Apologies in advance. This may not end well.
Almost every post I’ve ever written has had a positive purpose and has an uplift at the end. For this, you will have to go there (the end) to discover the final outcome. However I have to write this. I don’t know the exact point in the grief cycle or beyond the grief cycle when you are hit hardest, but it’s today.
Those of you who have lost the closest person to you need no prompting.
The first and most common coping tactic is busyness or distraction. Busyness is obvious. You can distract yourself with a hundred things. Some total occupy you. Walking a tightrope, riding a motorbike, parachuting, speaking to an audience… Then we have watching TV, reading a book and talking to friends or family, or even a complete stranger. Or charity shopping, eating out, going to somewhere. No.
Everything in the charity shop reminds me of Vanessa. Everything in every other shop does the same. Walking down the street reminds me I’m not holding her hand. When I order food my first thoughts are what she might like. Having eaten, I wonder how she would rate it. I see cars on the road that remind me of her cars, the ones she had before she met me. Places I drive past. Have we been there? Had we earmarked a place to visit? I will never go anywhere on the planet with her again. She always, from our first weeks together, wanted to go to the Lake District. We will never go there. I see a beautiful dress in a shop window. It would fit her like a glove. She would look fabulous in it. She would look fabulous in anything.
A thousand memories, triggered by a breeze, an insect, some music, a smell, a taste, a thought. Oh those endless, crippling, brutal thoughts. They persist. They linger. They preoccupy.
Dragging up a handful of negative memories, trying to convince myself life wasn’t always perfect. It never is. We had things to work out, naturally. Resolving them would make life even better than glorious. But she’s not here to do it. But I can’t drag them up any more, I’ve let them go. All that comes up is a deep, unfathomable hurt, which won’t go away.
Another woman in my life? Who in God’s name could compare to her? Glamorous, funny, vibrant, cheeky, loving, engaging, intelligent. And Mrs Vanessa Stewart was next to me!
Planning my next steps. I don’t want to. I have no motivation, no interest, no stake in it. With Vanessa in my life, nothing ever got to me that her presence couldn’t eclipse, nothing ever “bad” lasted; how could it? I had Vanessa. The ultimate. The dream, the soul mate, the perfect match.
Service. Life is service. Helping people makes my heart sing. And guess what, my healing aides, “resources” were Vanessa and Anne. Anne from spirit, Vanessa in the next room, or at a friend’s or out. It didn’t matter. And after the session, I could tell her, remind her, how she took my healing to another level. And it made me want to serve even more. Our working together took this form. She would heal someone, relax them, and they would come to me. How proud I was, how grateful of her help, how I basked in her healing, how I could only succeed.
Anne passed when she was 71. It was absolutely devastating. I barely coped, nearly went under. Anne had shown glimpses that she wanted to pass. But I didn’t want her to. I only, in my mind, “let her go” at the very last moment.
But then, surreal doesn’t cut it, came Vanessa.
Anne was enough for one man for a lifetime. But Only an Angel Will Do. I was ready for my angel. Angel Vanessa.
Vanessa passed when she was 61. She never wanted to pass, but part of her prepared for it. Two Angels have gone.
I believe in the World of Possibility. I’m told another Angel may await. In 12 months time. It’s possible. The ascendancy of humanity is possible. The collapse of millennia of psychopathic rule is possible. Probable even. Certain…
But what if you are past caring? Could I handle a third Angel not working out? Could I be in Nosso Lar before her? My trip is already booked.
Joyless. Grey, grim, pointless. I survey the future. The future? What is that?
The very depths of despair. I’ll come through it. Are you certain? The pits, rock fucking bottom. Only one way up then. Maybe.
I did warn you.
I don’t have enemies. Just people I don’t want to spend time with. All forgiven. But this, this certifiable nightmare. In the days before, in the resentment, unforgiveness phase. I would wish this on no-one.
If you have reached here thank you. I’m not sure what I have given you, but I hope it is something.
Here is the end…for now…
At 5.30 I had a reading with Jonathan Brown. Why? Because it is the space where Anne, my parents, many of my friends, Vanessa, her family and many of her friends occupy. I’m not yet disposed, despite the above, to join them. But without this contact, beam me up Scotty.
So my dad, my mum and Anne came through. Wisdom, guidance, humour (loads of it), advice and total reassurance. From the lowest I have ever been, to rejoining the human race. And Gary Plunkett too. Mine’s a pint!
And lastly, just to prove life, even when spirit is involved, is not filtered through a rose coloured lens. Vanessa has not come to me fully because I’m not ready. Spot on! I’m still angry. Big time. A host of reasons. I’m going to let go of them next week.
Two songs also ‘came through ‘. Wonderful World (Louis Armstrong), played at the funeral, and Singing in the Rain (Gene Kelly). Love them both. It is a wonderful world, even when the tears and anger cloud over. Cue Johnny Mathis. I can see clearly now.
Namaste. But I anticipate a rocky road for a few weeks yet. No, it’s not a self-fulfilling prophesy. Grief has to be processed. The picture? A copper bracelet bought at Avebury. Vanessa, gold, Anne copper, both silver and copper.
Jack Stewart, September 28th 2019.