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MyBaby2Bump Podcast: The Widowed Dad

7th September 20207th September 2020
by Mark Wilcock

Here is the link my last ever ‘Grief’ share – it practically includes everything on my checklist, it’s as raw as it gets in all honesty.

It is in the form of a podcast, for those new to this media.

It has no edits, lots on the charity ‘Widowed and Young’.

Enjoy

Mark

Main link –https://www.mybump2baby.com/podcasts/fiftyshadesofmotherhood/the-widowed-dad
Via Spotify – https://open.spotify.com/show/2ZzMmFzjg1EsPlGZ8mdYyr

Via Apple – https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/fifty-shades-of-motherhood/id1517280582

Via TuneIn – https://tunein.com/podcasts/Kids–Family-Podcasts/Fifty-Shades-of-Motherhood-p1331099/

Via Stitcher – https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/fifty-shades-of-motherhood?refid=stpr

ViaGooglehttps://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5idXp6c3Byb3V0LmNvbS8xMTQ0ODIwLnJzcw/episode/QnV6enNwcm91dC00Mjg5Mjcz?hl=en-GB&ved=2ahUKEwip1vORhJrqAhXJilwKHZcYAiUQjrkEegQICRAU&ep=6

Being Mum and Dad

BBC Life After Death: How I coped becoming a…

7th September 20208th September 2020
by Mark Wilcock

Early this year I received an invitation from the BBC to be involved in the creation of a short documentary around the topic of grief. Well, male grief to be more specific with my own flavour. The creation of this miniseries was to bring together a number of people who had been affected by mental health issues and bereavement.

After 6 hours of filming in my home in Southport and down in London. I was expecting a little more than 9 minutes of footage to be included in the final edit. I’m guessing the whole Covid-19 lockdown played a big part, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. It really did make me think twice about ever doing something like this again. Especially considering the amount of time, effort and personal information Marco and I had initially put in.

Anyhow, that’s enough grumbles from me. I hope this finds the right people out there, even if it just 9 mins of empathy.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/stories-52910362

Best wishes

Mark x

My child’s memory of her mother

Comeback kid

5th August 20199th August 2019
by Mark Wilcock

I have decided to wrap up my blog with this final post for my rainbow of love, loss and the pot of hope found at the end of it. My thoughts have gone into overdrive for this, complete with the countless speed bumps of contemplation on my entire decision to stop.

It was only last week that I was sat in my home in Southport where I started to piece together my thoughts for this post. I told myself to “maybe I should wait a bit longer”, though; I knew I needed to figure out whether my decision to stop was based on it just being ‘the right time’ or something else?

No matter how I observed my feelings, I had to be honest with myself. I realised that all the anguish that made me start writing my blog at the beginning, has now changed shape. It has now morphed into something that is making me want to hold back my energy. Maybe it is just the obvious and simple fact that I need to concentrate all my energy on writing my book. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it and I certainly can’t ignore how I’m now feeling.

So, at this point, I stopped thinking about what I wanted to write down. I got up out of my chair and made a beeline to the kitchen counter, where there was a plate of cookies that I’d been avoiding all day. I ate the whole plate.

Then I thought to myself, “how could cookies not make me feel better?” Then all of a sudden, I started to think about Katherine’s love for cookies.

When she was alive she would never settle for just any old cookie. They would have to be the soft doughy type. The ones that just melt in your mouth when you chew them. Of course, they could only be worthy of her full praise if they came with the chunkiest chocolate bits concealed inside them.

As a child, Katherine and her family set the goalposts high for the ultimate cookie eating experience. In the past, her family went on holiday to Orlando, Florida, USA. They had discovered the grocery chain called ‘Publix’, which they’re cookies became the holy ‘Cookie’ grail. Since this discovery, every other cookie was adjudicated against the ‘Publix’ experience.

So, I then started to think about the purpose of my blog in the same sense as Katherine’s ‘Publix’ cookie test. In a way, it has been my own ultimate experience for my grief. It had been my best support tool all along, releasing my thoughts, my emotions, my pain and my hope. It has helped people to understand and to know what life was truly like behind closed doors of a widowed Dad and Husband. Nothing else compared to it.

I then questioned myself whether my resolve to wrap my blog up was because I’d had enough of analysing everything in my head, or whether all my topics of grief had simply run their natural course. In which case, perhaps my mind was probably just adapting accordingly in preparation to write a book. Could writing my book be the very nature of Katherine’s ‘Publix’ cookie test? It could initially be judged against the power of my blog when it is released. Complete with all the chunky blocks of love I intend to put inside it.

