I don't know whether to start this with a statement like 'It's been five and a half years since Butch passed', or 'I'm a housesitter', as both are relevant to my blog today.
I am currently housesitting in the home of some friends, friends that Butch and I visited a lot when he was alive. We also lived next door.
I hadn't realised how that would impact on me until I was on my way to their home. I began crying and felt such pain as I contemplated being in a home where we had had so many great times, while overlooking the home where we were at our happiest...well before Butch was diagnosed.
From there on, there has been many poignant memories and bouts of tears, as I sit out in the courtyard, at the dining table, hearing conversations and laughter of days long gone.
I've been looking across the fence, remembering the good times, like the time I begged for a Christmas tree and Butch brought a seven foot tree, roots and all. (He was clearing a subdivision with a digger at the time)
This morning I decided to go for a walk, and other memories began crowding in, not just of when we lived here, but also those last two years after he was diagnosed. I relived moments upon moments and cried as I walked back. (I suppose people look at me and think 'Wow! She must really hate walking!')
I couldn't help thinking that every time I think I'm moving on, there always seems to be a bitch slap that makes me realise I still have a way to go. Silly me for thinking there was a use by date or a time limit. Time. It will take time. And lots of it.
Missing my true love tonight and all the good times we shared.
big hugs
Cherie xx

Underneath the hustle and bustle of Christmas, there is a deeply hidden layer of sadness and pain for those of us desperately missing our loved ones as this happy family occasion approaches. Sure we hide it deep below, thrusting it to the bottom of our To Do List, trying to avoid those feelings that make it nigh impossible to enjoy the festive season. Sometimes we can feel like a child who has discovered that fairy tales aren't real, there is no happy ending and there never will be.

The thought of an empty space at the table this year crushes our soul, leaving a dry dusty taste in our mouth. It doesn't matter whether its for the first time or more, the pain of Christmas without someone we love doesn't have a time limit or expiry date.

With all kinds of grief, guilt can rear its ugly head and ask us if we loved and cherished them enough and did they know the height and depths of our love. Thoughts and memories can flicker through our 'home theatre', bringing up events and situations that are best left on the editing room floor. Special Occasions have a habit of dredging up old pain, hurts and anguish.

As we walk around the shopping centres, we try not to notice couples walking hand in hand; the excitement as they choose gifts for others and surprise each other with tender well thought out gifts. Some of us find it difficult to be a part of the joy that is the festive season, we'd rather just hide away from the world, but thats not how it works is it? Life goes on whether we want to be a part of it or not. There are obligations and duties to be met, even at Christmas. We avoid the card stands shouting 'To My Darling Wife/Partner At Christmas', or 'To The Man I Love At Christmastime'. We already know that looking will only create that damp and prickly feeling behind our eyelids. Often we will catch ourselves sighing as we look at 'couple presents' or gifts that would have been ideal for that special person who has passed. As we listen to couples bickering and badgering each other as they pass, we want to reach out and shake them, reminding them how lucky they are to be together; to be able to share such precious moments that we can never have again. In a far off thought, we know that we won't have that wonderful pleasure of waking up next to our significant other and relishing the best gift of all, a Christmas morning snuggle.

If we have lost a parent, then this time of year brings a different kind of pain. Those that brought us into the world are no longer here to share the joy of this Christmas, as well as the memories of our childhood misdemeanors and achievements. Celebrating without those who loved us, no matter what we said or did while they were alive, is harder than hard. The joy of greeting, the hugs, smiles and innate connection we have with our parents cannot be replicated within any relationship. Even if we weren't as close as some, or as we would have liked to be, there was an intangible thread that was woven around and though us all, and somehow, made us part of a whole.

Celebrating Christmas after a child has passed has its own tumultuous heights and despairing lows. We all believe our children will out-live us. They have so much ahead of them, that we would have wished for them to experience and be a part of. It doesn't matter how old our child was, the pain is still heart-stoppingly deep and pain drenched. There are no words that can possibly explain that knife twisting ache, as we see other babies, children, teenagers or adults enjoying the build up to the festive season. We often imagine what our child would be doing at this time of the year, what amazing gifts they brought into our lives by just being here. If there are other family members of the same age, it can make it difficult to visit various departments of stores, knowing we won't be buying anything for our child. As Christmas fast approaches, we feel an ache that nothing can ease, as we imagine a day without that special part of our life, the child we created, the person we knew for all of their short life.

