To me he was a special man. He may have been disabled, but he lit up my life and showed me how even under some awful burdens life can be lived and enjoyed. He taught me to dream again, to make plans.
I taught him to relax, take time to watch the river, to chat about what was in his head, to take a step back if he was beating his head against a wall with a problem. I even managed to teach him geek stuff, like how to install a webcam!
Last year we shared dreams and plans and holidays and family events, I took lots of photos, he took the chance to be as cheeky as he could, and we all loved him for it. His hair went a shade or two lighter with all the time we spent on the riverbank chatting in the sunshine.
Bonfire night came and we shared the fun of mulled wine and a weiner roast and fireworks, then came Christmas. It was a wondeful day. Food til it came out of our ears, family, laughter, gifts, hugs, kisses. The day was special, and I think each of us marked the day in time as a wonderful day that we had shared together.
Two weeks later it was my birthday. Again, a special day marked together, not a landmark birthday for me, but a special day together. I had no idea that my birthday was the last time I would see him. 12 days later he was taken from us all. Two weeks after that, wearing my best red and white dress, I had to walk out of his funeral and leave his body for the last time. It was the most heartbreaking thing I have ever had to do. He’ll always be in my heart, but six months later, looking back now and remembering the awful feeling of leaving that room, I have tears on my face again.
We never had a single row. I think that was quite an achievement. He made me happy, and I made him happy. I’m told that he entered the operating theatre a happy man, joking with his consultant. He was a fulfilled man, everything was running the way he wanted it to. He didn’t want to go, the choice was never his (or his surgeon’s) I’ll never fully understand why he had to go when everything looked as though it was going perfectly, maybe he does now, but that’s a different thing to pursue at a different time.
Today it is six months since the day of his funeral. In some ways I feel that yes, the passage of time is helping the tears to lessen and the pain to ease, but in others I will never forget this man or the lessons he taught me. I can’t, it’s that simple.
Sleep well Dan.
Edit: Then again you were always playing music and enjoying yourself, turn it up and enjoy yourself the way I know you would have loved to in life if you could! xx