My widowed brain

Posted on by villagewidow

I’ve always had a good brain really. Its been naughty a few times, post natal depression, OCD and anxiety, but it was generally a good brain. After Heath died things started to happen to my brain that I had never experienced before.

Foggy and forgetful brain.                                                                                                                     Why did I suddenly have the attention span of a nat! I couldn’t concentrate on a TV programme let alone a film. I don’t think I read a book, magazine or watched the telly until months had passed and then it was only at home and I could pause it when I got fed up and start it again when I wanted. And for goodness sake dont ask me to make a decision! “Errrrrrrr, uuuuummmm,  errrrr.” came out of my mouth like a new language. Widow language.  I found it hard to hold a conversation because of this thick fog. I must have seemed a bit strange as mid conversation I would stop and stare into space.

For ages!

Then I would try to remember what the hell we were talking about. “Sorry, its my widows brain” I would say. I’m not really sure people believed me, especially after 6 or 7 months. Look it up, it’s a real thing. Don’t think you’re going mad….I know I did but it was just my widowed brain.

The first time I went out with my friends I panicked and hated every moment. Not only was the other part of me who is great at conversation and  made people laugh so easily not there but I coudnt talk. I wouldn’t think in order to talk. People would get so bored of me wouldnt they? What was the point in socialising if Heath wasnt there, surely people only liked me because I was with him? Right? I was the sort of person who would leave ‘men talk’ to Heath whilst I chatted with the women. How on earth was I supposed to think of anything to say to the blokes too? Fucking hell. Really? Ive got to talk to the men?!! What about? Cars, tools, their obsessions with collecting things like records, tools, or other men stuff. I really want to do it but I can’t! I am so self conscious. Will anyone think I’m flirting? Oh put that thought out of your mind! Why does it always think that? Im not ever going to flirt again! What if they think Im trying too hard or worst of all….. boring?

It took ages. I braved it. I repeated the braving it. I got to quite enjoy it. I’m pleased to say it does get better and it does take a LOT of practice, I had to force myself at first but now I feel much more comfortable. Only last week I was at my friends gig and I chatted for hours to everybody, men included. Something i thought Id never do! It does get easier. They really want to talk about Heath and share their memories with me and for that I’m grateful.

I would walk into a room and wonder what I was supposed to be doing.  Of course many of us do this sometimes but, when you’ve been in and out of the kitchen for the umpteenth time it gets a little worrying. It was like groundhog day! People would tell me things and I wouldn’t remember.

Who was I?………Before? ……..Who were we? ……Before?

I found out through research that when you have widows brain your memories go….just like that……they leave…..they get off the train……they leave the country……..they lock the door.  Why could I not remember my life! Why could I not remember anything!   I could only think of my lovely man lying dead in our bed. For fucks sake brain! Give me a break!      Help ! I felt like I was losing my mind….I couldnt breath…….breath!……I  was worried about dementia…..breath!………Did I have an incurable illness?…… breath!…..my heart is pounding now! What if I have a heart attack like Heath!……panic…..breath! Take a bloody Diazapan!……ahhhhh calm.                                                                                                   How could I possibly go back to work if I couldn’t concentrate on a task for more than a nano second or even remember what the bloody task was in the first place!

I was really worried about my health all the time. So much so I paid for a full health check which included blood tests, chest xrays, liver function, Kidney function, heart disease, certain cancers and arterail desease. Bloody wish I’d known about the last one. Why didnt I know that Heath could have been checked for hardened arteries. How?!

“Mum, you know he wouldnt have gone” my girls rightly assured me. What is it with some men that they never go to the doctors!! So bloody stupid and frustrating! How selfish! How bloody sad! How fucking ridiculous!

I was anxious too. I had to go to the doctors in the end and I know this isnt for everyone but I was given Sertraline for anxiety. Things calmed down. Now I had to weigh up the feeling of absolute panick and grief to feeling slightly like a robot. I opted for the robot. I had to. I had to put my greif on hold as much as I could for my children .They needed me. They needed their mum to make it alright for them so this is what I did.

Obsessive tidying and Clearing out of cupboards

Everything had to go! No need for the ridiculous amount of plates and bowls. How was I ever going to have friends round for a dinner party ever again! I had an over bearing urge to make everything tidy and minimal. All the years of collecting crap seemed pointless and unnesessary. I wanted it all gone. I cleared out my kitchen cupboards, I cleaned out my bathroom cupboards I cleaned out the bedroom cupboards. I tried to clear out the loft but that was too huge a task. Shit how was I ever going to clear out the loft with my stupid 4 feet 10 inch frame! Where was my burly 6 feet 2 inces of a husband when I bloody needed him again! How was I ever going to manage? How was I going to reach high things? How was I going to move heavy things? Friends came to the rescue and I am grateful for that.

Obsessive tidying became a bit annoying. If the house wasnt tidy then I started to feel anxious. I needed order. I needed to be able to control the tidiness of my house. If I controlled it then all would be well right?

