, albeit sporadic to P; a new flat – decorated to boot; a happy relationship with a woman who adored you and whom you adored; plans afoot to move in with “the love of your life” (sic) and start a new life together; the final stages of the divorce/separation from your estranged wife who admittedly dragged everything out to the nth degree because she could. The psychic didn’t mention it, but I know you were concerned about your work. Very concerned. You told me repeatedly that you didn’t feel you were really making any progress with anything.
John, I want to understand why you did this, but I cannot. Why did you leave me here without you? I hope every night that when I sleep I will find you again and I don’t. I am desperate to remember every detail of our life together, of all the things we said and did, and even though I can recall things, I still can’t see you.
I never thought it was possible to feel so much pain. I want so desperately to assimilate this, but I can’t. I want to ask you sweet man, how, when you had so much love around you and people to whom you meant so much that you could do this to us? I wonder if you see the pain we are in. Do you realise the hurt you have caused to those you left behind? I know from the questions I asked that you were crying when you died – so I know you were also in pain. Jesus Johnny, was there no other way?
So desperate am I for a sign from you or some sort of contact with you that I called a psychic last night. I wanted some answers to these questions that swim around in my brain and never stand still. I wanted a way to stop these tears which still keep coming. I found out what I think I already knew:
You had been suffering from long term depression – I think this really stemmed from you mother’s death in March 2005. Your then-wife had called you away at the last minute, when it was obvious that your mother would die – to run an errand for her because she was so incapacitated and unable to function with one of her imaginary illnesses no doubt; your mother died when you were away and you never forgave yourself. You never grieved and your hypochondriac Hal wife soon had you at the doctor’s to pump you full of anti-depressants. You once told me that you never felt the same after taking them. I know that counselling helped you, and I realise that the number of times you asked me about this that perhaps you were thinking of returning but couldn’t find the strength to ask or broach it again.
You had considered all ways of ending your life and settled on the one you felt would be least distressing for us to cope with – wrong big boy – you idiot. We are distraught as you can see and nothing can change that. Perhaps the fact that you didn’t blow your brains out is marginally helpful, but not much believe me. The viscous and revolting reality still stares us in the face; you planned and executed your own death at the age of 43, leaving a trail of emotional destruction in your wake.
You couldn’t talk about your problems. A compassionate and deep man, you tried to put a brave face on, but your were deeply troubled by the fact that nothing seemed to go right for you – you said as much in your note, that you believed that everything you touched went wrong. I think you had tunnel vision as so much was going right in your life: - access, albeit sporadic to P; a new flat – decorated to boot; a happy relationship with a woman who adored you and whom you adored; plans afoot to move in with “the love of your life” (sic) and start a new life together; the final stages of the divorce/separation from your estranged wife who admittedly dragged everything out to the nth degree because she could. The psychic didn’t mention it, but I know you were concerned about your work. Very concerned. You told me repeatedly that you didn’t feel you were really making any progress with anything.
Past Habitual
12.03.07
We are back and still without you. We said goodbye to you on Thursday 8th March.
We are back and still without you. We said goodbye to you on Thursday 8th March.
There is some irony as I am sure you will remember the significance of the date: International Women’s Day! Well done that man! Not only did you have two funerals – after a fashion – but you did it on the day when all women are remembered! Excellent, really, as your life was marked by women and your closeness to them; your wonderful sisters and mother and the estranged wife you left behind. And me, I hope.
I am experiencing flashes of anger now John. I am struggling to understand how you could leave us knowing how much we all loved you and how much pain it would cause us to be without you and then to come to terms with this loss.
We are beginning to talk in the past habitual – that means we say “used to” as opposed to does. For a habit or action which occurred in the past – John used to say, John used to laugh at, John used to. I have taught this small piece of lexical grammar thousands of times, so once again your timeless irony and sense of humour seems more that appropriate! As you would say, you can't fool a linguist.
I am experiencing flashes of anger now John. I am struggling to understand how you could leave us knowing how much we all loved you and how much pain it would cause us to be without you and then to come to terms with this loss.
We are beginning to talk in the past habitual – that means we say “used to” as opposed to does. For a habit or action which occurred in the past – John used to say, John used to laugh at, John used to. I have taught this small piece of lexical grammar thousands of times, so once again your timeless irony and sense of humour seems more that appropriate! As you would say, you can't fool a linguist.
Survivors
07.03.07
We have survived you. We are therefore survivors. You succumbed.
If, as the Freudian theory tells us that life is a struggle between the conscious and the ego – the fight between doing right for others and doing right for ourselves, I wonder where that puts you.
Your ego certainly did not dominate you John – we can all attest to that; selfless as opposed to selfish. There are a thousand examples of your generosity which we can call to mind with ease.
So, your conscience must have been the prevailing force in your life before you chose to end it. I know you were struggling to understand how you could ever be close to P again. Impossible. Every time you though you had made a small step forward, you hit another obstructive action on the part of A that pulled you back down. I see now that the past two months or so simply were a long period of reflection for you, during which you formulated your escape plan.
Apparently, once you have decided to commit suicide, a great peace comes over you, because there is a feeling of regaining control. And so you must have felt that. I am sure.
