There are days when memories of us sneak up on me. It’s almost like I can see you back in the corners of my mind. At times, it’s like I can feel your presence, a warmth that envelopes me. I’m calling this feeling my “widow’s veil” because the images aren’t 100% clear. They haven’t been since you left. Memories are only just starting to clear up a little now, 514 days since you’ve been gone.
I’ve barely dreamt about you. Some mornings when I wake up, I feel like you’ve been in my dreams, but I can’t remember. Some of my Hope Sisters say it’s a coping mechanism because it’s still too painful to dream about you.
I have videos and audios of you. I replay them so I can hear your voice. At times I can hear you in those corners of my mind, the way you said my name, the way you called me “my angel”.
It still hurts an awful lot. This weekend when we were about to start the competition, I got all teary-eyed again. It’s because I’m fully aware of the fact that my life now isn’t at all what it would have been if you were here. That hurts, too.
I miss your physical presence. I miss you sat in your favourite corner shouting out, “It’s beer time!” while I was in the study totally immersed in my work. How I wish now that I had spent more time sat next to you.
I miss you asking me if I want a cup of tea or a coffee. Every time I go to that kettle, I remember you boiling the water for tea or gravy. I miss you sneaking up on me and giving me a cuddle, scaring the living daylights out of me, and laughing saying, “I live here remember? There are two of us here!”
I miss you especially when I go up to water our plants. It’s lonely up there. I can see you in my mind’s eye, having your coffee, puttering about the shed, cleaning our little pool, sweeping up the leaves. I miss you holding my hand while the colours change as the sun goes down.
Every day is difficult in its own way since you’ve been gone, but every day in May is especially hard because they are working their way to the 31st. It’ll be your second birthday celebration without you here. You would have been 76. What’s that nowadays? We could have had so many happy years still.
This year it’ll just be the kids and me. We’ll go to the race, then, in the evening light the lanterns on the beach and send them out to sea, sending our love and hopes and wishes up to you.
Then I’ll move forward another step, hoping to clear that “widow’s veil” so I can see you clearly, living another day till we meet again.
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Hay días en los que los recuerdos de nosotros me sorprenden. Es casi como si pudiera verte en los
rincones de mi mente. A veces, es como si pudiera sentir tu presencia, una calidez que me envuelve. Llamo a este sentimiento mi “velo de viuda” porque las imágenes no están 100% claras. No lo han estado desde que te fuiste. Los recuerdos apenas están empezando a aclararse un poco ahora, 514 días desde que faltas.
Apenas he soñado contigo. Algunas mañanas, cuando me despierto, siento que has estado en mis sueños, pero no puedo recordar. Algunas de mis hermanas del grupo de viudas dicen que es un mecanismo de autoprotección porque todavía es demasiado doloroso soñar contigo.
Tengo videos y audios tuyos. Los reproduzco para poder escuchar tu voz. A veces, puedo escucharte en esos rincones de mi mente, la forma en que decías mi nombre, la forma que tenías de llamarme “mi ángel”.
Todavía duele muchísimo. Este fin de semana, cuando estábamos a punto de comenzar la competencia, se me saltaron las lágrimas de nuevo. Es porque soy plenamente consciente de que mi vida ahora no es en absoluto lo que habría sido si estuvieras aquí. Eso también duele.
Echo de menos tu presencia física. Echo de menos verte sentado en tu rincón favorito gritando, “¡Es hora de la cerveza!” mientras yo estaba en el estudio, totalmente inmersa en mi trabajo. Cómo desearía ahora haber pasado más tiempo sentado a tu lado.
Echo de menos que me preguntes si quiero una taza de té o café. Cada vez que voy a esa tetera, recuerdo que hervías el agua para té o salsa. Echo de menos que te acerques sigilosamente y me des un abrazo, asustándome, y riéndote, diciendo, “Recuerda que vivo aquí. ¡Somos dos aquí!”
Te echo de menos especialmente cuando subo a regar nuestras plantas. Me siento sola allí arriba. Puedo verte en mi mente, tomando café, trasteando en el cobertizo, limpiando nuestra pequeña piscina, barriendo las hojas. Echo de menos que me cogas de la mano mientras los colores cambian al atardecer.
Cada día es difícil a su manera desde que te fuiste, pero cada día de mayo es especialmente difícil porque se acercan al 31. Será tu segunda celebración de cumpleaños sin ti aquí. Habrías cumplido 76. ¿Qué es eso hoy en día? Podríamos haber tenido tantos años felices todavía.
Este año, solo seremos los niños y yo. Iremos a la carrera, luego, por la noche, encenderemos las linternas en la playa y las enviaremos al mar, enviando nuestro amor y esperanzas y deseos hacia ti.
Entonces avanzaré otro paso, esperando aclarar ese “velo de viuda” para poder verte claramente, viviendo otro día hasta que nos encontremos de nuevo.
About Carmen Medina
Carmen is a 66-year-old widow who is living in Spain. She was born in Vancouver, B.C., Canada to Spanish parents. Since 2019 she has been living in Antequera in the south of Spain. She was married to Barrie Eggington, her soul mate and love of her life till he passed away on December 23rd, 2023, after a long battle with lung cancer.
Thanks to Hope for Widows, which she found online just a few weeks after his passing, Carmen found a group who not only understood what she was going through when few others did, but also solace in her sisters in grief, a place where she could express her feelings and find the resonance she needed.
Carmen has been an English teacher and teacher trainer for over 30 years in Europe, the Middle East and North America. She still teaches English and is the principal at the government funded language school where she is currently working. She spends her time with her daughter and grandchildren. She goes to the gym every day, loves the beach, particularly Torremolinos where she reminisces about the time she spent there with her late husband.