Five Years.

Today has been five years since Martin passed away.

A difficult day all round. It fell, as it did back in 2020, on a Monday, although this time instead of crisp, sunny and cold, the day was grey, wet, miserable, clouded over much like my brain has been most of the past week.

I've been thinking a lot about Martin recently. Five years feels like a lifetime, even though it still only feels like yesterday that I held his hand as he slipped away.

So much has changed, especially in the last year, that it feels even more significant. Our recent trip to Argentina only further showed how different things are now, how much further away he feels whilst still being a continuous presence in our lives.

I think of what I'd like to speak to him about. What I'd tell him. So many things have happened that it's hard to decide what I'd want to say to him, but I thought of a few......

• I traumatised a call service operator when they asked to speak to you about an overdue bill (as the account holder) and I explained that I could hold the phone to your urn but you'd probably not answer. The bill got cancelled.

• I still struggle to wake up in the mornings, and sometimes I lose track of time waiting for you to get home before i realise i need to cook dinner- turns out you were my alarm clock.

• Tomas is convinced that if I had died and you had lived, that the house would be cleaner but less paperwork would happen and you'd have forgotten your car insurance. He is 100% correct on this.

• Morena informed me she had a boyfriend- they were together three days, they held hands, and I was told not to worry about it. This is how she takes after me, even if she looks exactly like you.

• I miss you clearing the frost off my car in the mornings.

• It's nice that you let me know you're still here in all the quirky little ways that you do... but please, send me the winning lottery numbers, that would be so much more helpful.

There's so much more that I could say to him. How I'm still angry that this happened to us. How I lie awake at night wishing he was here to help parent these brilliant, wild, beautiful children with me, especially Tomas as he moves through his teenage years. How my heart broke visiting Argentina this time around for so many reasons related to him and realising how different things are and will be. How I still feel like a piece of me is missing and how I still have days when I am completely and utterly his.

How so much has changed, and how I am happy.

Martin was the love of my life. He was my world. From the moment he entered my life he changed it for the better, and whilst his illness and death was possibly one of the worst moments in my life, he still continued, continues, to have an affect on me and the person I have become. I think of the woman I was five years ago and she feels like a stranger, someone I vaguely remember but haven't seen in so long. I think of stepping outside on this day five years ago, being winded by the idea of a life without him, wondering how I would go on. What would I say to myself, to another widow at the beginning of that journey?

I'd say, breathe. Everything hurts right now, you feel so alone and you don't think you can do this- but believe me, the fog will lift, albeit slowly, and you will be able to step back out into the sun.

I'd say, take more photos. Tell those that matter that you love them. Take joy in the little moments. Let go of those that frustrate and hurt you. Personal isn't the same as important, learn the difference between the two. Be kind to yourself.

I'd say, that on a day that seems so far away, you will have a conversation with someone who will say to you that now, the days that you can will outnumber the days that you can't.

And you will look back and marvel at how far you have come, what you have accomplished, and you will wonder if they are proud of you.

I'd say, of course they are proud of you. I'm proud of you. Keep doing what you are doing, and see how far you will go. Remember them and carry them with you, and you will never be alone.