Obsessive buying

After clearing my cupboards of almost everything I then had the overwhelming urge to restock. And restock I did!! I bought clothes or stuff for the house nearly every day. The delivery man made fun of me every time he came round. My neighbour asked if I had a problem as she  counted my cardboard boxes going out to the recycling. My mum told me it had to stop but I just couldnt. It was fun. I was having a little bit of fun in my grief.

My bank balance was dwindling but I didnt care. The buzz I got from receiving my daily parcel was my reward for getting through another day without breaking down or going mad. My reward for going through enough shit to fill a small country. My reward for not screaming all day or crying all night. My compensation for the pain of having to go through watching my girls distraught and upset.

Hideous hideous.

My compensation for being a widow with three girls who I loved so much but could not make it better for them. My compensation for being so so lonely. My compensation for missing the love of my life and my best friend. My compensation for not having sex or have desire in my life. My compensation for not having the laughs and frolics with Heath that I oh so loved. Compensation for not having that special person who knows you so well that you just give that look and they know what you mean. Compensation for being reminded wherever I went there was always something that made me think of Heath or of Us. Compensation that for 26 years I was lead to believe that this would go on until old age and that I would be with him forever. Compensation for the fact that I now had no one who I could tell anything to how ever ridiculous, scandalous, silly or embarrassing. Compensation of having no one to row with, to scream at and know that he still loved me. Compensation for all the in jokes that we had and views and opinions that we had that no one else knew about. Compensation for losing the one person who really got me and I got him. Compensation for not being a smug married anymore. Compensation for not being able to put photos on Facebook or Instagram and show off being a smug married. Compensation for no longer having a partner in crime. Compensation for not having anyone to hold my hand. Oh! compensation for being a fucking widow!!!!!

Lets start from the very beginning

Posted on by villagewidow

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“Shall we get a place together, a flat? Just as friends? It makes sense as we’re in the band together doesn’t it?” he said. I could tell he was smiling on the other end of the phone. I could tell that he  was just as excited as I was at us both getting a flat together.It made sense, we were great friends, we were in a band together. We had the same sense of fun and mischief, spoke every day on the phone and looked out for each other.

“Ok” I said. “Lets starting looking for a two bedroomed flat!”

A couple of weeks later our lives had changed. Heath ‘s relationship had finished with his long term girlfriend of two years and my boyfriend had gone off to Uni.

Heath suggested he come over to my house, where I lived with my parents and younger brother, in a village in Kent, to keep each other company and to plan the move into a flat as soon as possible.

He arrived that evening and as I opened my front door we both held up a bottle of vodka. “Great minds think alike!” we both said laughing.

In he came, all 6 foot 2 inches of him. Dressed in true Rockabilly style….clothes from Kings Road and Camden Market, he looked every bit the ‘main man’ that everyone who knew him thought of him as.

We started drinking the vodka with orange juice (Yuk! How did we drink that?! Talk about ruining a very good drop of vodka!) We wrote songs, listened to music, talked, laughed, talk and laughed. The vodka was working as we became more and more carefree. We danced to “Love Shack” by the B52’s and were so merrily drunk we fell into a large picture of Marilyn Monroe which was on my bedroom wall and smashed it. We laughed and then collapsed on the bed laughing and singing our hearts out!

We woke up in the morning fully clothed and happy. I looked at him properly like it was the first time I had really seen him. (Such a cliche I know! But I suppose thats why there are cliches because they are so true!) His handsome face, his slim but muscular body and that jet black ‘Elvis Presley’ haircut. Always the romantic to a fault,I started to imagine what it would be like to be his girlfriend. Imagining sitting in the front of his car with him, all the girls being jealous because I was with Heath Murphy! Silly girlie things like that. Romanticising but knowing that it would never happen. I had too much to lose. Our great friendship and my position in the band…backing singers are replaceable right? Especially one who has a crush on the lead singer.

I’ll cut the next three days short. To spare you the boredom and also we spent most of it drunk so I cant remember it all. In a nutshell he asked me to sleep with him…

“No!”

Then again the next day….”Go on…we re friends, lets just see,see if we like it, if we don’t we’ll just carrying on being friends.”

“No!”

“Go on, please…I think it will be good.”

“No” (and stop looking at me like that and looking so bloody gorgeous)

Day three, after many knock backs from me, he took me for a drive in his car and spoke to me about his love of music and his love of art and his love of writing songs. I remembered he complimented me a lot.

We then went back to mine, sat amongst the broken glass, that hadn’t quite all been cleared up along with the slowly moulding vodka and orange juice. The most romantic scene. Then the most amazing thing happened……a beautiful sound…… he started to play ‘Blackbird’ by the Beatles on his guitar….I was smitten.

I gave in. I just had to.

One reason was because I just wanted to shut him up and another was I really had started to fancy him. I had, over the last three days, in our own bubble, got to know a different Heath. We had sex. He flicked his hair, which I grew to know, was his nervous sex flick. I found it incredibly sexy and endearing. What was I doing? I bet he buggered off and I’d have to leave the band and everyone would know why! Oh bugger! I still did it again though (what did I have to lose) and again and, I think, perhaps again. We fell asleep with my head on his chest.

Oh fuck…I’d fallen in love.