I am packed and ready to go. I have spent most of today thinking about you and collecting together the things I want to take with me when I see you in Liverpool. It is like the last date for us isn’t it? I have chosen your favourite black dress, those lovely shiny boots from Hobbs – the ones with the elastic on the side which makes it almost impossible to take them off when I am drunk; you always helped me though – between fits of laughter! And the really simple silver earrings which you always commented on: silver baubles suspended on a silver wire. I am wearing the lovely big fat gold ring that you liked too. Remember, we said you were too poor to buy a ring for me, so I would wear the big fat dress ring that looked like a diamond but of course it isn’t. I am wearing it because it reminds me that we had promised to make it together, and even if you can’t be here now, I want to remember that.
T is coming to collect me in a few minutes, so I will sign off for now. I’ll see you tonight in Liverpool. Come to me and let me know you are there if you can. I love you sweet man and I am coming home to see you.
If, as the Freudian theory tells us that life is a struggle between the conscious and the ego – the fight between doing right for others and doing right for ourselves, I wonder where that puts you.
Your ego certainly did not dominate you John – we can all attest to that; selfless as opposed to selfish. There are a thousand examples of your generosity which we can call to mind with ease.
So, your conscience must have been the prevailing force in your life before you chose to end it. I know you were struggling to understand how you could ever be close to P again. Impossible. Every time you though you had made a small step forward, you hit another obstructive action on the part of A that pulled you back down. I see now that the past two months or so simply were a long period of reflection for you, during which you formulated your escape plan.
Apparently, once you have decided to commit suicide, a great peace comes over you, because there is a feeling of regaining control. And so you must have felt that. I am sure.
I am packed and ready to go. I have spent most of today thinking about you and collecting together the things I want to take with me when I see you in Liverpool. It is like the last date for us isn’t it? I have chosen your favourite black dress, those lovely shiny boots from Hobbs – the ones with the elastic on the side which makes it almost impossible to take them off when I am drunk; you always helped me though – between fits of laughter! And the really simple silver earrings which you always commented on: silver baubles suspended on a silver wire. I am wearing the lovely big fat gold ring that you liked too. Remember, we said you were too poor to buy a ring for me, so I would wear the big fat dress ring that looked like a diamond but of course it isn’t. I am wearing it because it reminds me that we had promised to make it together, and even if you can’t be here now, I want to remember that.
T is coming to collect me in a few minutes, so I will sign off for now. I’ll see you tonight in Liverpool. Come to me and let me know you are there if you can. I love you sweet man and I am coming home to see you.
Cold Comfort
06.03.07
And scant consolation. You know what that is John, because clearly you felt that these past few weeks. Poor bastard! How could you move on from how bad you felt? I understand that you saw no way out at all. You had tried so many ways to voice reason and appeal to your estranged wife’s better nature, but her obstruction was relentless. And the better nature vaporized by the domination of her own self and ego.
Sleep escapes me mainly. When I do fall into a slumber, I am still conscious of the fact that you have left us and how. As usual I did a lot of Google-whacking and online research after your death. Trying to see if I could get some kind of clinical explanation about why you committed suicide.
I try to imagine your body, hanging as it was found. You know I had a premonition when I called your sister. I put the phone down after talking to her on Monday evening. I was worried because you hadn’t replied to any of my text messages all day. So unlike you, you always responded so quickly – apart from one day – on 24th Feb, we had a text frenzy because you had been so slow in getting back to me the previous day – and there I was in Belgrade, waiting on your every text. Strangely, you said to me in one of your texts that you would try and “do better” next time. I am piecing it all together now.
I realise that you had tried to commit suicide before. And I wonder if your final successful attempt was the third or second. On that Saturday – you kept offering to cease communication with me, and I told you not to be so ridiculous John! How, if I was annoyed that you hadn’t responded so quickly to me previously, could I want you then to stop contacting me? Anyway, we resolved it and renewed our usual feverish pitch of declarations of love and frienship and the banalities of what we’d had for tea that day.
Here is the thing: you came to London on 20th January with a burn mark on your neck and explained it away as some kind of mishap with the zip of your jacket. I now realise that you had most probably been trying – can’t really call it a dry run. Your work colleagues remembered it too – but your explanation seemed so plausible that none of us suspected a thing.
The fact that you left everything so well prepared before your departure is also another indication that you had planned to do this for some time. Ironically, I think what became a major contributing factor to this was your last court hearing in December, just before Christmas, regarding access to your son, P. I say ironically, because the outcome was the most positive step in the ongoing process of seeking parental visits and access to him in the entire time since you had separated from A in October 2005. Finally, you were granted twice weekly access and the assertions made regarding your drug abuse and supposed excessive alcohol consumption completely dismissed. At last it seemed that you had really started to turn things around - reached the tipping point!
Sleep escapes me mainly. When I do fall into a slumber, I am still conscious of the fact that you have left us and how. As usual I did a lot of Google-whacking and online research after your death. Trying to see if I could get some kind of clinical explanation about why you committed suicide.
I try to imagine your body, hanging as it was found. You know I had a premonition when I called your sister. I put the phone down after talking to her on Monday evening. I was worried because you hadn’t replied to any of my text messages all day. So unlike you, you always responded so quickly – apart from one day – on 24th Feb, we had a text frenzy because you had been so slow in getting back to me the previous day – and there I was in Belgrade, waiting on your every text. Strangely, you said to me in one of your texts that you would try and “do better” next time. I am piecing it all together now.
I realise that you had tried to commit suicide before. And I wonder if your final successful attempt was the third or second. On that Saturday – you kept offering to cease communication with me, and I told you not to be so ridiculous John! How, if I was annoyed that you hadn’t responded so quickly to me previously, could I want you then to stop contacting me? Anyway, we resolved it and renewed our usual feverish pitch of declarations of love and frienship and the banalities of what we’d had for tea that day.
