Category Archives: Following Nick’s passing

So, this is what it feels like to hurt

Thank you to everyone who read, shared and commented on last week’s post about my two husbands, I was overwhelmed by your words of support. If you haven’t read it yet, you can find it here.

I want to share with you today, So, this is what it feels like to hurt, about my time following Nick’s death.

It sure as hell wasn’t easy, much as I made it look like a breeze. Here I was telling everyone how accepting I was of his passing, how OK I was, but in reality it hurt like nothing else i’ve ever experienced.

From Nick’s initial diagnosis, we were always realists, very aware of the situation, relying it to anyone who’d listen.

Things weren’t good, they wouldn’t improve, pancreatic cancer would claim his life. 

We were so united in this, that it just made sense to me, following his death, that I would continue on the same path.

I was OK, Claudia would be OK, we would manage without Nick and be OK.

Just weeks prior to his passing, in his fear of being forgotten – a very real emotion for the terminally ill, he decided to fill our once empty walls with photos. Photos of us, our daughter, our families, our holidays pics etc.

All the memories he never wanted me to forget. He spent nights splayed out on the floor, going through our photo albums, picking the right ones, he was so proud of  his finished photo wall.

So, this is what it feels like to hurt

So, this is what it feels like to hurt
View of our photo wall that still remains

Having gone from only having a few photos on display, we now had walls and every available space full of them, including finally putting up in our bedroom a wedding shot, 6 years later!

Plus my girlfriend Margaret, had organised for us to have some professional photos done as a family and these went up too!

So, this is what it feels like to hurt
Nick & Claudia’s professional photos

After Nick died, especially that first week when the house was full of people, everyone would stop and marvel at all the photos, and comment on how wonderful he was to put it all together. How lucky I was to have this permanent reminder on the walls of our life together.

Yes, I was fortunate, but I didn’t feel that way at 3am, when the baby was crying and I had to walk past the ‘wall of Nick’, wishing so hard that he was here with me. I’d walk quickly past with my head down, so not to look at the photos of his happy smiling face.

Angry, that I was left alone to raise our daughter, angry that he could smile at me when I walked past for the umpteenth time that night to soothe her. That all I wanted was to nudge him in bed and say, ‘your turn, i’ll get her the next time’, like I imagined we would have.

Of course, anger is a rational feeling in going through the stages of loss and it did eventually subside, bringing me to the full acceptance I have today, but it sucked at the time.

I had often felt like a single mum, even when Claudia was born, because Nick was so sick, that it naturally fell on me to look after them both, often simultaneously. After his passing, there was no one else but me, all the time.

I felt cheated, I hadn’t gone into this parenting gig, thinking i’d be going it alone. Of course, when she was a dream child and luckily she mostly was, I was fine, but when she was sick or teething, there was no one to pass her to.

I have huge respect for single mums out there, it’s hard work!

Sometimes around 6pm, when Nick would have been returning home, i’d jokingly have a conversation with one of his photos, ‘Hi love, how was work? So glad you’re home, she’s been a real pain this last hour, can you take her while I start us dinner, and can you change her nappy please!’

And while our families were so supportive, they couldn’t be with us 24/7 and I was so independent, that I refused their offers of help.

I was OK, we’d be OK.

I wasn’t the first single mum widow and I wasn’t going to be the last. 

I was determined to go it alone, Nick and I had been such an independent couple, that it was the only way I knew how to be now.

And while I got angry at my situation, it wasn’t aimed at Nick, because I knew he’d do anything to be back with us, it was at life in general.

Mostly i’d have these thoughts alone, because I worked hard on not showing anyone this side of my grief. I felt like I couldn’t show my vulnerability, because everyone kept telling me how well I was handling it, how it was helping them by seeing me so strong. I found I spent much of my time making everyone else feel ok about Nick’s passing.

I heard it a million times that if I (his widow) was coping, then everyone else should too. I felt like I couldn’t fall into a heap, because so many people were looking up to me as a pillar of strength, but sometimes all I wanted to do was throw my phone out the window and be alone.