Often the pain of what we have lost makes it hard to appreciate what we have right here, right now. Sometimes we need to remember that those who have passed never really leave us, for we have only to think of them and their voice or face will appear within our memory. The love we feel for them remains locked in our hearts. No one can take that away, It can't be stolen, dwindled or diminished. Although they aren't around us physically, they are still here, as we discuss the joys and disasters of Christmas past. As we eat their favourite foods, we bring them into our circle of love, those fond memories creating a softness around us and this day. Sure there will be tears amongst the laughter and happiness of a Christmas Day, and thats perfectly normal, because that is a part of honouring the amazing connection we have and will always have with those who have passed from this world.

If we aren't fortunate enough to have a Christmas surrounded by family and friends, Christmas Day can be just another day of pain and grief. If this is what your Christmas Day looks like, please reach out to a family member, friend or even a neighbour, allow them to know how much you are dreading this day. There is no pride in grief, pride just prevents us from connecting with the world around us. We are not a rock or an island. We do need others to help us through the tough times. There is no weakness in reaching out or admitting that Christmas sucks big time for us. Make this your Christmas gift to you - let those who care about you know how you are feeling. Allow them to help. You would do the same if the roles were reversed. Above all, be kind to you!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

There are predators out there in the big bad world, who like to prey on those of us who are on a grief expedition. They know how desperate we are to 'connect' with our loved ones who have passed over. They know we would do anything to bring them back, so being able to hear what they have to say, even if it's through someone else, is priceless and immeasurable.
I know, because I have been there. I have been told by various psychics on many occasions what Butch has to say to me. Its funny how, for the most part, what he has to say coincides with the agenda of the person telling me. This can range from allowing them to usurp my power or feeling as if I had no choices, to wanting to extort money from me, all in the name of connecting me with my loved ones on the other side.
When I finally realised what was happening, I felt like such a fool. Hindsight can be such a bitch. As I look back, I can see that I fell for every hook they threw my way. I wanted to believe so much that I made things fit where they had absolutely no way of fitting. I thought I was the only one who had been hoodwinked. I was wrong.
I guess I felt it a little more keenly because I am a psychic. Unfortunately I can't 'do' a reading for me. I can't 'see' my spirit family in the same way I can see other people's, because I know too much about me and about them. There is no validation, because my skeptic says to me 'Hah! But you already knew thats what they looked like or what they would have said. They were a part of your life for so long!
However, when I read for someone else, its different. It's cut and dried. It fits or it doesn't. I have no idea who the person is or what the connection is. I love it when the reading resonates. I may not sugar coat it, but every word I pass on is given with love, respect and integrity.
Lately I have heard of others who have been through the same kind of experience I did in my early days. They too have been desperate enough to 'hear' what their loved ones have to say, that they have paid ludicrous amounts of money. They have been given negative, false and evil advice from their family in spirit. They have been told that unless they do, their loved one will cease to 'talk' to them. WTF?!
If we allow these people to get away with this sort of shit, we are no better than they are. I wonder if I had written a 'tell all' blog about my experience whether I could have saved other people from heartache. Maybe. Maybe not....
Our loved ones will never say bad stuff. They will not tell you negative and mean things. They don't need to. All that negative shit is a part of a human existence, not a spiritual one. All regrets, guilt, pain, suffering, anger, revenge, etc is gone. It dies with the physical form. From where they are its just love and they want us to know we are loved, that they will be there waiting for us when its time for us to 'go home'.
Before you spend copious amounts of money, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one want or expect me to pay this much to hear from them?' And if you think the answer is yes, ask yourself why it is that you believe that more money means that the psychic is more powerful or better able to connect. There are plenty of wonderful and amazing psychics out there, and they don't all need to empty your bank account to pass on messages of love and support from our loved ones.
And if you are told something bad, negative or evil, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one really say that?' ...and know the answer is 'NO!'
Take note of my experience and others. Trust your instincts. Watch out for Grief Vultures. ...and if you do fall for a smooth talking psychic, don't feel bad or sad. You won't be the first. You won't be the last...but hey, that could be the 'last' time you fell for it! Grief is a huge learning curve in so many many ways.
Be strong. Trust you. Show discernment. Remember that your loved ones are not interested in making or keeping you poor, sad, scared or unhappy in any way. They love you. More than you will ever know!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

