My blog was originally intended to share our experiences of retiring early and travelling Europe in our motorhome but we decided to settle in Spain last year and a lot of sad stuff was going on so I stopped posting for a while.
Firstly the title, The Fragrant One, the Smelly One and Mr Always Right - but now there's only me left so I suppose it should just be The Fragrant One now.
People have told me that things will be different as a widow, people will treat me differently. That's what some people think will happen. But I'm an optimist and I'm hoping and believing that our friends will be just the same. I'm just on my own now. I'm also hoping that I have chosen my friends well and they are secure enough in their own relationships to know that I am not a threat to them. I am not lonely or desperate and the last thing that I want is another relationship and certainly not to steal what someone else has. In fact at this time I can't even envisage ever being that close with someone again so please don't anyone say - "You'll meet someone else" - I don't actually want to.
So I've decided to continue my blog to share my story and to tell you all if it is different. Hopefully it won't be and I might reach out to some new widows and widowers who are frightened to get out there again and live their lives - but unless I try it I won't know.
Don't get me wrong, I loved my husband and miss him very much; he was my soulmate. Some days are worse than others, I have my moments, but generally I'm just getting on with sorting things out. But I won't be beaten and I'm not going to dwell on what I've lost but to remember and celebrate those wonderful years we had together and just get on with my life - everything changes and we can get into a rut if we don't change with it. It's nearly 3 months already - nearly a quarter of a year and I don't know where the time has gone, much of it in a haze I suppose.
A friend told me some years ago that when his wife died at just 38, after only a short while to everyone else it was just old news but to him it was like it happened yesterday. Yes it can feel like that sometimes but I understand that everyone has their own busy lives to live and they don't want to hear my story over and over again. I'm trying not to burden others with my woes but sometimes that is difficult, so I apologise to those who've had to listen and thank you all for your patience.
I'm going back to Spain later this month, it is where we wanted to make our home and I have no reason not to continue to live that dream. I have no children or grandchildren to keep me here and very little family. I don't have that tie. I do have some plans but I'm keeping my options open as much as possible.
Before I go into what life is like back in Spain on my own and whether it will be different, there's some catching up to do.
The Smelly One went over the rainbow bridge back in December, she was very old and struggling to walk but she still seemed quite happy and still enjoyed going out with us, even if it was in the dog buggy. I did wonder if we were doing her any favours taking her all that way back to Spain to the heat but you don't put your dog down just because you think it might be an inconvenience after all she'd been a member of our family for 11 years and we loved her a lot. When we got back to Spain in September she was really struggling with her walking but the warmth and some arnica seemed to give her a new lease of life for a while. Sadly in December, just before Christmas, it was clear that she'd had enough and we had to make the decision. Iain was devastated.
So Christmas came and went and I said I didn't want another dog for at least a year. I wanted the freedom to go out for hours on end without worrying about getting back to the dog and to go away for weekends to places that we couldn't enjoy with a dog in tow. I was adamant, but it lasted only 10 days until I said to Iain that some exercise would do him good, so we visited the dogs home in La Nucia and I went to get myself a scruffy bitch with a waggy tail. But hey, I fell in love with a smooth haired dog with half a broken tail that didn't wag.
So say hello to Mateo (Iain named him after the barman in Benidorm the series) - the handsome Spanish Boy that he is.
He's a minature Podenco Andaluz. Now if I said I regretted getting him, I wouldn't be lying. He's about 2 years old now and in that naughty adolescent stage - still. You can't turn your back on him. The only way to control him is to make sure that he gets at least 2 miles walking every day - then he'll sleep and not try to wreck the place all the time. He's turned my bedding into bandages on more than one occasion. He has terrible isolation anxiety and can't be left. He's ripped my brother's carpet to shreds and I've still got to replace it. Poor thing has lived in 5 different places in the first 5 months I've had him (not to mention the drive back to England in just 50 hours) so not much wonder he's screwed up. Once I get back to Spain I'll really work on the separation anxiety. At the moment I have to take him everywhere with me or get a dog sitter. Apart from that (and the fact that although he won't run away, it can take up to half an hour to get him back on the lead) he's a lovely dog and great with children.
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| Boys chllin' |
Had I known what was going to happen (perhaps I too was in denial) I wouldn't have got him, but I did and he's my responsibility so I've got to get on with it.
Now onto Iain.
Iain was already ill when we got to Spain in September. I had suspected it for over a year by then, however he wouldn't accept it. I don't know why, it was like this was our plan and he wouldn't let anything get in the way. But once we got to Spain it was as though that was it. I won't go into great detail but by January it was apparent that things were VERY serious. Iain still denied anything was wrong. We didn't have any medical insurance and although the Spanish system was great on the EHIC, he was diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus on 2nd March - which incidentally was my birthday so I'll never forget that date. It was clear that this would mean lengthy and ongoing treatment and without insurance we would have to return to England, this of course meant that he would have to go through the diagnosis process again.
I can't fault our doctor in England, I phoned him on the Tuesday and he arranged a hospital appointment for the Thursday.
So I packed Iain off to England and followed just 4 days later. He was admitted to hospital a week later with advanced cancer where he stayed for 5 weeks. During a window of nothing much happening, I flew back to Spain to pack up the house and to return to England with the car and the dog - did I say I regretted getting Mateo, this was a responsibility I could really do without at the time - the car could have been ditched and I could have flown back if I'd only gone to sort out the house. I was away only 6 days. The drive back was a story in itself - 50 hours total from Albir to Coventry, fraught with phone calls that Connor was in hospital and not going to last the day. As is typical, Connor was back at home before I got back to Coventry.
Once I got back I had to sort out somewhere for us to live when Iain came out of hospital. I/We had been staying with my brother when we came back to England but this was not practical long-term and Iain and I wanted to be in our own place, just the two of us (and Mateo - the responsibility I could do without). Luckily we had friends who had an empty house and we rented this from them without a lease on a temporary basis. Unfortunately it was unfurnished and we had nothing, so thanks to friends and Facebook, I begged, borrowed, took what was on offer and furnished and equipped the whole place for less than £300. Thanks to everyone who had something they didn't want that was useful to us. We would have been happy there, it's a lovely little house, if only it wasn't for the neighbours from hell - now that's another story. But I can briefly say that I have NEVER met such horrible people in all my life. As they say, revenge (however small) is a dish best served cold so I'm keeping that one in abeyance for now. They made Iain's last day at home hellish and didn't even stop once they knew he had died. I HATE THEM BOTH and I don't very often dislike people. At least I can aim all my anger at a small part of the back of his head every time I see him in the garden. I wonder if he feels it? I just wish I was into voodoo.
Getting back to Iain, it was June before he received any chemotherapy and he hadn't eaten solids since January so he was already very weak by then. After his second course of treatment the oncologist said that the chemo wasn't working (pretty obvious as Iain still couldn't swallow liquids) and further treatment was suspended pending a scan. Sadly only that night Iain fell seriously ill and died less than 48 hours later of sepsis. The end was very quick, peaceful and he had me and most of his family with him at the time.