Here is the thing: you came to London on 20th January with a burn mark on your neck and explained it away as some kind of mishap with the zip of your jacket. I now realise that you had most probably been trying – can’t really call it a dry run. Your work colleagues remembered it too – but your explanation seemed so plausible that none of us suspected a thing.
The fact that you left everything so well prepared before your departure is also another indication that you had planned to do this for some time. Ironically, I think what became a major contributing factor to this was your last court hearing in December, just before Christmas, regarding access to your son, P. I say ironically, because the outcome was the most positive step in the ongoing process of seeking parental visits and access to him in the entire time since you had separated from A in October 2005. Finally, you were granted twice weekly access and the assertions made regarding your drug abuse and supposed excessive alcohol consumption completely dismissed. At last it seemed that you had really started to turn things around - reached the tipping point!
Finally, you had gained some kind of headway. Despite A’s continued iterations about your unsuitability as a parent – apparently, the declarations from Planet A, which sits somewhere in the universe between stubbornness, self delusion and bigotry, you were a class A drugs user and she had notions about you abducting your son.
The judge, once she had read the report from the Contact Centre where you had seen P during the interim period, still infrequently, her mind was made up that you were a sound and reasonable man who wanted access to his son. A persisted, voicing her concerns. Your sister S had accompanied you on that day, and when we discussed it later, she was incredulous and furious at the level of A’s indignation – notwithstanding her willingness to lie in order to prevent you from getting what you most wanted in the world – to see your son.
Attempts at mediation had proved fruitless, as once again A’s vitriol was matched, conversely, by a clear desire for you to reconcile with her. At this point, you felt so frustrated; having exhausted every other avenue and you knew that this battle for P would continue. For A it was a simple and straight fight, to be scored on points – keep P from you until you acquiesced and went back. And if you refused to do that, she would obstruct your access. True to her hypochondriacal form, she used illness as a tool.
The judge, once she had read the report from the Contact Centre where you had seen P during the interim period, still infrequently, her mind was made up that you were a sound and reasonable man who wanted access to his son. A persisted, voicing her concerns. Your sister S had accompanied you on that day, and when we discussed it later, she was incredulous and furious at the level of A’s indignation – notwithstanding her willingness to lie in order to prevent you from getting what you most wanted in the world – to see your son.
Attempts at mediation had proved fruitless, as once again A’s vitriol was matched, conversely, by a clear desire for you to reconcile with her. At this point, you felt so frustrated; having exhausted every other avenue and you knew that this battle for P would continue. For A it was a simple and straight fight, to be scored on points – keep P from you until you acquiesced and went back. And if you refused to do that, she would obstruct your access. True to her hypochondriacal form, she used illness as a tool.
Throughout your marriage, she had, mainly due to her morbid obesity, experienced a serious of invented and imaginary illnesses – from thyroid dysfunction to infertility, and managed to accrue one of the most shocking sick records ever! Invariably, she had paid the price – getting made redundant from the corporation before P was born after taking a year off sick because she feared that the dog in one of the adjacent buildings could bring on an asthma attack!. One of your main concerns after this was whether or not anyone would employ her again given this atrocious level of absenteeism. This then extended to Munchhausen’s Syndrome with P – taking him to the doctor at every turn, screaming meningitis on a twice yearly basis, and subsequently ensuring that he had a fairly awful level of absenteeism from school – still at the tender age of 7! He is also a hypochondriac.
Still, once December’s judgement came, you were ecstatic and we could all see the change in you. So dynamic and positive, grinning from ear to ear and feeling vindicated in some large measure as I recall. A was furious, and along with her sister confronted you outside court, calling you scum and once again accusing you of abuse. We discussed this at length; you said that A would always be like this, would never accept your separation and always use P as a way of hurting you.
My own view was that this woman and her family lived out this vicarious existence – it was like some kind of soap opera, shouting on the steps at court, cursing you because you had gained access to your son after a year of fighting, 8 months of no person-to-person contact with him, and 4 months of interrupted and obstructed fortnightly visits at the contact centre. At last you felt vindicated and we talked about a new year, a new start.
And so we also begin to understand that the confusion you felt simply was bigger than the emotional resources to deal with it. You and I had spent many hours locked in telephonic debate about your predicament. Those final times when she drove you up and down the walls with frustration, refusing you due access to your son and claiming some kind of imaginary illness, it really did affect you. We spent somewhere between three and five hours discussing it, how to work around it. I believed that you should just smoke her out – turn up, put your hand on the horn and wait for her to come rushing out. You had already tried going round to the house to at least once to see P, but as usual she refused to open the door and you had to communicate with her through the letterbox. Just fucking nuts John! Totally unnecessary. To heap more misery upon you she would text you later in the day to tell you how upset P was – the inference being that of course it was your fault. Nothing to do with the total head-fuck and emotional blackmail she bombarded you with. In the final phone conversation she had with you, she told you that she had nothing to say to you – but continued to hang on the phone for another hour or so, rambling about illness, poverty and how unfairly you were treating her, how her life was nothing but misery - misery is as misery does. It is then; little wonder that you felt you couldn't take any more. You told me that A would never accept your leaving and that you knew she would always do this.
