Dear Death,

It’s me, Rachel. I don’t know whether you recognise me but you came to visit my family completely unannounced and stole my husband from me! I have heard people say that you are just a natural part of life but there was nothing “natural” about your visit. I have also heard people say that you are one part of the duo of life’s certainties – death and taxes, but I am certain that you came too soon. So, all things considered, I have a few things I’d like to say to you. I realise that it won’t change the circumstances but I thought there are some things you should know.

We have already established that you are a thief, you took my husband from me without warning and way too soon but your thievery doesn’t end there. You see when you took my husband you also took my “we”.  It may not sound like much to you but it was everything to me. It covers a hundred little things and a multitude of big things. I’ll give you an example.

It’s the Christmas holidays and this time every year “we” would have the car and camper trailer packed to within an inch of its life ready to head to the coast for a two week camping holiday. “We” would exchange smiles as we climb into the car, the anticipation of everything that the following couple of weeks would be was always almost palpable. Once we got there “we” would fall into a familiar routine. I would spend my time reading and swimming, our daughter would spend her time playing with friends and nagging us to take her to the beach to swim and Chris would become the best fisherman on the south coast. At night “we” would sit around the campfire toasting marshmallows and holding hands while we sat mesmerised by the beauty of our campfire into the wee hours of the night.

It’s a nice picture, isn’t it Death? It’s laughter and fun, it’s familiar and comfortable. It is the memory of past events and the hope and expectation of this picture continuing in various forms for many years to come. When you stole my husband Death you stole moments like this as well. The Camper Trailer no longer sits in the driveway and the ute has been sold, the thought of going back to a place that brought “us” so much happiness now fills “me” with dread because the thought of being there without him would be too painful. But Death, it doesn’t stop there. You stole the trips through the centre of Australia that we talked about taking, the trip to Tassie, the weekends away with friends and worst yet, the daddy/daughter weekends that Chris and Georgia loved so much.  Did you know any of that Death before you took Chris from us? Would it have made a difference if you did? Tell me Death, how do I live with the pain of loss? Have you got any tips on how to make the transition from “we” to “me”?

Hey, Death! Are you still there? Are you listening because I have more to say and I want your full attention! So, we’ve established that you are a thief but you, Death, are also cruel. Yes, it’s the bleeding obvious, the cruelty of losing my husband, best friend, partner in crime WAY too young. But you are cruel in so many more ways. Here’s  an example. My daughter had a great relationship with her dad. All you need to do is take one look at her Instagram account and you’ll see that 90% of the pictures there are Georgia having fun with her dad. They were so close that sometimes I would feel like a third wheel. One of the reasons Georgie was a self-assured confident young lady was because she had a one man, one-eyed, totally biased, totally adoring cheer squad in her dad. So much of who she is comes from Chris – her mannerisms, whacky sense of humour, even her temper shouts to the world that she is her father’s daughter. Now I realise there’s nothing cruel about that but just hang in there for a minute Death and I’ll connect the dots.

You see, losing your father at 11 years old changes you. A death in the family has a huge impact but when a child loses their parent at such a young age it changes them. But, Death, it’s not that which makes you cruel. You are cruel for depriving our daughter of so many precious moments which she deserves but will no longer experience because of you. Every Father’s Day she will feel the sting of your cruelty. She will not have her father when she graduates from High School, gets her car licence, to walk her down the aisle. There will be all sorts of moments big and small that will be tinged with sadness because Georgia won’t be able to share them with her dad.

But your cruelty, Death, doesn’t end there. Because you took Chris away so unexpectantly we didn’t have a chance to say goodbye and now, our daughter, who used to say “I love you” a dozen times a day now says “I love you” two dozen times a day just in case you come again too soon. It’s almost become a compulsion for her. But what’s worse Death, such is your pernicious nature, a once care-free child (because that’s what she is Death, a child!) now worries about me, no matter how hard I try to hide my grief from her. Once upon a time, her biggest worry was getting her homework done on time. Now she is anxious if she is separated from me for more than a day or two. You did that to her Death! Do you take any responsibility at all, or are you proud of your work? You probably thought you just took a man, but that man was part of a family and a family is like a body, when a family loses a loved one it’s as if they have lost one of their limbs.

But wait! There’s more! Besides all of the obvious things, there are a million things unnoticed by most.  According to the great sachmo Louis Armstrong, a sigh is just a sigh. Somebody else told me that sighing is a sign of unresolved grief and for this present time, that’s a more accurate description.  I sigh all the time Death, do you hear those sighs? Do you understand that those sighs represent lost opportunities, helplessness, sadness and frustration? I don’t mean to sigh so much, I didn’t even notice I was doing it until someone pointed it out to me. I don’t really know what to say to people, do you have any suggestions Death, seeing as though you are the cause of each and every one? I suppose you think I’m being too harsh, or laying too much blame t your feet, but the truth is that prior to the day you took Chris from me a sigh really was just a sigh!

Here’s another thing you can take the credit for Death. This one’s a little bit left of centre but is nevertheless your doing. I get to the end of the day and find that my jaw would be aching and on particularly hard days I would also have a splitting headache. I realised that I spend the majority of the day clenching my teeth. I don’t exactly know why I do it, or how to break the habit but it’s just another way you have intruded on my life.

I could go on Death, I could list all of the ways you have interrupted, upturned and ripped my life apart. Your wanton disregard for those of us left behind is disturbing. Your callous act will continue to impact us, probably for the rest of our lives. You took Chris and in his place, the loneliness birds have begun to lay their stone eggs around my heart. They say you come to us all, and I know that it’s true, but all things considered Death I ask just one favour. Please don’t visit us again, at least not for a very long time because my damaged heart, I fear, would not recover.

Sincerely,

Rachel

Always & forever……