It then occurred to me that “yes, this is it”, this was the next logical step. I now have the opportunity to build a legacy for Katherine on behalf of our little girl by capturing the special moments of her life for her to cherish forever. It was the right time to finalise the blog once and for all.

I started this blog from nowhere. I have pushed it hard and I’ve found lots of others who were searching for the same thing as me. One of the most beautiful things about the empathy of others was the fact we have all helped one another, and we remain to do so continually. I think that reaching out to the people I eventually found was probably the most significant step I could have taken in helping myself through the pain of grief.

Something I have never told anyone is my personal feelings when I reached my fifth post in my blog. I felt that all the readers would think I was just being a dictatorial dick about grief. I would even think some would even see me as an attention seeker and just simply want me to “shut the fuck up?” But that simply wasn’t the case, it was all in my head when I began to connect with others.

I must admit, things progressed quite quickly with all my truthfulness in grief. I have had the opportunity to go farther into the public domain: radio appearances, media interviews, life Insurance adverts, articles in newspapers, magazines and now my final piece, a book. It was really interesting to observe how people, in general, are interested in reading and sharing it. This was one of my other purposes for it I wanted to help the many who haven’t even experienced loss.

Despite my division of opinion, today is a good day to move onto the final stage. I now have to make a promise to myself to crack on with the final legacy for Katherine. I can’t see myself writing both my book and blog together. My body and mind simply won’t let me. My emotional energy to write can sometimes run so high for a single moment, and then grow hardened in the next period of time.

With time in mind, I also want to concede that time does, in fact, heal dramatically. I find this strange to say, but it did occur to me the other day that I don’t see myself as a ‘widower’ anymore – it’s just a label. Maybe with all the time that has been and gone, I don’t want this label to define me now, for the rest of my days. Even without this label, nothing about losing Katherine feels any different inside my heart.

Over the last few months, I’ve experienced this strange sensation – a feeling like I’m starting to live a happy new life again. My love for my wife Nicola is a magical thing and I feel blessed to have the opportunity to live and love again. I feel like I’m not playing an uncomfortable role anymore, but yet I can still hold and love my past in my heart and my head. I will never forget the life and love I have with Katherine.

It’s quite funny how I’m reminded of how my life is now. I had to fill in the marital status section of an online form last week. I spotted ‘Widowed’ within the drop-down list. I thought, Oh shit! That’s not me anymore, I’m married! Then a smile appears on my face.

I guess the smile comes from how I feel. The feeling of content is enough to gratify myself and to not be entirely defined by my past, but – honestly – I think it’s actually because I have a title and a status that is altogether more pleasing and delivers responsibility to my life: I’m a parent and a husband again.

For my daughter, Margot, she’ll start school next year. She just turned three last week and by the time she comes to read all the things I’ve written. I’m hoping she’ll understand that I’ve tried to create a narrative of the early years. I am sure she’ll comprehend how we never asked for the horror that life had thrown at us.

We’ve moved forward in the right direction and I want her to appreciate that it was only I who could judge and deem the most appropriate way forward for us both. I have found the strength and ability to reinvent myself, for reasons that she will eventually understand. I hope she will embrace the happy and sad times ahead of us. I can’t even begin to piece together the emotional rollercoaster of the discussions we’ll have throughout the years.

One thing I do know, and she’ll agree on. Nicola has won the gold medal for the Mother of the year award. The relationship they have is just so beautiful to see.

I called this blog ‘No Rain No Rainbows’ in admiration of the final line of the Hawaiian rules. I guess the ‘rain’ resembles all of the tears I’ve shed over the years of losing Katherine. The ‘rainbow’ of course is something Katherine admired deeply in life. It also carries the hope for the future out of sadness.

Let’s not forget that one can’t occur without the other too, which is important to remember. You can’t know what happiness is until you’ve tasted it. This is what I’ve always wanted my blog to describe too, in so many different ways. All of these experiences I’ve shared are for the benefit of others. I never thought I’d have to write or share my thoughts, I’ve never had any desire to, but I have made my choices and it has helped me immensely.

Life never goes to plan. If it did then I certainly wouldn’t be writing this blog for someone to read. It has been a really interesting life lesson, one that has gone down easier with a big plate of cookies.

Much love x

Mark

Anniversaries

Birthday Girl

17th July 201917th July 2019
by Mark Wilcock

Even though you’re no longer here,
Your memory grows stronger with each passing year.

The end came as an unknown battle,
complete with the utmost emotional shackle.

With little choice but to give in,
your beautiful heart could never win.

With no goodbye before you left,
I’d have told you, you’re my hero and the best.