Still, once December’s judgement came, you were ecstatic and we could all see the change in you. So dynamic and positive, grinning from ear to ear and feeling vindicated in some large measure as I recall. A was furious, and along with her sister confronted you outside court, calling you scum and once again accusing you of abuse. We discussed this at length; you said that A would always be like this, would never accept your separation and always use P as a way of hurting you.
My own view was that this woman and her family lived out this vicarious existence – it was like some kind of soap opera, shouting on the steps at court, cursing you because you had gained access to your son after a year of fighting, 8 months of no person-to-person contact with him, and 4 months of interrupted and obstructed fortnightly visits at the contact centre. At last you felt vindicated and we talked about a new year, a new start.
And so we also begin to understand that the confusion you felt simply was bigger than the emotional resources to deal with it. You and I had spent many hours locked in telephonic debate about your predicament. Those final times when she drove you up and down the walls with frustration, refusing you due access to your son and claiming some kind of imaginary illness, it really did affect you. We spent somewhere between three and five hours discussing it, how to work around it. I believed that you should just smoke her out – turn up, put your hand on the horn and wait for her to come rushing out. You had already tried going round to the house to at least once to see P, but as usual she refused to open the door and you had to communicate with her through the letterbox. Just fucking nuts John! Totally unnecessary. To heap more misery upon you she would text you later in the day to tell you how upset P was – the inference being that of course it was your fault. Nothing to do with the total head-fuck and emotional blackmail she bombarded you with. In the final phone conversation she had with you, she told you that she had nothing to say to you – but continued to hang on the phone for another hour or so, rambling about illness, poverty and how unfairly you were treating her, how her life was nothing but misery - misery is as misery does. It is then; little wonder that you felt you couldn't take any more. You told me that A would never accept your leaving and that you knew she would always do this.
Well you were wrong, because your death has changed that.
Cycle of Grief
04.03.07
According John, to the thanatologists – death experts – there are five stages of grief. I think most of us must be somewhere between the first and second at the moment; that is between denial and anger.
I have considered the possibility of dying too. Without you, life has very little purpose. It’s simply a series of routines carried out repeatedly. Some things bring more comfort than others.
The final stage of the cycle is acceptance. Quite honestly, I have no desire to accept that you are gone. I recognise that in this terrible pain, there is some kind of solace – bizarrely. That may not make any sense whatsoever! I mean that I recognize the terrible hurt and aching is the flipside of the very positive feelings we have for each other. I know that this feeling of emptiness and loss is terrible, but somehow I feel closer to you – and I am scared that if it fades, so will my memories of you. And I couldn’t bear that.
I have been in an endless cycle of conversations about you, your death, how you felt, what was troubling you. Your friends are shocked and sad that you didn’t speak to them – especially Jimmy and John. I am not sure they realised how difficult it was for you to see P, your son; the endless wrangling and how she refused to even answer the phone or respond to your texts; or claimed P was sick and then said you couldn’t see him.
I have considered the possibility of dying too. Without you, life has very little purpose. It’s simply a series of routines carried out repeatedly. Some things bring more comfort than others.
The final stage of the cycle is acceptance. Quite honestly, I have no desire to accept that you are gone. I recognise that in this terrible pain, there is some kind of solace – bizarrely. That may not make any sense whatsoever! I mean that I recognize the terrible hurt and aching is the flipside of the very positive feelings we have for each other. I know that this feeling of emptiness and loss is terrible, but somehow I feel closer to you – and I am scared that if it fades, so will my memories of you. And I couldn’t bear that.
I have been in an endless cycle of conversations about you, your death, how you felt, what was troubling you. Your friends are shocked and sad that you didn’t speak to them – especially Jimmy and John. I am not sure they realised how difficult it was for you to see P, your son; the endless wrangling and how she refused to even answer the phone or respond to your texts; or claimed P was sick and then said you couldn’t see him.
In fact the last day I spent with you – Saturday 10th Feb, you were locked in a fruitless conversation with her about gaining access to P as you were due to have him on that day. And the merry go round continued because she spent almost two hours on the phone to you – you put her on loudspeaker, so that I could hear. Unbelievable. Not one straight answer, just all this ridiculous hypochondriacal rubbish about P being unwell – had a virus. But she couldn’t tell you which one. Just spent a lot of the conversation saying how she was dealing with everything and she had no money. In reality, she seemed very preoccupied about herself. Denied that she had made allegations in court of drug abuse. Refuted that she had ever said it. It was so frustrating to listen to. It felt like she enjoyed the game of messing you around. And still she refused to let you go to the house and see P. And then she told she thought you were loaded and laughed. And she kept laughing. It was, quite frankly, John, appalling.
Your biggest fear was that she would turn your son against you, and to a certain extent you felt that was already happening. Poor P had already expressed his change of football allegiance from Liverpool to Everton – because your wife’s family follow the latter. He said he wasn’t sure that your sister’s children, his nieces, were his family any more, even though they have always been so close. This really troubled you, naturally and we all tried to reassure you, but clearly this weighed too heavily on you – you simply couldn’t see a way forward. You assumed she would always make it difficult for you – and until this point in time, it proved to be the case.
My own repeated assertion was that she is mentally ill. Her behaviour was text book passive aggressive: constantly talking about herself, how her life was so awful, how you had abandoned her and P. She still wanted you back – despite her allegations in court that you were an unfit husband and supposedly put P at risk. She made it clear to you before you separated that if you did ever leave her she would never let you see P - although you took that as a comment made in jest. You told me that you didn’t believe she was entirely serious, as she laughed when she said it. And then you began to realise that it was true. Her currency was emotional blackmail and she used P as a pawn to hurt you.
