A young widowed father opening up about living with loss
I’m sitting in the spot in Regent’s Park where Desreen and I got engaged four years ago this week. It’s a day much like that one. Warm but overcast. Close. The creatures are behaving much the same as they did that day too. Spring has sprung and the park’s geese are overzealously backing the dogs back off their offspring. I’m smiling as they try to defend their territory, wondering what the hell I was thinking bringing Desreen, the world’s greatest hater of all creatures great and small, to this spot for that special moment.
Only two things are of notable difference. There are no overconfident Camden squirrels attempting to steal my lunch. And I’m alone.
Still, something has drawn me here today. I’ve known I had to come all week. I’d decided to pop the question here because I wanted to keep our memories close. I’ve never thought that the best times are always the ones from home. Now I’m so grateful that I made that decision because I can come back to this spot whenever I wish.
It’s the first time though. We never came back as a couple. I guess we were too busy making new memories to always concentrate on the past. In grief there are those who will tell you to do the same. To move on and concentrate on the future. But today I need to look back. I need to connect with my wife again. Although somehow sitting here lamenting over a bottle fizzy water isn’t having quite the same effect as beaming over a glass fizzy wine. Yet the sparkle’s still there.
Perhaps there comes a moment of realisation that memories are all you really ever have of a person who you’ve loved and lost. So I guess I have to take comfort in the fact that we were always so adept at making those.