The happiness you gave, brings tears to my eyes,
Though its lives with me – through the threads of our lives.

For all the walks I take by the sea,
I will always throw a pebble in for you and me.

So many tears before I sleep,
Wishing you beside me, you’d be forever here to keep.

Wishing I could see you just one more time,
I’d shout your name out aloud.

The years don’t get easier; they said the pain would go,
I guess I’ve just learnt how to let my feelings show.

So with your giant rainbow up in the clouds,
I just hope I can make you proud.

Hoping the years will start to soften and just maybe then…
your birthday could feel happy once again.

Happiness

Moving forward

18th June 201918th June 2019
by Mark Wilcock

Last Friday, the second chapter of my life began as I married a caring, amazing and beautiful woman called Nicola. It was the most astonishing day that we both shared with all the people we love.

Being a widower who has become open to love and happiness a second time around. It has not only given me something I was ready for, but it has also given me something new in common with lots of other widowers. Teasingly, I can now put myself in the same category as the great Sir Paul McCartney.

For many reasons, remarriage is simply one of the various paths we can choose from grief. I hope my experience can prove that after the life-changing of loss, you can introduce love back into your life. However, I do understand this is only if we chose or allow it. I know not everyone who has suffered a bereavement of a spouse will wish to find a new love in this life. I have met and spoken to so many people who have made peace with their permanent loneliness, and this is ok.

The path we eventually chose is just how we deal with our lives in our very own way. Every emotion and choice we make is so complex and personal to each individual. For me, the path of my grief has navigated me to a new life that accepts my grief, in a world of immense love.

When I first felt prepared to remarry, two things determined my own readiness: firstly, I had accepted my loss and I was interested in sharing more than just a bed with a woman. I was interested in sharing my life, my love, and my family. The droplets of grief were starting to fall far less frequently at this time. The waves of emotion that radiated out were more manageable. I was getting stronger than I could ever have imagined.

Secondly, as I was a widower who wanted to remarry I had to acknowledge and process the natural guilt I felt at the beginning. This guilt had no effect on my feelings for being in a relationship. This was purely a new outcome from taking the next step. It manifested from my grief and for my old life with Katherine. With time and patience, it eventually became more natural to be with someone else.

Like most things in grief, none of the above will come with a timescale. The important thing for me was that I recognised how I felt. Whether I’d waited two years or twenty years to embrace love again, I always knew I would have felt the same. It was important to self-identify and to process it.

Looking back over the last two years of my journey, and all the challenges of grief that I’ve acknowledged. Losing Katherine has changed me in so many bizarre ways. None of my journeys was planned or expected but I’ve faced them all head on. Katherine had left a better man than the one she had married. I know Katherine’s life’s purpose wasn’t to leave me a better man. What I mean by this, is the fact it is all a side effect of her loss. Lessons in grief and love!

I am very happy to reproduce the happiness of my first marriage. I consider myself very lucky to have been able to do it twice in the same lifetime. Some people don’t even find it at all.

Being Mum and Dad

Speaking out

11th June 201911th June 2019
by Mark Wilcock

As it is ‘Men’s Health Week’ and also the run-up to Father’s Day I have shared my story of widowhood and beyond – in this week’s Bella Magazine. In the article, I speak out about being widowed, facing grief and the importance for other young widowers to reach out for support.

Accepting the new you

Inking of you

15th May 201916th May 2019
by Mark Wilcock

Tattoos can sometimes translate or describe a person’s story or point of view. From my experience, I’ve yet to meet anyone who didn’t have a thoughtful and compelling story behind their permanent mark. My own tattoo is almost two years old this month. Recently I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been thinking about how, still to this day, it inspires me every time I look at it. It truly is a slice of mindfulness. It’s also quite common for a lot of widows and widowers to have them for different reasons. I guess I’m no different.

After Katherine’s funeral, I started to develop a desire to have something unique to represent my wife’s memory in a special way. The seed of this idea was originally planted from a conversation I had with a close friend. I remember how he presented me with a picture of a stunning tattoo his wife had done. She had it inked on her arm in honour of their daughter, who they had lost not too long ago. When describing the reason for her choice in design, I became captivated in his description of “it will always remind her of the happy moments”. From that point onwards, it was never up for debate.

Like many of the choices I’ve made in widowhood, several of my friends and family had their own options about it. I had to bang the old “you haven’t been through this, you just don’t know how I feel” drum. I just wanted something that was externally visible on my right shoulder. Something that wasn’t concealed deep within my heart and mind. I wanted to engrave a memorial to Katherine on my body for the rest of my life.