This year marks the fifth year since my best friend and husband passed away. In an earlier blog this year, I was celebrating that I had 'woken up', that I had started to get on with my life, or at least start taking those baby steps towards living, instead of merely existing.
I really thought I was starting to get a handle on this whole 'grief thing'. I thought I had it all under control. Sure, I still cried randomly, I still felt the big black cloud of sadness envelope me every now and then, but I was 'getting my shit together'.
I made some changes in my life, I had re-discovered some things I needed to make me feel happier than I had been in a long time. Yep, I sure had it all going on...no stopping me now... hah!
Butch's death-aversary was on the 21st September. The day prioor, I had spent a lot of time pondering on my grief expedition and how far I had come. I decided to thank my family and friends for their support and love, so I created a 'public thank you' on facebook. As I wrote, tears streamed down my face. I was staying with good friends, but me being me, I didn't want them to know I was upset, so I stayed in my room until it wasn't noticeable. I wonder if I will ever get pasty this issue I have, that I mustn't cry in front of anyone? (I used to cry in front of Butch, of course, but he knew me inside out and back the front, so my illogical reasoning tells me that's 'different'!)
For an hour or so, I held it together, I stayed upbeat, never letting on....and then the dam walls broke. I raced upstairs to my room, pretending to be busy doing something. I couldn't stop the flow of tears. I tried my usual tactic of telling myself off and saying I should harden up. I tried telling myself it was okay to be upset, but that didn't help either. Grief is so isolating. Even if others are travelling the same road as you, even if they are grieving for the same person, their grief isn't your grief, and putting it into words defies science and expectation.
As I have mentioned countless times, I hate being seen crying, so when my friend's husband asked if it was okay if he came into the room, I replied 'Only if you keep your eyes closed!' He did a huge backwards leap, which made me smile, because he had misconstrued what I had meant.
My friends were so supportive. They didn't say 'Hey, its been five years, stop being a blubber butt!' They just hugged and sat with me. It was definitely my lucky day when they came into my life.
I had decided to do something on Butch's 'versary, to try and step up and out, but also because I felt if I went home to my family, I would be expecting them to prop me up for yet another year. It was interesting to note that my daughter had also found this year incredibly difficult. We agreed we should have spent the time together after all. Gotta love hindsight. Its so helpful.
My birthday is 10 days after Butch's 'versary. I woke up with the black cloud floating above my bed. Every part of my day, every moment was harsher, sharper and more intense than it had been for some time. Tears flowed freely until I had to go to work. On the drive there, I distracted myself as best I could and gave me the pep talk to end all pep talks.
My face felt swollen, my eyes distended and I couldn't seem to connect with my brain at all. It was a long and emotional day. I was perpetually and totally exhausted.
I would be interested to know if the five year mark has significance for others as well. I know that for us, as a family, it has certainly been more intense.
I still wish my life was different, that Butch was still here with me, even though I know it can't happen. Is that so wrong of me? Or just plain silly...?
A part of me wonders if grief is not so much about who we lose, but what we lose as a result. I don't mean that quite how it appears. It just seems to me that, surely, now I know that my wish won't be granted, that I would just pick up and move onward. Instead I am still caught up in loss, sadness and emotional pain. It is as if the dark fog of grief lifts, but returns as a soft grey mist that still swirls and affects my vision of the future.
Hugs
Cher

