To say I was happy to see the back of 2020 is an understatement many people have oft repeated.
I struggled with it on many fronts, but I rationalised it began with an amazing 40th birthday party and ended with us moving into our own home, so while the year was pretty epically crap, it was bookended with two pretty positive things.
But as 2020 ticked over to 2021, it marked a whole year that Pete had never lived in.
Granted he was only in the first 20 days of 2019... but since his birth, 2020 was the first full year he wasn’t in.
It has been a mental challenge to get my head around that.
Also because I can no longer say: he died last year.
It’s now: the year before last.
I am not really ok that in a couple of days we will begin our third year without Pete.
I am holding on to advice given to me by a widow who has walked this path that: Year One is all adrenaline; Year Two is awful; Year Three is when you seem to get a handle on things ...
Granted that came with the caveat that she still struggles with the crazy of being a widow with many children, many years down the road, and so while Year Three might be easier, there will always be this weird widow alternate world we live in.
The end of Year Two seems smashing us from every direction just to make sure it makes a solid impression on us before it leaves on Wednesday.
Some of those, I will admit, have been brought on ourselves - moving house was a fairly monumental upheaval to our lives ... but just when I thought it had settled down, unpacking boxes last week when my Mum was down, just brought about a whole new wave of grief and sadness.
I thought the kids and I were in an ok place mentally. But the upheaval of the end of the year, the kids realising they were growing up and had changed since Pete was alive, the beginning of a new year, over tiredness, my needing to work despite it being summer holidays for the kids, coronavirus and border restriction changes not letting up so holidays plans remain in the air until the very last minute ... its all just been incredibly trying and the kids are showing me that in all of their own individual ways.
And when those meltdowns happen, people say in almost surprised tones: Oh, its still all so raw, isn't it?
Because with the end of Year Two is the new way in which people react to us still having days of raw grief. It's like they think it should be easier now. There shouldn't be so many tears. It shouldn't be as hard.
Society and the world has moved on.
People have moved on.
Lives have moved on.
All of that is ok. It's what happens.
It's just - even though our lives have moved on also, there is still a deep crevasse of pain from losing Pete. It's generally unseen because of the every day realities of life and school and work and stuff.
But because the every day covers that gaping wound, it means when the top is ripped off it, it bleeds a lot. And its hard work stemming the flow once it starts. Even harder to stem it without people noticing.
Like that scab you keep knocking the top off and you curse each time it bleeds because you thought it had healed, but look at that - its still bleeding!
Seeing out the second year of Pete not being here feels wrong in so many ways.
It also seems wrong that we have seemingly got on with our lives without him.
I mean, how can someone who was the centre of our world, be removed, and the world keep turning. Our orbit tilts and wobbles a bit, for the most part, its kept turning through necessity.
Its something I know the kids struggle with. They often get very upset that their growth, time, the world - everything - moves on despite, or in spite, or their Dad not being part of it.
I selfishly floundered on my birthday because its been 20 years since I had a birthday on my own - without someone in it to make a fuss of me because they were my person. I cried a lot down the phone to someone because I didn't want to be a lonely widow on my birthday, but that's what I was.
Last year doesn't count because I employed an entire village as my people to celebrate.
The kids tried admirably. And I love them for it. But I felt incredibly lonely.
And next week when I give a nod to the two year anniversary of losing Pete, I am going to desperately try and think of what - despite all the odds - we have survived.
I'm not sure if I'd go so far to say we have thrived.
But we have survived.
Also - this is reasonably accurate description of how I'm getting through the first month of this year ...
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