Contrary to popular opinion, memorial tattoos can be more than just names, sayings and angels. They can be more beautiful and meaningful than any tribal tattoo or fashion sleeve. If you are considering something like this then you must be prepared for some pressing inquiries if you plan to consult family and friends about the idea. At first, many of my nearest and dearest missed the opportunity to see the beauty of my design and its symbolism. Not that it really mattered, it was going to happen whatever they thought. However, as time went on I did manage to ease some tensions when I explained the reasons behind my choice.

My design was about a lesson I identified during the grief process. A lesson on the desire to have hope.

The Hawaiian palm tree is thriving and positioned in a place of beauty, signifying the full, beautiful life I have experienced both then and now. However, as nature will always remind us, nothing will last forever.

The beach is where my old life ‘was’ and will remain.

The rear-facing edges of Diamond head mountain represent the emotional heights and struggle from experiencing the loss of Katherine. My outlook is, that by conquering these ‘heights’ could lead me to find happiness again. A life I can be proud to lead; One filled with purpose instead of suffering, gratitude instead of envy, life instead of death.

Ultimately my tattoo is a symbol of my past and all the choices I have made since Katherine passed. Choices which have made me who I am today. Choices that remind me that I am far stronger than I know. It is my reminder of love and healing that will always be with me. It can’t be broken, lost or changed; It is a very clear and simple reminder of the beautiful person who left a deep impression on me.

Accepting the new you

Mr Judgemental

8th May 20198th May 2019
by Mark Wilcock

How hard could it be to raise a child alone? Plenty of women do it on their own and they do it well! They usually do without much praise too, society just accepts women for picking up the pieces and just ‘getting on with it’. However, turn the gender round and a male single parent becomes a ‘Brave superhero’.

Soon after people heard my story I would get this a lot. As nice as it would sound on the ears, I never really agreed with the praise. Sometimes I would feel like I was being pitied, out of all my feelings I really didn’t want that. I would often feel insulted when people would praise me. I wanted to give all of this praise to the vast amounts of brave single parent women around the world – each doing an amazing job and not being recognised. I felt both men and woman in this scenario should get an equal commendation. Not just me, for being a man. I’m just doing what any decent parent would do for their baby.

At the beginning of my widowhood, I would observe so much in other parents. I encountered lots of men and women who didn’t have any confidence in their poise as a moral parent. Being a very hypersensitive widower at the time – It really bothered me.

A classic example of this would be the standard social media status we’ve all witnessed. They go something like this…

“AAAAAH HELP, I’m a single mummy this week, Matthew is away with work, send me wine and wishes”

From where I was stood, my internal monologue would spout “WOW! So, being alone to care for your child has created a short-term predicament. Whilst your husband is away doing his job to financially support your family”.

They just don’t get it.

‘It’ meaning how lucky they are for having a living and breathing spouse. For their child to have both, Mum and Dad. It was moments like these that would make me feel uncomfortable for other people. At the beginning I was harsh on people, this was just how I repressed my grief and released my emotions. I was a grieving man in shock who didn’t know how to grieve properly. A man who didn’t know how to adapt to this life in hell. I was so judgemental on people for taking everything for granted and for presuming too much about me.

I used to love making random people feel uncomfortable. Back when I was off work I would attend NCT (National Childbirth Trust) daytime events with Margot. I’d always be the token male in each meetup. As we’d all warm up with the hello’s, the small talk would commence. Being this lone male figure in an all-female cast. All the women would flock around me and say things like “are you a stay at home dad?” or “have you taken a day off work to be with your baby”. I’d casually reply “no”, they would then follow up with a question about her mother, I would then drop the concise “She’s dead” bomb and watch them pick their own indecorous jaws off the floor. Cruel, I know.

It wasn’t the lessons of time and widower wisdom that brought me to be more understanding. It was my daughter that carved me into the person I am now. The biggest lesson Margot taught me was not to focus too much on the past or the future. She lives so much in the present. She deals with her emotions and thoughts – in the moment – unless it’s going to affect her in the next few hours, it’s been dealt with and she moves onto the next thing. I had never ever lived like this in my old life. As time has gone on since we lost Katherine, this small human has taught me so much about living in the now and not to worry about what if’s, could be’s, and especially what other parents are doing and thinking.

Of course, I’m different now. If you’ve followed my posts, you’ll know how much I’ve discovered in accepting my grief and how I’ve reinvented myself around it. The biggest part of my influence is my daughter. At the tender of age of two, she has given me a lot of good life lessons. It’s not something you’d contemplate, but she has taught me so much about this new life.

I’m now more gentle, more kind hearted and less judgemental of others.