Even now John, after your death, she is doing the same. As you will know by now, she has organised a Requiem Mass for you at the Church where you got married. You hated that Church and you hated organised religion, having a particularly negative opinion of the Catholic Church. Still, apparently, we are having a Requiem Mass for you because your son is a catholic and that is what you would have wanted! Of course, I won’t go there. I have no desire to participate in the charade. We will cremate you afterwards. And the hypocrisy continues – she doesn’t want P to go to the crematorium because she claims it would be too upsetting – though is perfectly happy to put the poor child through the ostentation of a full blown Requiem Mass.
Incidentally, she didn’t contact any of your friends, just all your aged relatives first! In all of this, I really do feel for your sisters as they have had to deal with her and still she continues with the manipulative behaviour. Apparently, you committed suicide because I had left you and it was my birthday. Not. As we know, she is about 7 weeks out on that one. Still, she tried. In fact I can tell you they are the first words she uttered to your family when she called them. Very concerned that she believed you had everything you wanted – “wasn’t he happy?” Well, she knew that you weren’t as she had refused you access to P for almost a year and even when the court ruled that you should have contact with him, she simply didn’t turn up. Thankfully, you documented this, keeping a diary as we had all advised you and then lodged this information with your solicitor. At least it is on record somewhere.
The initial theory fell flat, as no one could give it credence – she still had been unable to ascertain whether you or I had maintained our friendship, or whether it had moved on to the next level – and boy did she try to find out! But nobody would tell her. Within 24 hours, there was another call to your family – this time, she claimed there must have been an intruder who had broken in and killed you. This was put forward as a theory at the same time she asked whether or not you had left a will. I don’t believe that at this point, some two days after your death that she had offered condolences or sympathies to your grieving family. Once again, the sociopathic desire to self protect took over. She reiterated her wishes for a small funeral – wonder why John? Of course we know why, the less people that come, the easier it is for her.
I hope half of Liverpool comes – you had stacks of friends and people that loved you as we now know – not just the three women that were close to you before you left us. Don’t fret, special man, they will all come to say goodbye. How could we all leave you just floating around?
Your biggest fear was that she would turn your son against you, and to a certain extent you felt that was already happening. Poor P had already expressed his change of football allegiance from Liverpool to Everton – because your wife’s family follow the latter. He said he wasn’t sure that your sister’s children, his nieces, were his family any more, even though they have always been so close. This really troubled you, naturally and we all tried to reassure you, but clearly this weighed too heavily on you – you simply couldn’t see a way forward. You assumed she would always make it difficult for you – and until this point in time, it proved to be the case.
My own repeated assertion was that she is mentally ill. Her behaviour was text book passive aggressive: constantly talking about herself, how her life was so awful, how you had abandoned her and P. She still wanted you back – despite her allegations in court that you were an unfit husband and supposedly put P at risk. She made it clear to you before you separated that if you did ever leave her she would never let you see P - although you took that as a comment made in jest. You told me that you didn’t believe she was entirely serious, as she laughed when she said it. And then you began to realise that it was true. Her currency was emotional blackmail and she used P as a pawn to hurt you.
Even now John, after your death, she is doing the same. As you will know by now, she has organised a Requiem Mass for you at the Church where you got married. You hated that Church and you hated organised religion, having a particularly negative opinion of the Catholic Church. Still, apparently, we are having a Requiem Mass for you because your son is a catholic and that is what you would have wanted! Of course, I won’t go there. I have no desire to participate in the charade. We will cremate you afterwards. And the hypocrisy continues – she doesn’t want P to go to the crematorium because she claims it would be too upsetting – though is perfectly happy to put the poor child through the ostentation of a full blown Requiem Mass.
Incidentally, she didn’t contact any of your friends, just all your aged relatives first! In all of this, I really do feel for your sisters as they have had to deal with her and still she continues with the manipulative behaviour. Apparently, you committed suicide because I had left you and it was my birthday. Not. As we know, she is about 7 weeks out on that one. Still, she tried. In fact I can tell you they are the first words she uttered to your family when she called them. Very concerned that she believed you had everything you wanted – “wasn’t he happy?” Well, she knew that you weren’t as she had refused you access to P for almost a year and even when the court ruled that you should have contact with him, she simply didn’t turn up. Thankfully, you documented this, keeping a diary as we had all advised you and then lodged this information with your solicitor. At least it is on record somewhere.
The initial theory fell flat, as no one could give it credence – she still had been unable to ascertain whether you or I had maintained our friendship, or whether it had moved on to the next level – and boy did she try to find out! But nobody would tell her. Within 24 hours, there was another call to your family – this time, she claimed there must have been an intruder who had broken in and killed you. This was put forward as a theory at the same time she asked whether or not you had left a will. I don’t believe that at this point, some two days after your death that she had offered condolences or sympathies to your grieving family. Once again, the sociopathic desire to self protect took over. She reiterated her wishes for a small funeral – wonder why John? Of course we know why, the less people that come, the easier it is for her.
I hope half of Liverpool comes – you had stacks of friends and people that loved you as we now know – not just the three women that were close to you before you left us. Don’t fret, special man, they will all come to say goodbye. How could we all leave you just floating around?
Messages from the Parallel Universe
04.03.07
I have been back there John, to look for you and read through all the messages we sent each other when you were here with us.