I was happy to spend time with family and friends who felt like they weren’t coping. In talking to me, they seemed to feel lighter and gain some perspective. If I could openly talk about my loss and pain, while still focusing on all the good and positive that came from it, then maybe they could too, they still had their partners, children etc to go home to.

Some days were too much though, and once Claudia was in bed for the night, i’d find myself feeling so mentally drained, that i’d sit in my room and cry, for the love I lost and the pain I felt and for having to go through this alone.

Seeing happy families was too much, at that stage and I have vivid memories of being at a friends for lunch when they suggested a walk to the local park and the thought of seeing families playing on a Sunday, was enough for me to blurt out every reason why we had to leave so abruptly, sounding something like ‘ive left washing out, got people coming over, Claudia looks tired, it might rain, running late, thanks for lunch!’ Rushing out before they had a chance to register what just happened.

There were some things I just wasn’t ready for.

It was hard for me too some nights at home, looking at all those smiling photos on the wall. At one stage, feeling sorry for myself, I declared my lounge room area a ‘Nick free zone’ and took down all the photos in that vicinity.

It became my place to sit when I wanted to watch mindless TV and not be reminded of him and it usually worked a treat with a glass of red wine!

But all the talking couldn’t detract from the pain, it hurt so much to think of our time together, having to go it alone now, of not having him physically by my side ever again, but I was OK, we were going to be OK, we are OK.

I’ll leave today’s post there, thank you for reading along and your continued support.

Thank you for your beautiful comments and messages, you encourage me to keep writing,  you all inspire me everyday!

Please don’t forget to subscribe in the box below and Like The Polished Widow on Facebook.

Til next week, Michela xx

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The widow wore a little black dress

Today’s post – The widow wore a little black dress is a continuation from last week’s post, which you may want to read if you haven’t already.

For any new readers, welcome, you might want to catch up by starting here instead.

Nick was gone, his body laying in a funeral home somewhere, I was alone, yet surrounded by people. Cards flooded my mailbox, my phone was full of text messages, sending their condolences and asking about funeral times. The house was filled with flowers arrangements, which are meant to cheer you up, but ironically, don’t.

These were all just reminders that Nick was dead.

The widow wore a little black dress
Nick with our daughter in Italy, 2010

He had passed on Saturday morning, but arrangements were made that the funeral was to be held on the Wednesday with a viewing and prayer service the night before, at the same church.

I had more people visit me after his death, than we ever did when he was sick. It used to annoy Nick, that people stayed away once they heard he had cancer, like it was catchy. We had been such a social couple before his diagnosis.

Truth was, it was hard for many of his family and friends to see him this way, the once fit, confident guy they knew, was replaced by this thin, raspy voiced version instead, who walked with a slight limp.

His cancer transformation was huge and sudden.

Sometimes when we had visitors over, they wouldn’t know what to say, we always talked so openly about Nick’s condition and I guess it freaked them out. Especially when he would talk to them about having adequate life insurance and health checks!

When they’d leave, we’d chat and Nick would say to me, ‘you know what, they are driving home now and they are grateful this is happening to us and not them and that’s ok, because we can handle this.‘ I’d get mad and say ‘it’s not ok to think that way,’ but always so wise, he tell me, ‘it shows them to appreciate life, that no one is invincible and that’s all I want.’ (Hence this blog!)

I knew I had his viewing and funeral coming up, and while I had joked to my family about wearing something bright (read this if you want to know why this was a no!) I knew i’d have to at least wear black to these two occasions.

Funnily enough, 4 weeks before Nick died, we had been shopping after a chemo session, when he was drawn to a black dress in a shop window. Now, Nick hated me in black, but this dress was something he kept trying to convince me I needed.

It was a cute black mini dress and it fit perfectly, but I kept telling him I didn’t want it, I had nowhere to wear it and it was a little pricey!