1st Anniversary

MMMBop

30th April 20191st May 2019
by Mark Wilcock

So here we are, two years since Katherine left us. Two years since I said goodbye to my love, my best friend, wife and mother to my daughter. Two years since I became a new person. Two years since my heart was broken. Two years since I experienced the loneliness, the depression, the shock and the MMMBop.

It was only seven days ago I had to carry the weight of our fourth wedding anniversary. Today is another hurdle to get over. It also marks the end of the second cycle and the beginning of the third. Margot and I have been through the first of everything important without Katherine and we’ve already begun to encounter them all over again – birthdays, Christmas time, family holiday’s, Mother’s and Father’s Day, numerous anniversaries. We’re still here, getting stronger and I’m still writing about it. I think I’ll be doing this for a long time. It is by far the best tool I have discovered to express my feelings. Not only for me but for others and to help my daughter in the future.

When I look back at the last two years. It doesn’t get any less painful to have lost Katherine, but it does slowly get easier to get through each day. Because of all the incredible support Margot and I received from our loved ones. After surviving the first year, people often asked me “how are you so positive?” or even “how did you get yourself out of bed every day?”!

Well for me, it came in three parts. Let me break my experience down for you.

Part one

In simple terms, I had no choice. I’m both Mum and Dad to my little baby girl. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself and it wasn’t going to get me anywhere in the process. I had to eventually let the grief take hold of me. This is the most important and hardest part to discover. By embracing it all, it has made me more logical today.

I’ve always said that everybody deals with grief very differently, a partner’s grief is different to a parent’s grief or a child’s grief or a friend’s grief and everybody copes in different ways. My philosophy on this still remains the same two years on. I cannot change what has happened, no matter how much I want to, so I need to try and make the best of my situation. If I can swing my legs out of my bed in the morning and I’m feeling well, and my daughter is healthy and happy, then anything else that happens that day is just a big fat juicy bonus. The important factor is, you let it take you. Don’t repress it.

Part two

This came from the experience I gained from dealing with the first anniversary. This is what really helped me mentally and emotionally get to where I am now . Back then, I made a conscious decision not to be around our family home. Or even the UK for that matter. By that point, the memories of sadness in our family home had hugely top trumped all the happy ones we created. The darkness was too much for me to handle. Instead, I had devised a masterplan. I chose not to challenge the inevitable pain in the battleground of our home. I had to face it head-on in a more positive environment. To essentially balance this beast of sadness with a little influx of happiness.

I chose to endure the first anniversary within the realm of fantasy, magic and make-believe! This came in the form of Orlando, Florida, USA.

For Katherine, Orlando was the happiest place on earth. It held so many joyful memories for us and for her childhood memories. We had got engaged at Disney’s Magic Kingdom back in October 2013. We also spent our honeymoon here at this exact point in time back in May 2015. Another reason why I wanted to rekindle my fondness of the time we had together.

On the flipside of all of this, my brothers 40th birthday was approaching the week before Katherine’s first anniversary. I’d realised that I hadn’t bought him anything for this monumental birthday. It also occurred to me that in the forty years of our brotherhood, we had never actually been on holiday together. Just the two of us.

I’m very close to my older brother Karl. He’s the only brother I have and the funniest person I’ve ever known. If anyone could attempt to lift my spirit to cloud #9 during this spell- it was him. Katherine adored him, and he adored her. The perfect brother and sister in laws. This opportunity was so right in every way. Not only to take my best man from our wedding but to also have my best and closest friend by my side each step of the way.

A deep downside for any victim of Sudden arrhythmic death syndrome (SADS) is the fact that the heart of the victim is inspected to discover the cause prior to the diagnosis of SADS. I hadn’t received Katherine’s heart back till after the funeral. This meant that all of her original ashes had already been buried at this point in time. When I eventually received her heart back from the pathologist, I managed to have it privately cremated and presented to me in a small but beautiful box made of pure English Oak.

I remember one evening sitting in my kitchen, just stirring at it for a long time. Realising how perfect it was in size and weight to travel. Here, the perfect opportunity had presented itself to me. I could spread the ashes of her beautiful and kind heart within the domain of her favourite Disney resort. Two had suddenly become three for the trip.

Words could not describe how amazing the two-week adventure turned out to be. I experienced vast amounts of high and lows from both theme park rides and the triggered memories of my wife. My brother and I had also been given the chance to connect back to our own childhood. It was simply ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’.