In case you cannot recall, read this, a small excerpt from a message I sent you last year – May 25th 2006, to be precise.
“Please believe me when I say that this whole adventure; relationship is a source of constant revelation to me. Don't be so self-effacing that you tell me you have little or nothing to offer me: you cannot imagine how much you give me - you are kind, considerate, funny - despite all the storms you are facing at the moment, sweet, interesting, intelligent, caring, slightly irreverent, dynamite , self-effacing, patient, non-judgmental, open-minded, expansive and basically a really decent individual. So please don't tell me that you are not sure of what you have to offer me, because I can see for myself thank you!!”
I wonder how far you removed yourself from that sentiment John – I guess you closed yourself right down and focused exclusively on what you felt was impossible to resolve – and so it outweighed the immense levels of love and respect that we have for you. Any future you had contemplated receded when you considered the relentless pressure you would always be under regarding your son. I don’t think you thought for one moment that we didn’t love you, but it’s like you said in your note, you didn’t feel worthy of this world nor indeed our feelings for you.
As I have iterated at least a hundred times since your death – the burden of your past outweighed the future that you saw. And how sorry I am for that. For all of us – but mainly I am sorry for you and your son because it has separated you permanently.
In case you cannot recall, read this, a small excerpt from a message I sent you last year – May 25th 2006, to be precise.
“Please believe me when I say that this whole adventure; relationship is a source of constant revelation to me. Don't be so self-effacing that you tell me you have little or nothing to offer me: you cannot imagine how much you give me - you are kind, considerate, funny - despite all the storms you are facing at the moment, sweet, interesting, intelligent, caring, slightly irreverent, dynamite , self-effacing, patient, non-judgmental, open-minded, expansive and basically a really decent individual. So please don't tell me that you are not sure of what you have to offer me, because I can see for myself thank you!!”
I wonder how far you removed yourself from that sentiment John – I guess you closed yourself right down and focused exclusively on what you felt was impossible to resolve – and so it outweighed the immense levels of love and respect that we have for you. Any future you had contemplated receded when you considered the relentless pressure you would always be under regarding your son. I don’t think you thought for one moment that we didn’t love you, but it’s like you said in your note, you didn’t feel worthy of this world nor indeed our feelings for you.
As I have iterated at least a hundred times since your death – the burden of your past outweighed the future that you saw. And how sorry I am for that. For all of us – but mainly I am sorry for you and your son because it has separated you permanently.
Numerical Importance
03.03.07
There is some justification in numbers and their significance.
Just checking back through all the emails we exchanged, I noticed that you took your own life exactly one year to the day from your first attempt at reconciliation with your estranged wife.
You really went through the mill on that one. You felt bound to return after innumerable promises had been made about the changes that would be initiated - how you would do things together and share the parenting more. Your life was a whirlwind of running around after everyone else with little time for yourself. You spent weekends alone with your son because your wife was too tired/self-conscious/busy with her family to join you. And you were happy to do that. You understood also that this was to the detriment of your own marriage and the relationships with friends and family. In the end, you made clear your reasons for leaving, and after a period of relentless pleading to return, you did. Still waiting for this new shared relationship to appear.
Such was your despair, that within two weeks, you left again, and this time you really hit rock bottom. Suicidal ideation, wandering the streets aimlessly and then back to the doctor with your wife pressuring you to take antidepressants and return once more.
After the event, you made a very clear assessment of that time in a letter you sent to the court to support your request for access to your son:
"Quite rightly, the case focused around the child protection issues pertaining to my son and the court’s role in ensuring his safety. Whilst I believe it is important that the issue of suicidal ideation in March 05 is considered by the court, it also needs to be seen in context. I partially explained this in court and elaborate further thus:
The particular time coincided with some highly stressful events including:
The particular time coincided with some highly stressful events including:
The break-up of my marriage
The ending of a relationship with a third party
An exceptionally stressful period in work
The anniversary of my mother’s death
I was feeling exceptionally low at the time and despite some suicidal thoughts and words I did not at any time attempt suicide.
My wife rightly states that she persuaded me to attend the doctor who prescribed anti-depressants. She (the doctor) also signed me off work for a period of two weeks .I returned to her 1 week later and explained about my decision not to take the anti-depressants and she subsequently passed me fit to return to work, which I did. In total I had 7 days off work with stress/anxiety. My decision not to take the anti-depressants was taken after extensive research concerning their benefits, side effects and long term effects."
This time of year had numerical significance for you as it now does for us, John. Sadly
Finality
02.03.07
I left Belgrade yesterday morning to return to London. I had been there since Sunday 11th February. I had spent the previous four days with you in Liverpool. The last time I saw you, on Saturday 10th February, you were blowing me a kiss from the station platform and laughing at the gaucheness of it all. I was delighted at your half joking-half serious gesture. As soon as the train pulled out, I started to text you frantically as I always did and you responded. In other words, we reverted back to our normal routine. That was the last time I saw you alive.
My twin-brother came to collect me from my friends’ house in Belgrade. They didn’t want me to travel alone.
After I spoke to you for the last time in the very early hours of Monday morning, I placed the phone next to my pillow as I always did – easier to catch the first text of the day from you as it beeped its way into my slumber, and I opened one eye to check before rolling over to drift off again with you in my thoughts and my heart: where you have been for the past year or so. Constantly.
I wouldn’t receive another text from you again. And I won’t ever.