Nick had a thing for me wearing anything short and tight, (one of his first gifts to me were a tiny pair of shorts, which i’ve never worn!).

He wouldn’t take no for an answer, running (or walking as quick as he could with his limp) to the counter to pay for the dress once I took it off!

He told me i’d wear it to our 6th anniversary wedding dinner and he hinted, ‘you’ll wear it to my funeral and be a hot widow‘.

The widow wore a little black dress
The newspaper announcement

So, the time came for his viewing and funeral, and I knew I had at least one black dress to wear, but I couldn’t wear the same thing to both. So off shopping I went, two days before the funeral.

I remember being in a store with my sister and our kids, looking at dresses, needing something conservative and in black. The shop assistant started to ask questions, ‘was it for an interview?’, ‘no a funeral’, I said, ‘my husband’s.’

Then the obligatory look of part shock, embarrassment and sympathy, as she looked from me, to the baby in the pram and bam, ladies that’s how you get 20% off your purchase!!

On the day of the viewing I tried on Nick’s black dress with some heels, wanting to wear it that night, only to have my mum freak out that, ‘it’s too short, you can’t wear that!’

Apparently, the hot widow look wasn’t in that season.

I was being a little defiant, Nick had bought this for me to wear for this occasion, I didn’t want another dress, I was wearing this one.

We decided to take the hem taken down instead as a compromise, which took away the look of the dress, but I got to wear it. Win for me!

To this day though, I have shoved both black dresses to the back of my cupboards, they are just a reminder of that week, the struggle, the tears and losing Nick forever.

Has anyone else not been able to wear their ‘funeral clothes’ again?

Back to the story, it was the night of the viewing and I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t really had time to grieve yet, too busy organising and black dress shopping, plus the enormity of what had happened, hadn’t really hit me yet.

I was too busy making sure everyone else was ok and that my daughter wasn’t effected by what was happening, though at 13 months, I doubt she knew why everyone was crying around her.

I went with my family to the church to farewell Nick for the final time. Many people had called me during the day to say they wouldn’t be coming. They wanted to preserve their memories of Nick instead, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him laid out in a coffin.

Well, either could I, but apparently, I had to go!

I had collected some of his things to add to his casket including a picture of him and our daughter, Claudia, a letter from me, one of his favourite watches (he collected them), and his g-star man bag, that he went nowhere without, using it to carry all his medication with him, it had became the butt of many jokes.

On a side note, I had emptied out his bag, ready to take to the viewing, when on the way there I noticed a secret compartment I’d missed, in it was $500 and the keys to our shed!

I still laugh that I almost buried him with all that, but, I think it was Nick who made me check it over again!!

His parents also had their own things to add as did mine and a few of his friends too.

I joked at the time, that they’d be no room left for Nick, it’s amazing how much stuff you can cram down the sides of a casket.

But my jokes were not appreciated, I was shushed.

But, making inappropriate comments is my coping mechanism, it’s what I do!

I remember being ushered up to see Nick laid out in his coffin at the alter. I carried my daughter with me. I looked at him, but it wasn’t him, it didn’t look like Nick at all. I felt very disconnected with this body in the casket.

Everyone was watching me, I stood there for what felt like forever, looking down at this shrunken version of Nick, not knowing what to do. I couldn’t cry, the tears weren’t there, I took his hand in mine, but he was so cold and stiff. I bent down and gave him a kiss on his forehead, whispered I love you and took my place back again with my family.

They asked if I wanted to go up again to see him, I shook my head, no I was done. I couldn’t look at him like that anymore.

Nick’s family were clawing at him, screaming incoherently, I wondered what people thought of me, not reacting the same.

Staying calm, feigning a smile, making inappropriate jokes. I didn’t know how else to be, it all felt like it was happening to someone else and I was on the outside looking in.

I felt like Nick was sitting up in the church rafters looking down at everyone carrying on, telling them ‘you’re nowhere’, one of his sayings.

