Losing Sharon changed everything.  It changed M’s life forever.  It changed my life and the lives of the rest of the family.  Getting used to those changes has taken a long time and I know I still have a way to go with coming to terms with life as it is now.

So what is life like for me now?

Well, I still think of Sharon every day and treasure the memories.  There are still times when I feel very sad, especially on special days and anniversaries.  It’s still hard to get through them and I think that it will continue to be difficult.  There are times when I am sad about something else and it all gets mixed up with that big sadness about losing Sharon and I seem to be right back to square one.

On the other hand, I’m getting on with life and having fun.  I have retired from full time teaching, but I still do supply work in schools near where I live now.  At present I have a regular supply job one day a week at a school that I’m near enough to walk or cycle to. The children know me because I come in at the same time each week.  The teachers and teaching assistants make me welcome; I can chat with them at lunchtime and at the end of the day.

There are other schools that call me in from time to time to cover when someone is ill or on a course. I enjoy meeting the children and working with them for a day. It’s interesting to see different schools and meet different teachers.

I have time to do things in the evenings. I have done various evening classes and it is interesting and stimulating to learn about subjects I have never studied before.  I also meet friends for lunch and to go for walks.  There’s more time to do the allotment and the garden, planting seeds and watching them grow.  I try to keep in touch with people more than I used to and I have more time to read too.  I go for walks and sometimes I go for short runs; I also like to go out on my bike into the countryside, although I’m very much a fair weather cyclist.

I never would have had time for all these things when I was teaching every day.  I’m glad that I have had time to write this book as it has helped me to put things in order and make sense of them.  I’m glad that I have had the time to write the songs.

I want to learn how to play my guitar and accompany some of the songs.  I plan to have guitar lessons, to help me to get to the stage where I have the confidence to play as well as sing.

* * *

It sounds as if I’m fine. Yes, I am fine, but I still struggle with it all.  As time goes by it’s different, but not always easier.  I have to find ways to cope with the difficult times.  When I wake up with the sadness weighing heavy on my heart and I think ‘I can’t do it!’ I have to find ways to get through the day.  Sometimes I manage by being busy and ignoring the sadness, but sometimes it’s waiting for me when I go to bed.  Just sitting on top of my chest, weighing me down, making me feel there’s no joy, no hope, no point in anything.

Sometimes I get anxious. It’s strange how the fear comes.  One moment I’m fine; the next I’m really scared. Not of anything in particular, but I’m frightened of being on my own in the world.  I think that what I’m frightened of is losing Nik or losing Sue, those people who I love and who love me.  How would I cope if I lost them too?

The fear isn’t a rational thing; it’s just a feeling.  It’s a panicky feeling that comes to me when I’m on my own out in the country somewhere, or even at home, lying in the bath, or in bed last thing at night before I go to sleep, especially at times when Nik isn’t there.  Suddenly the panic hits and I reach out and there’s nobody there and I’m scared, but very sad as well. I want to moan out loud with the sadness and loss and fear.

I started having anxiety attacks after my Mum died.  Also Nik had had a strange asthma-like illness in the summer of 1999 and it had really frightened me.  After that there were times when I used to get really anxious: the world seemed very wide and scary all of a sudden, although I had never had agoraphobia before.  Nik’s mother, Ina, was very good to me at that time.  She kept me company when I was feeling scared and helped me feel normal again.  She said I could go and stay with her if I felt frightened when Nik was away and just knowing that there was somewhere safe to go made me feel better.

After Sharon died some of those panicky feelings returned and I had to cope with them all over again.

* * *

I’ve had to find strategies to help me get through the dark times.  The first thing is recognising that it is a bad time.  I would rather push the sadness away than do something about it. I want to pretend that I’m OK so that I don’t have to deal with it.

Even when I’ve realised that I’m struggling, it’s really hard to find the energy to do anything to get myself out of it. It feels like I’m stuck and I can’t think straight.

Sometimes I phone a friend and talk about it.  Just talking to another person can make me feel different, even if it doesn’t solve it.  In the middle of the night I have phoned Samaritans just to talk to another human being and it has helped.  I know that they are there at the end of the phone.

It helps me if I pray.  I don’t always know what to say. Sometimes I’m not sure what I believe, but I know I need God to help me.  Then I just try to trust that it will be OK one way or another.  I know that some people don’t believe in God and so they don’t have that to help them, but it’s an important part of my life and, though it isn’t easy, I’m glad of it.

