I love getting lost in memories through photos.
I always have.
Looking back on photos and remembering the time and place and talking about the stories that went along with it.
Facebook memories have, however, become a double edged sword.
Today they remind me that two years ago I stood up at Pete’s funeral and spoke about him in a past tense.
It reminds me of the feelings I felt on that day.
The soul crushing fear I had of doing what I had to do.
Of my deep feelings of not wanting to do it.
Of not being able to.
And knowing I had to.
Of course I could have asked someone else to do it. To read the words.
But I also knew I absolutely couldn’t. That I had to.
That despite the crying and the shaking and the light headedness I had to walk into that service with our children and farewell Pete.
That I stood at the lecturn and my hands shook so violently I thought I might wring my hands off.
I remember that because of my own feelings and my own desperate attempts to cope on that day, people have spoken poorly of my behaviour.
That I shouldn’t have been able to be so collected.
That I didn’t hug people like and when they wanted me to.
I didn’t speak to people in they way they wanted to be spoken to.
I was in such a self preservation mode it wasn’t ever about them.
I have tried to apologise for any hurt that caused and at the same time, be an adult who knows I can’t be responsible for other people’s feelings and reactions.
Despite the fact I feel a deep sense of being responsible for causing them even though those reactions and those feelings are not mine.
But ... It is now two years later and I need to work out how to let it go.
I look at the photos of the memories of today and I can only remember the fear, the sadness, the laughs, the love ... and people being offended/upset/disappointed and how much their accusing words to me around that hurt me. Deeply.
As one friend often points out - everyone is always the hero of their own story.
Maybe I was cold. Maybe I was aloof. Maybe I didn’t talk to them enough.
I don’t know.
I just know nothing was deliberate. I was just doing whatever I could do to get myself and my kids through the worst day of our lives.
I’m quite sure the people who are offended do not read this.
Purging this is more about me getting it off my chest because it has hung like a weight on me for two years.
I look at the Facebook memories of today, two years ago, and I see there the love people had for Pete. With every tag in a post declaring what a positive impact he had on their life, the way he made them laugh, the riotous activities they got up to in their youth with him...
It reminds me again of what we have all lost, and at the same time, I can’t not look at them
I look at them all and remember a day where I have never been prouder of my children speaking in front of 500 people to remind them all that he wasn’t just a great bloke but also an amazing Dad.
It reminds me of the feelings I felt on that day and my brain and body can quickly remind me that it recreate those ... even two years later (apparently that is a normal response to trauma ... And that your husband’s funeral is, in fact, referred to as ‘a traumatic event’ in medical/psychology fields.)
It reminds me of how far we have come.
Of how much we have done.
How much we have achieved.
Of how people can be amazing - at both ends of the spectrum.
How we have been so lucky to have had the support we have.
Of how much we just miss Pete, so fucking much, in our lives.
How - even with the passage of time - we miss the quips, the laughs, the smiles, the food...
Of how much I don’t miss the discarded work clothes on the bathroom floor beside the dirty clothes basket, the dried out teabags left on coffee tables, the empty rum cans or glasses left in the loungeroom ...
Of how much the death of a person changes or highlights relationships - both good and bad.
Of how, despite it being two years later, I still feel like I don’t have a handle on it all, but still hold onto the hope I’ll get there.
Two years later and I need to work out how to hold on to the good and let the weight of the bad go.
I’ve always said I’m not angry - I’m not ever angry at Pete or our situation - but I have been angry at people’s judgement of me and their behaviour towards us.
I need to let that go now and move past it.
Facebook memories of today also reminds me that last year our second child started high school; that six years ago Pete spiked up Sam’s hair for his first day of school and how bereft Pip was at being home alone; that seven years ago I was battling contact to cover a dozen school books...
I remember all of these things so clearly. And I love seeing them.
Like I love finding a photo album and flicking through the pages, or a sleeve of printed photos, even a negative slip and holding it up to the light to try and work out the images.
The photos of today, two years ago, seem to have stung more than looking over the photos of our life on the anniversary of the day Pete died.
Wise people would say: Get off social media. Don’t look at them. Move on. Forget those people.
I’m trying.
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