I looked up often that night, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of him. All I wanted was for Nick to be there, sitting besides me, joking about everyone going up to see him in the casket, making me laugh.

But, he wasn’t there, it was just me, sitting on a church pew, feeling so heart broken.

I’ll leave it for there today, thanks for reading along and sharing my posts, means so much that people are reading our story.

Thanks also for all your comments, I love hearing from you.

Finally, please subscribe in the box below, if you want an email when a new post is published!

Til next week, Michela xx

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The circus has come to town – part 2

A second post in a week, which isn’t my normal habit, but I felt compelled to write this week’s first post, after watching the previous week’s episode of Offspring, which was a slight side step about the joys of widowhood. (read: sarcasm)

On that note, thank you to everyone who sent me messages on Wednesday night after Offspring ended, I think seeing what Nina has experienced on the show, has reminded friends of how hard it was for me, losing Nick.

Even though I held it together, I said the same things Nina did, ‘I don’t know how to live. I don’t know how to hold onto him… I don’t know how to live without him.’

And yes, I cried for the last 5 minutes of the show when she let Patrick go, using many of the same lines I did, when I said my goodbye to Nick, you can read it again here.

Enough about Offspring, now onto my real life course of events.

The circus has come to town - part 2
New York in 08

So, i’ve decided to pick up today where I left last week with – the circus has come to town – part 2, because the day was long and there was so much more that took place.

I left you with the laughable shower scene, which i’m hoping you did laugh along with. After finishing my shower, I obviously got dressed and went to join the rest of the family that had gathered. I watched as everyone turned to look at me, as I approached my kitchen area.

I was getting used to these stares already, waiting to see me crack….but no, this time I was wrong…

You see, I had put on a pink top. Yep, you read right, pink. Being of European background and the fact my husband had just died approx. 6 hours earlier, it was ‘apparently’ a sign of disrespect.

Now, I don’t buy into all these traditions and Nick absolutely didn’t. Me wearing colour was not a sign that I loved him any less, and it also wouldn’t miraculously help him rise from the dead.

We had laughed about it before he died. He hated me in black in general, he teased my mum constantly for wearing black, asking if she had a funeral to attend. He specifically told me not to wear black when he died! I was kinda scared he’d come back to haunt me if I did. (just joking!)

My grandma was the one who started on me, but in hindsight I can’t be mad because it’s what she believes in, and having lost her husband 6 months earlier, and now me, joining the same widow club, she felt it was her duty to tell me.

She started, ‘what would people think, it was disrespectful, you’ll look like you’re not in mourning, it’s wrong…blah,blah,blah.’

I fought with her for a while on it, trying to explain in my 1/2 english, 1/2 italian way of speaking to her, that it was my choice and I didn’t care what people thought and it’s what Nick wanted.

Obviously all falling on deaf ears, I felt like a child being scolded. She kept trying to push me towards my bedroom to change. In the end I did, because I couldn’t be bothered hearing it anymore.

But, once there, I quickly realised I had no black tops, not even a t-shirt, so I settled on navy instead, that was ‘approved’ by her.

Can anyone relate to this ??

The other part of having a partner die is that you need to get started on funeral arrangements. I wasn’t prepared for this!

Nick’s parents gave me the number of the funeral directors they wanted to use, so I made the call and waited.

A middle aged Greek guy arrived and got straight to business. I asked all relatives to give us some privacy, as I sat down with Nick’s parents to discuss the once unimaginable, burying Nick.

He went through it all so quickly, like we were holding him up from the next dead person. Flicking through the pages of his folder at lightning speed, caskets, flowers, rosary, burial, service.

Peppering his dialogue with enough Greek, that I could barely understand what he was saying. He spoke mostly to Nick’s parents.

I tried my best to get across what Nick would have wanted.

Nick had wanted someone to do a Eulogy, but in a Greek Orthodox church, this was something they would never make an exception for.

In the end, I resigned myself to the fact that it was only one day and it didn’t matter if it all didn’t go the way I thought he’d want.