Two of the biggest kids to be found at Disney Hollywood Studios (2018)

I’ll always remember one specific moment in Orlando when I gained a slice of mental ‘closure’. It was midday at Universal Studios, we’d just finished our lunch in a restaurant by the entrance to the park. As we began to leave, my brother Karl expressed the need to use the restroom. He went back in, as I proceeded to wait outside. In true Orlando fashion, it was the most stunning day. No matter how I felt on the inside, my outside was being drenched by the most beautiful rays of happiness. I casually leaned against a wall and watched the world go by in its droves.

Even Wookie’s need love too, Hollywood Studios, Orlando (2018)

For just a short moment it went bizarrely quiet, my senses started to sharpen, it really made me take more notice of my surroundings. I thought of Katherine and just how much she would approve of my actions. I pondered just how much she would love everything Karl and I were doing. At that exact moment, a song pierced through the air into my ears from afar, the melody was catchy and uplifting. I didn’t have a clue who the artist was nor the title of the song. If anything was spiritually possible, these unknown lyrics had just given this moment a voice. It made me cry and smile at the same time. It was exactly the kind of words she would say to me. It was a really bizarre but happy experience that gave me so much strength.

Near the end of the trip and thanks to Google, I eventually discovered the details of the song (Anywhere by Passenger, released in 2016). Since then I’ve added the song to my funeral wishes in my will. One day, my daughter Margot will appreciate reading this explanation for my choice.

Passenger | Anywhere

Part 3

So, going all the way back to the original question here ‘how are you so positive?’ I’m trying to make the best of the situation I find myself in. I can’t change it but I’m sure as hell not going to let it ruin me or my daughter. It’s now two years and our lives still need living too. Since I became a widower I’m definitely more of a ‘cup half full’ sort of person. I always look for the positives in everything now, I reflect a lot more and I’m very grateful. Grateful that I had Katherine in my life, grateful for her legacy – our daughter.

For me, everything I do and describe in my words will explain how much I loved her. Sadly this is also why the pain of my grief is so deep. I guess we’re all in the same boat as survivors of bereavement. To have felt love like this means that unfortunately, as widowers, we’re going to feel such hurt when we have lost that person. Which leads me to the famous quote by Rose Tremain; “Life is not a dress rehearsal”; one chance is all we get.

Some may wonder why I have used the song title ‘MMMBop’ as the main title of this post. The reason being, it carries a weight to the meaning of Katherine’s passing and to what I’m saying now.

‘MMMBop’ as a word, represents how time and life goes by in an instant. If you have ever listened to the lyrics in the song. I am hoping most will have figured this it out. You have to hold onto the things you’ve got. Live for the day and let that special person know how much you love them. Enjoy each moment together and every once in a while, take a step back and disengage from your ego, just stop and take a look around. Everything moves so fast in life. If you have never noticed the meaning in the song I can only suggest you give it another whirl and listen carefully.

This year, I’ll be in the UK for the second anniversary, in my new family home remembering Katherine. I’ll be giving thanks for having so much support in my life. Giving thanks for all those who have supported Margot to develop into the most gorgeous and humorous little girl.

Margot continues to give my life meaning and I find the strength to put one foot in front of the other. I’ve put all my energy into loving and caring for her, I’m so grateful that I’m still able to. I’m very humble to have so many opportunities still present in my life. I look forward to taking them all, day by day, month by month and year by year.

I’m sure those who knew and loved Katherine will give some of your time to her legacy, Margot. I’m sure you’ll all raise a glass of prosecco, make chili con carne for tea, eat some chocolate and break into a smile over a memory or even shed a tear.

Just remember, life never goes to plan, if it did I certainly wouldn’t be here writing this post. You probably wouldn’t be reading it too. 🌈

Anniversaries

738 days before widowhood

24th April 201924th April 2019
by Mark Wilcock

‘Hauoli la Ho’omana’o’ is Hawaiian for ‘Happy Anniversary’.

Hauoli la Ho’omana’o to this very day which took place 4 years ago in 2015 on Wai’alae beach, Oahu, Hawaii. Back then, our wedding was probably the happiest day of my life before Margot was born.

Now, it’s just an anniversary without the happy. There’s nothing to celebrate. If anything, it would be the 738 days we enjoyed as a married couple. To celebrate the love for someone that I will always be grateful to have found.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to write something meaningful for today. I just haven’t found the right words.

Apart from deeply missing Katherine within each day of my life. The craziest part of days’ like these is the thought of not receiving a card containing her handwriting. It’s just something really sacred and personal we had in our relationship that I would really look forward to. She wrote the best cards with the most thoughtful messages. As much as I tried, I could never compete with her words of happiness for the love we shared.

Last year I decided I didn’t want to ever mark this anniversary for the reason that 7 days is all that separates it from my wife’s passing. However positive I try to be, it’s just been too hard.