Sometimes I watch one of my favourite films, read part of one of my favourite books and let myself cry.  It’s good to cry.  It helps to let the sadness out.

At times it helps if I try to write some of the feelings down.  Just seeing what I’ve written on paper helps me stand apart from it and see it in perspective a bit more.

Sometimes I arrange to see someone in a few days time so that there are things to look forward to.  I listen to music.  I do something in the garden or on the allotment.  I go for a walk in the fresh air and look at the trees and birds and flowers. And sometimes I make up a song.

Mostly the feeling passes and one way or another I get through it.  I do something, talk to someone, sing a song…and somehow I feel different.  I hope I’ll always find ways to cope when the sadness gets heavy.

Speaking at a Song Therapy course

In the spring each year Bob and another music therapist, Jane, run a Song Therapy course at Sobell.  For the past few years they have asked me to talk about my experiences and share some of the songs in a part of the course that is called ‘Meet the Patient’,

The professionals who attend the course are usually music therapists or counsellors who want to find about more about how song therapy can be used to help their clients. Bob and Jane run an interesting and inspiring course with lots of practical ideas of how they might introduce song therapy more fully into their practice.

Each time I have spoken at one of these courses I have talked about Sharon and my relationship with her, about how I have come to write the songs and how they have helped me.  Sometimes I have sung songs to the group and sometimes Bob has played them on the CD player.  It is hard to talk about the sad times, but it feels as though this is something useful I can contribute. I hope that it helps people to realise how powerful song therapy can be.  It is one way that I can say “thank you” for all the help I have received.

It also gives me the chance to sing some of the songs.  I love to sing them so that people can hear about Sharon and how sad it was to lose her.  I hope the songs are memorable and moving, that they tell the story.  It feels like I might be doing something that could help other people who are bereaved.

Sharing songs

In the spring of 2007 Bob organised a special evening concert: ‘Bob and Friends’.  He and a group of musicians got together for a fund raising gig to raise money for a hospice near Swindon.

They played songs written by people who were dying and people who have been bereaved: incredibly sad, incredibly beautiful songs of sadness and loss. They also played quite a few of Bob’s own songs, which are very powerful.

I asked Liz if she would come with me, as I knew it would be hard to listen to some of these songs on my own.  She kindly agreed to come and so we set off together that evening, taking the box of tissues, because we knew we were going to need them!

It was a very moving occasion: full of sadness but very much a celebration of those people’s lives.  As the band played, there was a display of photos and pictures of artwork created by the people who had written the songs. I watched for the photo of Sharon and suddenly there it was, smiling at me from behind the band!

The interval came and I was nervous, knowing that Bob had said they would play ‘North Wind’ in the second half. As we sat down again I hoped that I would be OK when they played it, but then I almost forgot, listening to the other songs.  Then it was time.  The band played the opening chords.  Everyone was listening.  It was ‘North Wind’!  I couldn’t believe it; they were playing one of my songs to a room full of people.  Bob listening to it and playing it had validated it.  But this was an even greater validation.  It was a real song that other people could listen to.  A special song for Sharon.

* * *

It was a day in late summer 2007. A warm and balmy afternoon became a beautiful still evening.  There were clear skies except for a few red streaks of cirrus cloud.  Walking across the grass of Lye Valley I heard the strains of music drifting across the evening air: a mournful song, full of melancholy, the sadness of losing someone, remembering them, living without them.

It was beautiful, magical. I wondered where it was coming from. Then I heard muffled voices, traces of feedback and realised that it was Bob and Pete Heath setting up for the music evening in the inner garden at Sobell House.  I made my way in and saw them alternately going through some of the songs and twiddling knobs on some of the array of loudspeakers and various music machines that needed to be set up to make the evening go smoothly.

I was excited but nervous. It was a lovely evening and I was glad to be there, but I wasn’t quite sure what it would be like.  A few people were putting out chairs and I helped with that. Then I chatted with people till it was time to go through the songs I was going to sing.  Bob called me over to the microphone and showed me how to hold it close to my face so the words would sing out clearly.  We went through the beginning of the songs and that was enough; more people were beginning to arrive, to take their seats or to mill around and chat. Some were patients, some were staff, and some were visitors. Some knew each other; some were standing rather nervously on the periphery, waiting to see what would happen.