It was only one day and I had 10 years of memories of Nick instead. He’d forgive me if this turned into a circus.

Again, I didn’t want to argue with anyone, especially Nick’s parents, who were already distraught and sensitive.

They needed my support and it wasn’t the time to shout, ‘he was my husband, I think I know what he wanted’, though some people may disagree with this.

I was respectful of Nick’s parents, and although I was hurting, they too had just lost their son and we were in this together.

The circus has come to town - part 2
Nick and his mum, always so close

To me, keeping quiet was also because I didn’t know much about the Greek Orthodox religion. Nick himself was not religious, but I knew his parents were, so I let them decide on the finer details.

In the back of my mind, I knew I’d continue with his birthday party celebrations as he wanted. That would be my chance to send him off, surrounded by loved ones, talking about their memories of him. (I’ve written about that in an earlier post here if you missed it.)

The funeral director asked us to get some clothes together for Nick, I went to our room and decided on his favourite jeans and jackets, that he had loved from his ‘skinny’ days.

His mum told me we couldn’t bury him in jeans, it had to be a suit. I hadn’t seen the email stating he wouldn’t get into heaven without one, but again, choosing my battles, I pulled out the suit we’d purchased when we’d baptised our daughter, being the only one that would fit him now.

And it was decided, Nick would be buried in his suit, at his family church.

In the same church, with the same priest that had baptised him, that had married us, and that had christened our daughter and would now officiate his funeral.

Nick’s time had now come full circle.

The circus has come to town - part 2
At a wedding in 2006

The funeral director had bought a couple of workers with him and they were to take Nick from the house to the funeral palour.

It was a tense time for us, though to them, there was very little emotion shown, they were just doing their job.

Everyone rushed to say their goodbyes to Nick, his mum didn’t want to let him go. I was calm, I gave him a final hug and kiss, but to me, he was already gone.

His body was cold, there was no signs of life left.

They lifted all 47kg’s of him onto a stretcher and then zipped him up in a blue body bag. I wasn’t prepared for that, the sight of my husband, the love of my life, the father of my child, being zipped away, like he was an extra on some crime show!

They rolled him down my driveway to the waiting car, neighbours obviously noticing something was up, all started to come over.

They walked slowly like zombies, getting closer, not quite sure what was happening.

And we all watched as they fittingly, put him into the back of a Toyota hi-ace van, and drove away. (On a side note, this was the only Toyota that Nick had never bought home!)

I’ll leave it there for now, thanks everyone for reading along and welcome to the new readers.

I’ll pick this up at the same time next week.

Keep sharing and commenting, I love hearing from you.

Til next week, Michela x

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The circus has come to town

Welcome to today’s post – The circus has come to town because that’s exactly what it felt like following Nick’s death, if you haven’t caught up on that post, you can read it here.

Also this week, my daughter Claudia noticed that a circus has set up near our place, and she has taken to running around saying, ‘The circus has come to town’, so this is also a nod to her.

Nick was gone, it had happened approx. 5.07am, 5th February, 2011.

The circus has come to town
Nick on holiday in Greece, 2008

All that was left was his frail body. His face had lost all expression, he didn’t even look like Nick anymore. To me, this was just his physical form, the Nick I knew had left his body at the moment, he took his final breath.

After walking out and telling our families the news, there were instant tears and wailing, as you could imagine. His mum tore into my room and grabbed at her boy, trying her best to hold him through her tears. She couldn’t be consoled, neither could his father.

I just remember walking through to the kitchen and trying my best to be normal, yet knowing in that instance that everything had changed, nothing would be the same again.

Knowing I had to be in charge, and that this day would be my toughest yet. Nick wasn’t with me, to tell me what to do next, to support me when I needed him the most, it was the first time I ever felt truly alone, it was all on me from here on.

It was too early in the morning to start making any arrangements for Nick, so instead I made coffee and my sister, Franca and brother in law Eden set about sending out text messages, letting our friends know what had just happened. Phone calls were made to close family members, asking them to pass on the message, because telling so many people was emotionally draining.