I was woken up a little earlier than normal by Margot this morning. So I decided that before I went to work, I was going to spend more time than normal with my daughter. We played, chatted and had breakfast together. We enjoyed lots of special ‘squishy’ cuddles and I told her how much I love her. I attempted some light toddler talk to explain just how much she means to me.

You just can’t help but laugh when your child delivers a response like “stop being silly Daddy, you’re a good boy and I’m a good girl. We can both have chocolate eggs today, ok”. I guess we both wanted to start our day in jubilant fashion. We did eventually manage to set off to her Nana’s house with a chocolate egg, secretly stashed for later this evening.

After I dropped her off, I then drove to my place of work. I shuffled Spotify in my car and ‘Telephone Line’ by ELO started to play. I didn’t feel the need to press the shuffle button again. I just listened as I drove.

I hadn’t heard this song for a long time. Ironically, it made me think about just how much I wanted to speak to Katherine again, even if it was just over a telephone line. I even managed to make myself chuckle as I imagined just how much the phone bill would be.

I miss her so much.

I thought about the meaning of today and made the decision that going forward, Katherine’s birthday should be the date I mark with my daughter. A day to smile and celebrate.

Maybe one day in the future I’ll tell her the significance, but in many ways, today is just another day for now. And yet, when I think about it, today could also be a day that changes everything for someone else. I’m here writing about my thoughts on it. Sharing my reasoning and experience with other people. Possibly helping others that could be searching for stories to help their own life after the loss of a loved one.

Maybe this is something meaningful after all?

I always try to understand that my scenario of bereavement was totally out of my control. It can’t control me forever too. So for now, today has nothing to offer me but pain. It is definitely not about others behaving any more lovingly towards me or Margot. It’s certainly not about cards, gifts or gestures anymore.

For me, it’s about being thankful to have had the 738 days of marriage to Katherine.

For me, it’s about the people who came to Hawaii that are still in my life.

For me, today’s a day I give special thanks that Katherine made me a Dad to such a wonderful little girl.

For me, It’s about being the one who’s lucky enough to be able to spend another day with my daughter.

For me, it’s about dropping my daughter off at her Nana’s and she was happy.

Accepting the new you

The reality of learning to love again

29th March 201929th March 2019
by Mark Wilcock

When you think about love, it isn’t exclusive. It’s not exclusive to one thing or one being alone at any given time. Within our short little lives, it is endless and ours to express to whatever and whomever we desire. In terms of experiencing a bereavement of a spouse, widowers can choose to lock it away forever or to eventually give it to someone new. The right is ours alone.

I have read a lot of fascinating stories about how widowers have found love again in short spaces of time. It is very common for young widowers to find sudden love. It was only 2 days ago I was reading a very interesting article on the Huffington Post about how ex-Sky Sports presenter, Simon Thomas found love again within 12 months of his wife’s passing. Another celebrity status widower in the form of Patton Oswalt, again he was engaged within 12 months of losing his wife. Each with their own story on how they heal and embrace their new lives.

Ex Sky Sports presenter and fellow widower – Simon Thomas

Being a single windowed parent in my 30’s I wanted to live my life too. I wanted to live my life the way Katherine would have wanted me to. I was not destined to remain in mourning forever. I did not choose to shut down, wear black and become a miserable and bitter father to my daughter. Instead, I chose to grieve in my way, in my time and to move my life towards my own design – a design that happily included new love and new adventures.

If you have also chosen a similar pathway and you’re equipped to grip the opportunity by the balls. Be prepared to generate a level of shock reaction from others. This will usually come from the people who I like to refer to as ‘observers of grief’. These individuals generally fall into the categories of friends and outsiders. For me, it was mostly a selection of my wife’s friends, 2 even being bridesmaids at our wedding. Exposing just how shallow and selfish some people can be during a time of transition and openness. More than likely they’ll probably want nothing more to do with you or your children again. I have touched upon this topic in my previous post about grief and friendships not mixing.

During my experience, I noticed an array of remarks and comments from various people in the form of “it’s too soon”, “how could he do this to her” and “he’s just not grieving properly”. As if ‘they’ defined a universal grieving time period from their book = ‘The Idiots Guide to Grief’. It is criticism like this that we, the widowers are attuned to.

The reaction of others begged an obvious question from me to them. Since when did ‘learning to love again’ translate into ‘forgetting’ our loved one?