I left Belgrade yesterday morning to return to London. I had been there since Sunday 11th February. I had spent the previous four days with you in Liverpool. The last time I saw you, on Saturday 10th February, you were blowing me a kiss from the station platform and laughing at the gaucheness of it all. I was delighted at your half joking-half serious gesture. As soon as the train pulled out, I started to text you frantically as I always did and you responded. In other words, we reverted back to our normal routine. That was the last time I saw you alive.
My twin-brother came to collect me from my friends’ house in Belgrade. They didn’t want me to travel alone.
After I spoke to you for the last time in the very early hours of Monday morning, I placed the phone next to my pillow as I always did – easier to catch the first text of the day from you as it beeped its way into my slumber, and I opened one eye to check before rolling over to drift off again with you in my thoughts and my heart: where you have been for the past year or so. Constantly.
I wouldn’t receive another text from you again. And I won’t ever.
Departures and Arrivals
01.03.07
I arrived home today and you had gone. You have left us and you are never coming back.
You took your own life at some time on Monday 26th February 2007. You were 43 years old. Much too young to give up on all this. And to give up on us – and life.
We have to continue without you; it seems an impossible task.
I spoke to you shortly before you died – we can never know the precise time of your death – but I spoke to you at midnight on Sunday 25th for half an hour or so and you were pronounced dead on Monday evening at 11.45 pm - just twelve hours later.
The last thing you said to me is that you loved me very much and that you missed me. I told you I loved you and would see you in London on Saturday. I never heard your voice again. And I never will.
You left a note in which you asked us to forgive you – to me, your two sisters and your son. You told us how much you loved us and how much we meant to you – and about your feelings of helplessness; how you didn’t believe that you did anything but infect all you touched and how you were not worthy of us. How so very wrong you were sweet man.
Of course, we are all devastated. I cannot even begin to explain to you how we feel. The sense of loss is absolute and never ending. To imagine my life without you is impossible. To think that I will never see you, touch you, share my space with you, kiss you, hold you, and wrap myself around you is unthinkable. I know that I have not accepted your departure; all I want is for you to come back to me. Walk through the door, smile at me and open a few cupboard doors at random as you so frequently did, forgetting to close them as you usually do. And I will remind you to close them. As usual.
I have no idea where you are. I have tried to invoke your spirit and you don’t come to me. I want to find solace with you, even if it is only in my dreams. I want to know that you are finally at peace from the obvious torment you felt. I don’t doubt that you loved me. You told me this every single day of your life and I was so glad to hear it. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And I love you more than anything else. More than all the shoes in the world and all the 4-0 victories Charlton could ever muster!
Since you left us, I have thought about you constantly. I am finding it hard to conjure up a picture of you in my head – the irony of it. The harder I try, the more impossible it seems. You have slipped into my subconscious I believe, resting from the myriad of thoughts which rise in the slipstream of my brain. And I cannot retrieve you.
I want to picture you as you leant in to kiss me so many times before. I want to see you as I always did with a beautiful smile that lit up the room to its farthest corners. I want to feel you arms enfold me as they did so often when we were together. I want to feel you lying beside me, wrapped around me with your head resting in the crook of my neck, squeezing me so tight that I had to ask you to loosen your grip. I just want you John, I want you to come back to me and help me wipe away these tears that catch me unawares and leave me in contortions of sadness and grief. You asked me not to mourn you John – well you don’t get to choose on that score. Sorry special man, but you surrendered that right when you failed to say goodbye. I wanted to say “learn to live with it!”, but I am not sure that is appropriate in the circumstances – still, no doubt you will see the funny side, won’t you?
I want to wake up and believe for the first 10 seconds of the day that you are still here – just a phone call or text away. I want not to hear a song on the radio and cry because it reminds me of you. I want you to still be here and I know you will never be.
I arrived home today and you had gone. You have left us and you are never coming back.
You took your own life at some time on Monday 26th February 2007. You were 43 years old. Much too young to give up on all this. And to give up on us – and life.
We have to continue without you; it seems an impossible task.
I spoke to you shortly before you died – we can never know the precise time of your death – but I spoke to you at midnight on Sunday 25th for half an hour or so and you were pronounced dead on Monday evening at 11.45 pm - just twelve hours later.
The last thing you said to me is that you loved me very much and that you missed me. I told you I loved you and would see you in London on Saturday. I never heard your voice again. And I never will.
You left a note in which you asked us to forgive you – to me, your two sisters and your son. You told us how much you loved us and how much we meant to you – and about your feelings of helplessness; how you didn’t believe that you did anything but infect all you touched and how you were not worthy of us. How so very wrong you were sweet man.
Of course, we are all devastated. I cannot even begin to explain to you how we feel. The sense of loss is absolute and never ending. To imagine my life without you is impossible. To think that I will never see you, touch you, share my space with you, kiss you, hold you, and wrap myself around you is unthinkable. I know that I have not accepted your departure; all I want is for you to come back to me. Walk through the door, smile at me and open a few cupboard doors at random as you so frequently did, forgetting to close them as you usually do. And I will remind you to close them. As usual.
I have no idea where you are. I have tried to invoke your spirit and you don’t come to me. I want to find solace with you, even if it is only in my dreams. I want to know that you are finally at peace from the obvious torment you felt. I don’t doubt that you loved me. You told me this every single day of your life and I was so glad to hear it. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And I love you more than anything else. More than all the shoes in the world and all the 4-0 victories Charlton could ever muster!