At one point, remembering we had to tell his work and some of his other friends and knowing their numbers were only in Nick’s phone, I made the bad judgement call to send the message from his phone.

I always imagine the look on their faces getting an early morning message from Nick, hoping it held good news and then reading it to learn of his passing instead. My personal apology here, if you were one of the people who learnt about it this way, i’m so sorry.

There was a constant buzz in my place, phones beeping, calls coming through, I could hear the relaying of his week, ‘yeah, he went in on Monday….they didn’t think he’d go so soon…she’s holding up really well so far…..so strong’.

It went on and on. I was so thankful to have everyone else fielding the calls for me.

Arrangements were made without my input, my sister would stay with me the night with her then baby. They didn’t want me alone, I protested but they wouldn’t listen, too scared that i’d have a meltdown when everyone left.

For the record, I never did, but my family were amazing and so supportive, both then and now.

The visitors started to arrive, the crying got louder, but people were also congregating in smaller groups, talking in whispers. ‘Is she ok?……no, really, is she alright?…..so young…..i just saw him this week.’

Family came that I barely knew to pay their respects, I smiled politely, offered them a coffee, thanked them for coming.

Nick was still in our room, the visitors came in and went straight to him. Pawing at him, kissing his hands and face, crying over his body. I’ll tell you now, Nick would have hated it, but I couldn’t stop them, they wanted to see him. Being of Greek (Nick) and Italian (me) backgrounds, I knew this was just their way of mourning.

It was getting to be early morning and I had a job to do. What most people wouldn’t know about having a loved one die at home, is that once it happens, you need to have a doctor visit to confirm the death and to sign off on a death certificate. You can’t proceed without funeral arrangements etc without one.

I thought this would be easy enough…cue naivety here!

Firstly, I tried to find a quiet corner of the house to make the calls, signalling to my family that i’d be 2 minutes, just needed to make one quick call. I called the hospital doctor who’d we’d dealt with, thinking he’d pop right over, but no, he was busy and wouldn’t be able to make it.

So, I started calling around, to our home hospital doctor who’d come to visit every second day, he to was tied up with living patients, who had priority over a dead one apparently.

I found the number the palliative care unit had given me, they also couldn’t come out to where we lived, it was out of their area code, they’d been assigned to us when we were living in the city. Another dead end!

I had a brain wave to call Nick’s family GP, I ran out to his mum and asked for the surgery’s details, and gave them a call, nope, also a no go, tied up with patients all day and they didn’t do home visits. Well, Nick sure couldn’t get to them!

Arrgh, I was starting to lose my cool, until finally I called one of our home nurses and pleaded with her, she gave me the number for a doctor who we’d only seen once, but she thought might have been on our side of town today doing visits. I called and begged him to come by, luckily he remembered us (Nick always left a lasting impression) and he offered to come in a couple of hours.

Crisis averted, but it made me realise this was such an easy thing when you pass away in a hospital, there’s usually a doctor who do this for you in an instant.

I regained my composure and still I stayed calm and in control.

Knowing that the doctor was coming, I thought I’d better get Nick looking good. I asked everyone to leave my room and closed the doors behind me.

Finally, we were alone again. I went and sat by him and in hushed tones (because the house was full of people!) I apologised to Nick for all the hands and groping and had a laugh with him about the number of people who’d come out to see him.

I got a wet towel and gently wiped down his body,  I changed him out of his pajamas, putting on a brand new pair and finished with a spray of his favourite aftershave. Nick was always conscious of his appearance, telling me ‘people will always judge you based on how you look, whether it’s right or wrong.’ I knew he’d want me to make him look his best. If I could, I would have put him in his favourite jeans, but it was tough enough to wrangle his legs into pajama bottoms!

The minute I opened the bedroom doors again, there were people waiting to see him, honestly, if I could, I would have charged admission and made up Claudia’s university fund. (Damn, why didn’t I think of that at the time!)