I've been hearing through various forms of media lately, that grief may be classified as a form of clinical depression, through some complicated form of analysis..
A part of me is happy that there is finally some recognition for grief, but the other part of me is shaking it's head and saying 'What the...?'
All too often when someone is on a grief expedition of any kind, whether it is the loss of a loved one or a job, we do get sad and depressed. How could we not? Our life has changed dramatically. Things will never be the same. We will never be the same.
As we struggle to pick up the pieces, we are told to start looking ahead, don't worry, time will heal, think about 'other stuff' or just 'get over it'.
Nobody wants to talk about grief. It makes us feel uncomfortable. After all, what can we sat to make the other person feel better? Well, lets face it, not a lot..but we could listen.
There is no easy answer to helping someone while they are in their grief bubble. The best and kindest thing we can do is to allow them to release some of their thoughts, angst and even guilt (which is usually misplaced or magnified during a grief cycle) they are carrying around.
Most people, including me, find it difficult to express the many aspects of our grief. We feel out of step with the world. It's as if we have lost our beginning and our end - we are stuck there, somewhere in the middle, unsure which direction we should travel in.
As we hold in our emotions, pain and loss, we can withdraw into ourselves as we try to work our way through it all.
After losing someone we love, we already have a feeling of disconnection and being/feeling different. So when those we depend on aren't offering us the support and encouragement we desperately need, we can spiral into the dark depths of a grief based depression. Once we are there, it can seem like a struggle to get out again.
Most of us reach for help in one for or another. If we feel we aren't getting it, we can turn to habits and addictions. I know for me, after being smokefree for over 20 years, I turned to cigarettes. They became my best friends. They were always there, it didn't matter what time of the day or night. They were never too busy or worried they would upset me. I didn't have to explain, all I needed to do was reach for them and there they were.
It took me over four years to feel I could survive without my 'best friends'. It was a long slow process, where I discovered who I was, what I liked about me, what I didn't, what I wanted to do and what I didn't. It has been a hell of a ride and I am not the same person I once was.
I haven't 'got over' my grief, its still there. Not a day goes past without sadness, regret or pain. I accept that this is just the way it will be. For so long I fought against what I was going through. I had never seen anyone else go through grief before. I hadn't seen how it rips the rug out from underneath you and sets you on your arse, wondering how the hell you will ever stand up again. Grief had always been something that was hidden within the dark corners of 'society's laws'.
It isn't that complicated really. Grief makes you sad. It makes you depressed. It can make you feel as if you want to end your life. It can make you feel unreasonable and unrealistic guilt. It can make you feel that life isn't worth living without the person you lost. It can leave you disconnected and lonely. It can make you afraid and fearful. It can rock your world. It can make you angry with the world, with yourself, or with no one in particular. Whether we want to admit it or not, grief helps us get in touch with our emotions, especially the ones, we haven't looked at or wanted to acknowledge.
The best we can hope is to through it, to find our way through this midnight maze of sadness and torment, to find that place of peace within our hearts. For it is when we reach that point, we can begin to believe life really is 'for us' and we start to honour ourselves, our life and our place in the world.

In the beginning I was focussed on being two people. I would do Cherie's housework and various duties then begin working on Butch's jobs.  I was always exhausted, attempting to have everything as pristine as we would have had it.  One day I sat on the ground and cried because the weeds were getting out of control in the courtyard.  I felt Butch would have been disappointed in me for not keeping it tidy.  How silly is that?  Wherever Butch is at this point of time, I bet he doesn't give a fig about the weeds in the courtyard.  However, he may be worried about me getting stressed out about something so minor!
The stress of being one person trying to do enough for two took its toll on me and I could feel my energy levels dissipating on an alarming scale.  To top it all off I wasn't making any headway. 
One day I was telling my cousin Kaye about my dilemma, she told me to stop thinking of it as being two people's jobs, to instead think of them as being Cherie's jobs.  She told me to write a list and realise Cherie would get around to them when she could.  The relief of this was phenomenal!  In hindsight it seems like the most logical way to work through everything that needs doing, but sometimes it's difficult to see what is right there in front of your face.  Kaye pointing it out to me was 'a duh, how obvious' moment!
I think sometimes when we are going through grief we see everything as really big and huge instead of as a hurdle we can walk up to and kick over if we don't want to jump over it.
Before 2008, when things went wrong in life, I pictured them as lots of little incidents falling around my feet like scattered bricks.  When we are depressed, sad or angry it can feel like the bricks don't seem to scatter anymore, they stack up creating a wall we just can't climb.
I guess part of beating the blues is to find ways of 'kicking' the wall down, like the 'Cherie To Do' list.  All of a sudden I didn't feel like a slave to our home and how it used to be.  If I didn't feel like rushing around madly I didn't have to.  I could enjoy a quiet moment or read a book without feeling guilty.
In most relationships, the duties are divided between both partners. Butch would handle the mechanical, handyman and complaints departments and whatever duties we didn't share, were my department.
When Butch passed away, I had no idea how to organise a car service without being ripped off - hence the $5,000 for a my first routine service! I was naive, I told the head mechanic my husband had just passed away and he told me not to worry about anything he would look after me. I obviously didn't notice he was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
I am pretty independent and maybe just a little stubborn (although I prefer to think of it as 'independent thinking'!), so I refused to ask anyone for help, believing it was time I stepped up and did all those jobs I hadn't bothered to worry about before. Big and expensive mistake!
So, my advice to you, is if you didn't do those things before your partner passed, don't sweat it now. It isn't a sign of weakness to admit you don't know everything about all things. Ask friends and family or ask if they know someone who can help you with anything you are unsure of.
If you don't do housework, either get a cleaner in, or find someone to help you until you feel confident enough to do it on your own. The same applies to cooking, gardening, repairs, etc. Don't feel 'less than' because you need help with even the most menial of jobs.
I remember getting frustrated because I couldn't change one of the light bulbs. I worked on that sucker for days on end, I refused to be beaten. I kept berating myself for being useless and stupid. It turned out there was something wrong in the fitting itself. I’d spent a week in the dark just because I didn't want anyone to think I was a failure! What a waste of energy, emotion and time!
Nowadays, I know who I need to call on for help no matter what the problem and its great to know I don't have to do a crash course in ‘stuff’ I don't really want to understand.
Hugs,
Cherie xx