Exactly just how long is ‘long enough’ before we’re allowed to live again in the eyes of the observer. Is it 1 year, 2, 3, 4, maybe 10 or even 20 years until they’re totally satisfied to let us move on in life, to find happiness again? The honest truth is, only we can make this decision and it has nothing to do with anyone else around you. However, no matter what time frame your heart and soul has chosen, you can’t win. It could be in 5 years’ time and the reaction from the observers will always remain the same. I always knew that their reactions would be a selfish one. No matter how you feel just remember that If they had gone through a loss like ours they would never judge a person for wanting to fall in love again.

In broad society, it’s quite common how we accept a stage of our life to be over before we can start the next one. Our thinking is very linear in how we understand our own emotional states. The thought of overlapping grief with love to the observer usually is impossible to grasp. Not being directly linked to the bereavement, how can they? They will feel like you’re being disloyal or minimising the loss of the person. They could even think they’ll fall into this category if they show a level of support towards you.

As widowers we all know we carry our grief with us forever, it cannot simply be removed or forgotten. We are not required to conclude our grieving to begin a new relationship. The love in our hearts isn’t moved to one side to make room for someone new. If and when it happens an addition is built on. The heart becomes greater. We don’t have a capacity or limit to the amount of love we can give in our lives, love is infinite.

Since my wife passed, the love I have for her has never moved, it’s still firmly cemented into my entire being. It will remain that way for the rest of my life and will never go away. Not ever. Not with the passage of time. Not with the introduction of a new person into my life. I am honouring Katherine’s legacies of love and service by continuing to move forward; by modelling the best example that I can for my daughter, by building a family unit and living a life with my new partner, whom I love deeply. By doing all of these things, I am indeed honouring the legacies of love and service that Katherine left for me to carry forward.

I believe that all young widowers can do the same, if and when you choose to do so. There is no time limit when the time is right. When it does happen, and you let it in. Embrace it and carry forward the legacies that were entrusted to you by your late spouse. If you choose it, living your new life can include companionship again… and love. Just choose carefully, choose wisely — and love again abundantly.

Because you can!

Accepting the new you

Bacardi & coke and a pint of grief, please

19th March 201919th March 2019
by Mark Wilcock

When Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome (SADS) first introduced me to grief, alcohol was everywhere. For the first 7 months, during the evening’s, once my daughter had gone to sleep I would frequently self-medicate. I became dependant on it to help numb and avoid my pain. If I’m honest, when the silence came so did the darkness. Alcohol was the only thing I knew I could use to beat grief away just so I could avoid or postpone it that little bit longer. Without it I knew as soon as I took my ‘Dad’ hat off, I would crumble. Grief was a new beast I’d never encountered. I just wasn’t ready for it. Alcohol was my weapon, without it I’d simply be punching smoke.

For me, using alcohol to sedate myself was just one phase of my widowhood I had to go through. Especially when dealing with the sudden death of my wife. It was only last weekend when I started to think about just how cohesive alcohol is in all our lives. It’s so deeply integrated that we don’t even notice how acceptable it is. Life is good? Have a drink. Life is shit? Have a drink. Out celebrating, are we? Have a drink? Cooking a nice steak at home tonight? You don’t have to drive – roll out the bottles of red. At a wedding? Oooh, free drinks. Wetting the baby’s head? Have a drink. Big match on the television? Then it’s beer o’clock. At a funeral? You guessed it – drinks! It’s probably safe to say unless you work in a pub or restaurant, your place of work is the safest place to avoid alcohol.

This grief self-care medicine created a massive gap between knowledge and behaviour. At the back of my mind, I always knew it was a risk to become dependent on drinking the pain away, it wasn’t a healthy coping skill. Being a single parent, I had responsibilities. I had to be Mum and Dad. I knew people would be looking at me to see how I was coping. Plus, who has ever made a good decision when drinking? Somehow, I just found a deeper connection between rationalisation and alcohol. It addressed the symptoms of my grief, not the underlying problems. It made a real exploration of the underlying issues more difficult, masking them with a temporary “fix” and delaying me from addressing the feelings I should address. It put me at high risk for developing dependence. It put a strain on my body and more importantly my mind.

I’ve always loved craft beers and fine wines, I still do to this day. I’d be one of the biggest hypocrites in the world to say you have to cut it all out of your life. It is really important to highlight that your grief can always put you at risk of developing a problem. I feel nothing but shame when I look back now. Once I could eventually break the cycle I knew I could embrace my grief and make it part of my life. This is what I described in the analogy of grief I shared last week. I can always recall the groundhog day feeling each morning I would wake up after drinking, the grief was still there looking back at me, it never went anywhere. This is when I soon realised that the only way to release my strong emotions is to feel them. This made me discover more self-awareness and it enforced more moderation of certain things into my life.