Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum

The permanence of change

5 Comments

I have lived this reasonably blessed life. I haven’t wanted for much. I was surrounded by good people. I never took any of it fully for granted. But it was all “just there.” I was thankful for it. I also worked damn hard. Nothing I have was given to me. This goes for material and non-material realms.  But I didn’t ever envisage how changed everything could be.  I mean changed forever. I am picking this little gem out in my car. Today we are celebrating my friend,  Lisa’s too short life. And I am sitting in my car when I should be drinking Veuve Clicquot champagne at her party. I just can’t do it anymore. She, so full of life and zest, is gone, and I can’t even do what I used to do and participate in a big send off. I sat through the small, intimate church service, wiping tears and fighting waves of more of them, and then stood for three hours under the giant mega marquee amongst the thousand or so there (she was a big deal in a glamorous industry) listening to friends tell wonderful stories. I started to sweat. It’s a rainy 14 degree day, quite chilly.) I started to panic mildly. I wanted to vomit. I thought I might pass out. Part of my change is going from vibrant, strong, caring and capable social being,  to socially awkward and anxious girl-seen-leaving-quickly-but-quietly. This is my new persona. It still doesn’t seem to quite fit. I still don’t recognise the new me. I guess I will one day? 

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5 thoughts on “The permanence of change

  1. Don’t be hard on yourself on such a painful day. Be kind to yourself. Hugs.

  2. Loss is such a difficult emotion to navigate. Loss of a friend, loss of a life, loss of a sense of self. So sorry, Paula 😦

  3. Thanks girls. I knew it would be a long day, I guess I just hoped I could be “normal” for a day, and guzzle champagne with the others, reminisce, and just generally get on with it. So sick of being so out of synch with what I want! Lisa’s was a huge life, well lived, mostly. So it wasn’t all sad, there were some awesome stories shared, and it was just beautiful, the lady had style, and they did her proud – the marquee looked and felt like the swankiest of weddings, masses of white flowers spilling out of urns, candles, soft furnishings, two dwarf trees actually planted in and incorporated into the interior, just dripping with gorgeous fairy lights, crisp, clean and sheltering us from the squally showers that swirled about all day. I just wanted to go and celebrate, but all I felt was sorrow, I couldn’t seem to call on the joie de vivre others did, and she had in spades, and I know she would have wanted me to feel it. She never ALLOWED the kind of self pity I feel so often! We were all in the brightest clothing and she wanted laughter, and for us to all feel her fantastic hospitality – she was famous for it. Her husband and kids were just fantastic, the little middle one had written a speech – he’s just eleven, and already a known orator – and he tried so hard to deliver it, but stumbled just a paragraph in, his dad scooped him up (they are all petite, she was the sister, and daughter of a famous jockey, and a not so famous jockey-come-very-successful-racehorse-trainer) and read it for/with him. Mark, her husband has been magnificent throughout this whole ordeal, and seeing him lose his shit, clinging onto those precious babies, who have also all been incredible, as they followed the coffin out of the church was heartbreaking, as he has remained positive and pretty composed in the face of huge loss and change. I just seem to have such empathy overload, I always have, and I think that is part of my slow journey to some kind of healing, that LEANNE didn’t give a shit about me or our kids.

  4. I have also had difficulty with such events and such emotions. Our emotional tanks are already filled to the brim with grief, and sometimes there is no room for more without totally losing it in front of others. Would they understand? Unless they have been here, not likely.

    Embrace it. Blog it. Cry it out. Listen to sad music and cry some more. It’s ok. Ann Bercht said she just kept telling her story until she had come to terms with it. Tell it, Paula, and keep telling it. Feel it and cry over it and cry some more. I wrote to James every day for over two years, in addition to blogging and commenting all over the place.

    I have a playlist called Sad. It’s for those times. I used to listen to it a lot. I now also have one called Happy. Progress maybe?

    • DJ, I suffer from a social anxiety thing now, it came on about six-twelve months ago. I used to be the social butterfly, flitting about, enjoying the moment, and now I freeze solid to the ground, and the sweat trickled down my back, I was shivering, and it wasn’t cold, then I went deathly white, and thought I might throw up, and then pass out! I had never experienced that before this past twelve months, so I had to leave, and sit in the car, go pick up my youngest from school, deliver her to her sister’s work, and I went back to try again. I lasted another two hours, and then it came again. I went to Roger and said I needed to leave, was he ready to come. He wasn’t so I came home alone. He arrived home with our son, after his work at 11.30pm. A fourteen hour funeral! Lisa would be thrilled, I bet she was there dancing on the tables right to the end. I was gutted I wasn’t able to enjoy it with them all.

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