Five years after that important night

Five years ago this weekend, on Sunday, January 27, 2019, we had the party for my 60th birthday. Nigel did most of the organising for it, and everyone seemed to have a good time. The thing I remember most about that night is that he said such wonderful things about me and to me, personal and emotional things—and in front of friends and family, which totally wasn’t his thing, at all. That's what he was doing in the photo at left. I was so moved (and honestly surprised) that I completely forgot nearly everything I was going to say. It was magical.

Because that night, and especially Nigel’s speech, was so special to me, I knew I didn’t want a party for my 65th: I wanted to do something completely different, something that wouldn’t provoke memories of our better times. The trip to Fiji that included my birthday, but wasn’t for it, was the perfect solution: It was an overseas holiday at somewhere I’d never been, so I wouldn’t be stumbling across memories of Nigel and me.

Nevertheless, I intended to bring Nigel’s bracelet and a ring of his, either/both of which I wear whenever I want to “bring” Nigel with me, especially to some sort of family gathering. I forgot both of them at home (because I was hurrying at the end, having fallen way behind on my planned schedule). In the end, the only things of Nigel’s I had with me were definitely not emotive: A pair of shoes and some singlets and socks. He’d laugh about that—and be touched that it bothered me that I forgot his bracelet and ring.

However, once I got to Fiji, I realised that, for me, the trip was about me and my solo life. He and I had never been there together, and I don’t think he’d ever been there before we met, either (though I can’t remember). So, all my experiences were my own, though often shared with others, of course. Me accidentally leaving his bracelet and ring at home, I realised, actually underscored the point.

In the four years, four months since Nigel died, there hasn’t been a single day in which I haven’t thought about him, and us. Sometimes it’s long, deep thoughts, but mostly it’s brief, like a flash of memory about a good time or ongoing jokes he’d/we’d make, maybe even some good-natured, teasing profanity directed at him for leaving behind so much stuff for me to deal with. The point is, he’s “with” me every single day, no matter where I am—even overseas.

And yet, this is my life now. The trip proved to me that I can even do fairly big things (like an overseas trip) without him—though I definitely wouldn’t have done it all alone. I still have more work to do, but even I can see how far I’ve come, as well as how far I still have to go. The Fiji trip is an example of all of all that.

This birthday could well be the last time I do (or, more accurately, don’t do) something to try to avoid stirring up memories and emotions of the happy life I had. Way back in June 2020, I talked about working toward contentment rather than happiness:

Through all the thinking I’ve done, I came to realise something very important about my future: I don’t have to be happy, I just have to be content. Finding happiness is beyond my control—some people spend their entire lives looking for happiness, never finding it. But the latter? That’s something I can help along.

I realised that if I can reach a place where I’m content with my life, that will be good enough precisely because I won’t have the pain of failing to find happiness, and in that way, it’s far more likely that I’ll actually find happiness again. Or not. If I’m content with my life, it won’t matter

More recently, I realised that my life feels far more settled now than it did for the first three years or so after Nigel died: I’m becoming content with my life as it is. This is still too new for me to know whether this will last or not, whether this is my own next stage, or just a way-station before the personal turmoil resumes. Whatever it turns out to be, this is a very hopeful place to be.

Five years ago this weekend was a great family party, absolutely, but that party was also one of the most important nights for us as a couple, even though I didn’t grasp that at the time. I can now see that I’ve spent the past five years trying to hold onto the feeling of love I got from Nigel that night, but what I couldn’t see until recently is that I don’t need to try: The feeling is with me always—and that it endures in the context of the life that I’m trying to build. Yes, it’s a life on my own, not one I’d have chosen, and it’s also actually rebuilding from the ashes and rubble of my old life, but it’s still mine—AND Nigel’s love is still with me.

It’s been a long journey since Nigel died, and I still have a long journey ahead of me. But for the first time in years, I can sense the contentment I’ve been seeking. That’s pretty awesome—not as awesome as that night five years ago, but pretty good all the same. I’ll take it.