Today started off in the usual manner. Early morning exercise session listening to rock on the radio. Things going fine apart from the usual creaking body. Put me down for the a full body transplant, I’ve used this one up.

Then things started to change.

I hate doing the plank but apparently it’s good for me. This morning it became even more a form of modern day torture. Two cats decided to sit on my arched back while a dog attempted to lick my face off. Apparently this was one of the Spanish Inquisitions favourite tortures. But I survived.

Then almost immediately the radio signal disappeared. The sound of silence. So I quickly grabbed the first cd I could find. Black Sabbath Vol 4 and tried to complete the session.

Vol 4 is a fine album and features a rarity for Sabbath, a slow reflective song. CHANGES. This song finished off my exercises for the day. Normally at the end of a routine it’s an immediate mad sprint for the warmth of the shower. But not today. I just sat on the cold floor. Lost in thoughts.

A line from Changes had shaken me.

And I can still hear her last goodbyes

I can’t. As hard as I try I can’t remember hearing my partners last goodbye to me – blank. I can vividly remember her peacefully sleeping at the hospice as if it was yesterday. I can remember talking to her gently and holding her hand but as hard as I try I can’t remember her last goodbye. I can remember driving her to the hospital with our son but the conversations are gone. Why would I remember them at the time as she was only going in for a couple of tests and would be out by the weekend. I just can’t remember that last goodbye. That haunts me. Probably will always haunt me.

73 thoughts on “Changes is good just not that early”

  2. I am glad that you stopped by my blog. I will follow yours. I spent 11 years as a single mom, though not because of a death. My grandchildren are home schooled, so I share much of your philosophy of what good learning is all about.

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  3. You do not remember the last good-bye because there wasn’t one. Neither you nor your partner thought it was the last time. It hurts. Not to sound trite (I am crying after having read your post) but remember the good times. Relish in the memories that you do have. Those are the important ones.

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  4. So touching. Sometimes we don’t remember the last goodbyes but we remember other times that were so emotionally gut wrenching. It is the emotional connotation to many things that makes us remember them. Blessings coming your way!

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  5. Speak them to her now, as if she watched from her favourite chair.
    I do that with my daughter and my father, because I didn’t get to see either of them at the end, and it ate at me until I found a way to speak to them. Okay, they may not answer, but sometimes, just saying the words aloud makes it seem more … well, just more.
    I, too, wish there were words that would ease this for you.

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  7. I am so sorry. What a beautiful post, and like life, from funny to sad in seconds. (The cat and dog made me laugh, my cats used to do things like that, and there’s funny videos on YouTube of cats and dogs interrupting yoga.)

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  9. Maybe you do remember them. Maybe you are just not ready to remember them right now. Your soul has a way of protecting you from too much pain all at once. When the time is right and you are ready the memories will return.

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  11. Oh, I feel for you. I know that no one wants a pity party, but, when you lose someone, having a pity party is fine.

    When I lost someone I was the same way. I found myself thinking, rather, obsessing with the notion that we never said proper goodbyes to each other. Of course, then, we never knew what was to come.

    Though you can’t remember this final piece, you still have the largest piece of her in your life-your son. While many things will pain you, make you feel awful, know that the little boy will always be there to pick you up

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  12. I am so sorry. Your mind is protecting you, in time all the words, the conversations and the laughter will come back to you. I talk to my Mum, who was my best friend, every day. Sometimes small things you hear or see will being back a memory, I like to think she is around me, watching over me. You will find what is right for you, in time. Bless you and your son.

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  15. I think sometimes there are two conversations that go on between people, often at the same time. There’s the mundane one we have when we talk and then there’s the real one which is the story of our actions. It seems to me that your last conversation with you partner was the deeper one, the actions one. She is sleeping peacefully and you are talking gently and holding her hand. I think, perhaps, her last goodbye was her resting in the warmth and safety of your love.

    I hope this helps a little bit, if it doesn’t please just ignore what I said.

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  16. Saying I’m sorry just doesn’t seem to cover it. Thinking of you and sending some big hugs. (And I have a hard time with the plank for the same reason – great big face full of licks 🙂 )

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  17. I understand your pain. The memory may come back when you least expect it. The last thing I think my Mum said to me was ‘I’m not very well Di,’ when I rang her when she was in hospital the Monday before she died. She’d been there since Christmas Eve after a fall and breaking her wrist. Being 300 miles away made it difficult to visit.

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      1. I can imagine, but I believe a physical presence isn’t always necessary and our loved ones know we are with them in spirit.
        I believe my sister was with Mum when she passed away, but she’s never mentioned her last moments. I got a text message to say Mum had passed away and immediately rang her. She didn’t want to talk to me, so I hung up and rang my brother in NZ, my other brother who was on his way from Coventry to say his final goodbyes, my mother’s brother who is almost 90, and my Dad’s sister who is also in her 90s. It was a very difficult time for everyone.
        I was with my Dad though, holding his hand and Mum holding the other way back in 1996.
        That was precious to me.

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  18. I remember Nick. I remember holding his face in my hands and telling him it was ok to go, that I loved him so much. I remember all day leaning over him in the bed in the living room saying I love you. And hearing him mumble I love you even tho it was incoherent. That will haunt me.

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  20. Pingback: Changes is good just not that early – A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent. – International Badass Activists

  21. I wish I could take away this pain from you. I wish I could make it all better. The only thing that helped me when my mother died was something that I read. Basically, it said that grief is like being in the sea. In the beginning the waves are vast, crashing over you again and again. It’s suffocating and unbearable and you want to give in. Then, just occasionally they are a little smaller and a little further apart. But then, just when you thought it was becoming easier, the huge waves return again, pummelling you yet again and this seems to hurt more, because you were just starting to catch your breath. But slowly, slowly over time they calm. Every now and then a big one hits you and it hurts like hell, but you cope. You cope because there is no alternative. You learn to live with being in the sea and you start to realise that you really can breathe again. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you, but it really helped me. In actual fact, I had a big wave this morning when I found some old footage of my kids and my mother was clearly in the room although sadly not in the video cameras view. But I heard her speak. I heard her speak and it hit me hard … so hard. I do understand. I long for her, and my father too. And that was my big wave today.
    I hope that all these lovely comments from all the lovely people here, help to bring some comfort. Best wishes and a hug, Katie

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      1. I’m glad … for me it just worked, because it took the fear out of the equation. The fear of these phenomenally strong negative emotions. I could then remind myself, that it was ok, I could relax, it was just a huge wave passing through and as the old Persian saying goes, “This too shall pass”. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not about wanting to forget them in any way, shape or form, it’s just about being able to cope, particularly in the first couple of years. My thoughts are with you. Katie

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  24. You are a hero, mister. Where ever you are in this world, and believe me your lost partner knows that better than anyone.
    You shouldn’t feel alone, she is up in sky, she is not feeling pain and grief anymore, she is just watching over her powerful family. God has taken her for a reason, and for that you can’t blame anyone, but just accept what today has to offer and move on.
    Be strong, as I know you are and thankful for what you have.
    Maybe her last goodbye wasn’t so post to exist, maybe all you needed to hear was her last times with you, when she was happy and alive.
    Take care! 💖

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  25. I can’t remember my father’s last conversation, either. I strain to hear him in the background when talking to my mother, I remember that, but I cannot remember his change in sound…i say change in sound because Bo says he sounded different, sick from a cold, but I just cannot remember…

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