Today would have been J’s forty-sixth birthday. We are almost two months past the four-year anniversary of his suicide. As usual, me and the boys went away for the actual the date. But this year I booked the holiday out of habit, not necessity.
Four years on and his death has taken on a surreal quality. Did he really do it? Did that *actually* happen to us? He’s been gone longer than he was with us, it’s so strange to think that. The boys talk about him less now. His name used to come up all the time, but I can’t remember the last time they mentioned him. They were 9 and 13 when he died, they are now 13 and 15. Happy, easygoing teenagers – those words shouldn’t go together, but in this case they do. They’re amazing.
As for me, this year has felt different, I don’t know why. Despite all the craziness that’s going on in the world right now, it’s like a parenthesis has closed on the previous years and it’s the start of a brand new sentence. I feel good. Positive, excited for what’s to come.
I decided not to do resolutions at the beginning of this year. Instead, I thought about what I want to stop, start and continue. Nothing too drastic – I just imagined myself at the end of 2026 looking back. What would I like to look back on?
Stop buying stuff from Amazon. The Venice wedding was the final straw. The tone-deafness (is that a word?) of jetting all those people to such an ecologically fragile city. The sheer arrogance of it. And I don’t think they pay their taxes. It’s been too easy to turn a blind eye to it. It’s convenient, and so quick and easy you can almost pretend the items appeared by magic. But no more, including my Prime account.*
(*I allowed myself one exception – the second series of Last One Laughing. I am justifying it because laughing is good for me. )
Stop mindless scrolling. I’ve written before about my screen-time. I hate that it takes up so much of my time. A few weeks ago I bought a Brick – you tap it with your phone and it locks the apps that distract you the most. The kids are meant to Brick their phones as soon as they get home from school. So far I’m having to nag quite a bit but we’ll get there. Watch this space.
Start doing more Art. Yes, this again, but this time I mean it. I’ve subscribed to an online sketchbook ‘class’ and have been drawing for twenty minutes almost every day. Do I love the stuff I’m creating? Mostly no. But does it feel good? Every. Single. Time.
Start editing my book. Over the last four years, I’ ve written 76,000 words of a – likely terrible – novel. Once I hit my target word-count I just stopped. I haven’t gone back to it, I feel like getting that far is achievement enough. But I’d like to finish it properly. And maybe even try and publish it.
Start socialising. Dating isn’t working so I want to get out and about, go to networking events and meet new people. I’ve found a co-working meet up for people who work from home or are freelancers (or both). I’ve been a couple of times and already met some interesting people.
Continue with my work-outs. I was thwarted by health issues last year and I can feel a niggle on my other shoulder (please god can it not turn into another frozen shoulder). But I’ve listened to so many health podcasts and have found a routine that works for me. I take creatine (listen to this if you want a balanced viewpoint) and turmeric and something is working as my joints don’t hurt as much.
I’m managing to lift weights two to three times a week. I don’t love doing it, but I’ve got a twenty minute routine that I can talk myself into. “It’s only twenty minutes of my day!” usually works. I’ve started running again. Very slowly, on the treadmill (it’s too muddy outside) and a maximum of 3km. But I’d missed it and the runner’s high afterwards is very real.
That will probably do for now.
The boys have just gone to bed and I’m about to read my book before I go to sleep. His birthday has been and gone with nothing to commemorate it. Nobody messaged, the boys forgot, just a normal day: work, dog walk, dinner, TV with the kids, bed.
I can’t remember what it was like when he was here. Every morning he used to bring me a cup of coffee in bed. But every morning he also used to wake me up while it was still barely light, crashing around in the kitchen, frantically emptying the dishwasher. Sometimes I still miss having him lying next to me. But I don’t miss his erratic sleeping habits, him getting up at 3am or not coming to bed at all. This week I got frustrated because I couldn’t get a lead to fit into a socket. Such a stupid thing, yet I felt lonely, missing having someone to help me. There were tears. But I don’t miss how he got overwhelmed trying to do projects in the house and garden, how I could never even hint that anything else needed doing.
The house is calmer, quieter. Maybe it’s not quite as fun as it was when he was here, but I don’t have to tread on eggshells any more. I don’t approach the weekend wondering which version of him I’m going to get. I make my own coffee and bring it back to bed, and that’s fine.
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