Since you left us, I have thought about you constantly. I am finding it hard to conjure up a picture of you in my head – the irony of it. The harder I try, the more impossible it seems. You have slipped into my subconscious I believe, resting from the myriad of thoughts which rise in the slipstream of my brain. And I cannot retrieve you.
I want to picture you as you leant in to kiss me so many times before. I want to see you as I always did with a beautiful smile that lit up the room to its farthest corners. I want to feel you arms enfold me as they did so often when we were together. I want to feel you lying beside me, wrapped around me with your head resting in the crook of my neck, squeezing me so tight that I had to ask you to loosen your grip. I just want you John, I want you to come back to me and help me wipe away these tears that catch me unawares and leave me in contortions of sadness and grief. You asked me not to mourn you John – well you don’t get to choose on that score. Sorry special man, but you surrendered that right when you failed to say goodbye. I wanted to say “learn to live with it!”, but I am not sure that is appropriate in the circumstances – still, no doubt you will see the funny side, won’t you?
I want to wake up and believe for the first 10 seconds of the day that you are still here – just a phone call or text away. I want not to hear a song on the radio and cry because it reminds me of you. I want you to still be here and I know you will never be.
Sad News Indeed
01.03.07
Dear Jon, I hope this email finds you well.
I am writing with some very sad news indeed.
John R committed suicide on Monday 26th February 2007.
As you can imagine, I am completely devastated. I cannot imagine my life without his beautiful face and his truly wonderful personality. The future seems very bleak without him.
In the end, the battle to gain access to his son became too much for him and he left us to find some kind of peace from the relentless attrition heaped upon him. I am still in London - I was away when it happened with friends in Serbia and my brother came to collect me.
His sisters and ex-wife are arranging the funeral - next Thursday at 12 noon. I have yet to get more details.
I would very much like you to be there and I know John would appreciate it if you could come to say goodbye to him. Please call me on my home landline - if you are in London, do call in, it would be lovely to see you.
Oonagh
Dear Jon, I hope this email finds you well.
I am writing with some very sad news indeed.
John R committed suicide on Monday 26th February 2007.
As you can imagine, I am completely devastated. I cannot imagine my life without his beautiful face and his truly wonderful personality. The future seems very bleak without him.
In the end, the battle to gain access to his son became too much for him and he left us to find some kind of peace from the relentless attrition heaped upon him. I am still in London - I was away when it happened with friends in Serbia and my brother came to collect me.
His sisters and ex-wife are arranging the funeral - next Thursday at 12 noon. I have yet to get more details.
I would very much like you to be there and I know John would appreciate it if you could come to say goodbye to him. Please call me on my home landline - if you are in London, do call in, it would be lovely to see you.
Oonagh
Remembrance
01.03.07
JOHN, February 26, 2007.
(To the best Brother in the World, we will miss you more than words can say) Loved by your sisters San and Lyn, brother-in-law Eddie and loving nieces Megan and Aisling. Requiem Mass to be held at Our Lady of the Assumption Church, Belle Vale, on Thursday, March 8 at 12noon, Cremation following at Springwood Crematorium at 1.00 p.m.First appeared on 02 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (Ours is just a simple prayer, for God to keep you in His care.) Deepest sympathy. - Janet, Andrew and David.First appeared on 05 Mar 2007– Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (My best Mate, you will be sadly missed and always remembered.) Our deepest sympathy to all John's Family, thinking of you all at this sad time. - John Bos, Cheryl, Hannah, Barbara, Dolly and Gary.First appeared on 06 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (A friend and colleague.) Heartfelt sympathy to the family - All at Netherley Valley Childcare Initiatives.First appeared on 06 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (A friend and colleague. Will be sadly missed. Rest in peace.) Deepest sympathy to all the Family. - All at Netherley Citizens Advice Bureau.First appeared on 07 Mar 2007
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (To our friend John thanks for all your support.) Deepest sympathy to all his Family. - Netherley Wood Lane Legion F.C. and St. Pascal Baylon F.C. (R.I.P.)First appeared on 07 Mar 2007
JOHN, February 26, 2007.
(To the best Brother in the World, we will miss you more than words can say) Loved by your sisters San and Lyn, brother-in-law Eddie and loving nieces Megan and Aisling. Requiem Mass to be held at Our Lady of the Assumption Church, Belle Vale, on Thursday, March 8 at 12noon, Cremation following at Springwood Crematorium at 1.00 p.m.First appeared on 02 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (Ours is just a simple prayer, for God to keep you in His care.) Deepest sympathy. - Janet, Andrew and David.First appeared on 05 Mar 2007– Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (My best Mate, you will be sadly missed and always remembered.) Our deepest sympathy to all John's Family, thinking of you all at this sad time. - John Bos, Cheryl, Hannah, Barbara, Dolly and Gary.First appeared on 06 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (A friend and colleague.) Heartfelt sympathy to the family - All at Netherley Valley Childcare Initiatives.First appeared on 06 Mar 2007 – Liverpool Echo
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (A friend and colleague. Will be sadly missed. Rest in peace.) Deepest sympathy to all the Family. - All at Netherley Citizens Advice Bureau.First appeared on 07 Mar 2007
JOHN, February 26, 2007. (To our friend John thanks for all your support.) Deepest sympathy to all his Family. - Netherley Wood Lane Legion F.C. and St. Pascal Baylon F.C. (R.I.P.)First appeared on 07 Mar 2007
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