Bob Whorton, the chaplain, introduced me to a young man called Anthony and we discovered that we had both written songs with Bob Heath in music therapy sessions. We talked a bit about what it had been like meeting Bob.  Like me, he had wondered if coming to do song therapy would be any use to him.  But then he had started writing songs and it had been an incredible experience.  He was very much hoping that one of his songs would be played tonight.

As we shared our experiences Bob stood up and began to speak.  We realised that the music was about to start and quietly found our way to our chairs.

Bob started with one of his own songs to break the ice. Many of us had heard it before; it was ‘Hemingway’s chair’. A gentle song, not too sad, it set the mood for the evening.  He introduced Pete and Jim and the other musicians and joked about the possibility of technical hitches during the evening. It was all very relaxed and informal in the setting of the beautiful inner garden of Sobell House, with the soft splashing of the miniature water wheel in the background.

The relaxed atmosphere made it easier for some of the songwriters to take part in the performance of the songs.  One of the first to do so was Colin.  Colin read his poem, ‘My very own Valentine’, with a clear strong voice and a wry humour.  It was very moving.  This was followed by Bob singing Colin’s song, ‘Some days I do, some days I don’t’.’  On the surface, it was quite a funny song, but it had lots of heart and was right down to earth.  The audience loved it.

There were so many lovely songs.  Bob sang a really beautiful one called ‘Souls and Shadows’, which was written by Caspar.  Caspar was a brave and talented young man with a young family who had had treatment and then died in Sobell House Hospice.  Before he died he had written a number of songs and, with Bob’s help, had recorded them on a CD.  Caspar’s family had set up the ‘Souls and Shadows Trust’ in Caspar’s memory.  ‘Souls and Shadows’ is such a lovely song; as always it sent shivers down my spine.  I hoped that Caspar was somewhere around that evening to hear it.

I had almost forgotten that I was going to sing one of my songs. Then Bob called me up and it was time to sing ‘Stuck in the memory’. I always love to sing that song, though it was a bit nerve wracking with so many people listening.  I went a bit wrong in the second verse, but we started again and then it was OK.  It was a good experience for me to sing those words out with people listening.  It felt very empowering.

There were so many amazing songs played that evening.  I remember Alan’s song with the haunting melody and the beautiful words:

“ I fly alone. I sleep alone.”

“If I could ask God just one question”

Alan played the drum while Bob sang the words.  It was very moving.

At the interval there were drinks and nibbles. I was glad to have the chance to talk to some of the other songwriters and to say how much I had admired their songs.  There was a lovely atmosphere in the garden as the evening sky darkened and people began to take their seats again. Children ran and played among the pots of lavender and fennel, the sweet smelling shrubs and late summer flowers.

Bob and the band played a Paul Simon song, ‘Rene and Georgette Magritte with their dog after the war’ and then the Van Morrison classic, ‘Sweet brown eyed girl’, with lots of us joining in with the chorus.  Not long into the second half, Bob called me up to sing ‘Don’t forget to remember’.  I really enjoyed singing out the chorus, reminding everyone to treasure their memories.

Then Bob sang Anthony’s song and apologised for not singing the part that was in Spanish: it had a lovely melody with haunting words.  In a brief lull between songs I whispered to Anthony what a great song it was.

During the second half Helen arrived, looking very glamorous in her long dress.  Lots of her family and friends were there.  Then Bob sang several incredibly beautiful songs that Helen had written: so vibrant and full of life and energy.  Heart stopping words and thrilling melodies.  You could see how much the musicians put into playing them; they played and sang their hearts out.

After the music finished I made my way over to meet Helen and say how lovely her songs were.  She told me “The songs come through me.”  She felt as though the songs were given to her and everywhere she went she took pencil and paper so she could write down the words as they came to her.

The evening drew to a close.  Bob sang his own song, ‘Waiting in the wings’, another beautiful ballad about sadness and loss.  We put the chairs back in the Day Centre and gradually all the people drifted away.

For me it had been one of the best evenings I had had in a long time, a chance to sing songs and listen to them, a chance to meet other people who were writing songs to express their own inexpressible emotions.

All those wonderful songs had given us a voice to express the inexpressible, a time to feel less alone, not so small and powerless in all our different situations.  What a gift to bring us that opportunity!  Thank you to Bob and Pete and the other musicians and all who made it possible.