More coffee and countless, ‘how you holding up?’ conversations later, our doctor finally arrived. Again I asked for privacy, as the doctor examined Nick to tell us what we already knew. I asked that he remove all the bits Nick had from his body, mainly the morphine pump and to close off his chemo port on his arm.

Within 20 mins he had finished what he needed to do and left me with Nick’s signed death certificate, with his cause of death listed as metastic pancreatic cancer, malignant ascites and deep vein thrombosis.

The circus has come to town
Extract of Death Certificate

I felt like every eye was on me, as the home doctor left, most were too scared to come and talk directly to me, I think no one could really believe that I was ok, watching me for signs of a breakdown.

Waiting for me to cry and scream, ‘this isn’t fair’, but that wasn’t me. My sister was surrounded by people asking her, ‘how is she?, no really, how is she?’. Thinking somehow she’d have a different answer for them, than I had.

I was just doing what had to be done, someone needed to be in control of this day, because everyone else had fallen to pieces.

I wasn’t being ‘strong for my daughter’, as everyone suggested, I was just being me and as I learnt, I can handle tough situations and times of crisis without falling apart.

News of Nick’s death had spread like wildfire, he had touched the lives of so many people. I felt awkward accepting people’s offers of condolence, when I felt the people that truly needed it, were his parents. They had never quite believed this would happen, they were distraught and that’s putting it mildly.

I was going to be ok, I had mourned Nick’s death with him and watched him die a little more every day, since his diagnosis. This hadn’t come as a shock to me, we spoke of it often. I was at ease with what had happened, as much as my heart was broken, I knew it was what had to be.

The circus has come to town
Us on our wedding day 22nd January, 200

I had promised Nick on his last days, that I would be there for his parents, who he knew would need the support more than I would, he cheekily said to me, ‘mum and dad are going to drive you nuts, but please ignore it and be there for them.’ And I can honestly say, I have.

Though it would have been easy for me to fall into my own grief and ignore the hurt of everyone around me, I instead chose to be their strength when they couldn’t get up anymore.

I will leave you with this one moment from that day, it was getting later in the day and all I really wanted was to have a shower. Having been on the go for so long, I needed to freshen up. Nick was still holed up in our bedroom and we had an open en suite off it, so I knew i’d need some privacy in order to have my quick shower.

The house still had some visitors, but it was mostly close family, so I went about excusing myself and asking they didn’t go into my room for the next 15 mins, my sister passed word around too and I quickly rushed off and closed my bedroom doors behind me, very firmly.

Finally, I was alone, and I found the only piece of quiet, in this otherwise crazy circus of a day. As I started to get lost in my thoughts, letting the hot water wash over me, I heard the familiar sounds of our bedroom doors opening and 3-4 people entering my room.  I froze, here I was at my most naked and vulnerable and I had people less than 2 meters away from me, crying over Nick.

Surely they must have noticed the closed doors and heard the water running?!? That they’d been so impatient to see Nick, that they burst in anyway. He wasn’t about to get up and leave, he’d still be there in 15 minutes time.

That’s when I lost my cool, I turned off the water, grabbed my towel around me and started yelling, ‘could you please leave the room, i’m trying to have a shower.’ Luckily the slight partitioned wall, meant they couldn’t see me and they sneaked out, while I regained my composure again and then started to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Because even in the worst of days like this one, after losing the love of my life and spending hours trying to round up a doctor, having my home filled with visitors and having to convince everyone I was ok, I still able to laugh at the shower scene!

It was ok to laugh.

There has to be some light in an otherwise dark day.

I’ll leave it there for today, and will focus next week on the rest of the day and the lead up to the funeral, oh what fun that was!

Let me know if you try and find the light in an otherwise dark day too?

Feel free to share this post, you never know who might draw some inspiration from it.

And lastly, welcome to all my new readers and thank you to everyone still reading along and leaving me comments. I love hearing from you.

Til next week, Michela xx

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