I 'woke up' the other day...I mean really woke up. It has only taken four years, six days and a couple of hours to get there, but here I am...awake!
I finished my book 'Grieving With Honour' several months ago, but no matter how much I talked myself into proofreading it or following up on what needed to be done, it lay untouched on the shelf gathering dust. I alternated between being upset and frustrated with myself and just plain angry. Nothing I could do or say would make me move over, pick it up and start looking it over. 
I now realise there was a chapter missing from it - the last chapter that will bring me to a better sense of closure..
It all started with a comment my daughter made the other day. I was telling her how lost and sad I felt, even though I was surrounded by those who loved me. I admitted that I was crying a lot, big sad sobs that sometimes threatened to engulf me. I spoke about huge tears that rolled down my face unbidden and how I thought I'd be feeling different about my grief by now. 
After telling me how far I'd come in the past four years, she turned to me and said 'It makes me feel helpless and sad, knowing I can't 'fix' you Mum.'
A couple of days later, as that thought was processed in the 'think mill' I have working around the clock, I came to the realisation that she was right. She couldn't 'fix' me. No one could...only I have the power to do that.
It was as if someone turned on the light and shook me awake. I woke up feeling different that day, as if I'd discovered the secret to my life, and I guess in a way I have.
I accepted a long time ago that Butch was never going to be here physically again. (I may not like it, but I can accept it) I accepted that my life will never be the same. I even accepted there is a definite chance I will never get over losing him, or being as free and joyful as I once was.....bu I never accepted 'My Grief'. Instead I tucked it away for moments when I was alone, for times when I could mourn in private, because that is how I deal with my sadness and pain.
I never accepted that it was truly okay for me to feel this way. I know I said I did, but there was a part of me that resisted for the past four years, two months and six days. I accepted it 'on behalf of others', as in I was going to do it my way and their opinion didn't matter. I accepted it in a physical, emotional and spiritual sense, but this tiny pocket of me, tucked behind everything else, in the far corner, at the very back hadn't agreed or accepted at all. 
I can't explain the difference it made, this 'wake up call' I received, except that I am now stepping up and assuming my mantle of responsibility. I have been avoiding being a 'part' of my life in lots of little sneaky ways, that no one can visibly identify. I didn't want this new, unimproved and extremely sad life I was stuck with and I just coasted through my day to day life, just going through the motions. 
My soul wept for the valuable time I was wasting. It cried that I wasn't honoring me and making the most of the time I have left here on this earthly plane. It sobbed when it knew I wasn't going to try and 'fix' this part of me and become whole again.....and that was when I had to sit up and take notice. I couldn't explain away the tears, I had to acknowledge what was behind them...
So now, its time for me to pick up the pieces, leave the prickly uncomfortable place that has been my comfort zone for the last four and a bit years and step out into the life I deserve. I'm not saying it will be easy, I just know I owe it to myself to not just be the best me I can be, but also to live the best life I can.
As much as my grief said I shouldn't be here without the love of my life, it isn't my truth and I have many things to accomplish before I join Butch on the etheric. I want him to be pleased and proud of me when we meet again.
..and you know what...? If there's even a chance I have to repeat my lesson of 'abandonment and grief' in the next life, I'd sooner have it done and dusted this time around, thanks.
love and hugs
Cherie xx

I provide a mobile Reiki service and had a client last Saturday afternoon. All morning I was either close to tears or was weeping. I couldn't explain why I felt so desolate or despairing. With Christmas approaching, I had been feeling sad, but this felt different.
It wasn't until I was on my way to my client's place I realised I might be picking up on her energy. Once I had acknowledged this, the dark cloud of grief lifted a little.
During the session, my client mentioned her best friend of over 50 years had recently passed away and she was struggling with accepting she was gone.
I said it was early days and she was expecting an awful lot of herself to be ready to accept her friends passing so soon.
She told me that in the weeks leading up to her friend's passing, she had visited her all the time. She had visited her in hospital during her last hours and even been to see her friend at the funeral directors the day before the funeral and couldn't understand why she still felt so devastated and lost without her.
'So, you tried to cheat yourself out of feeling grief or loss, but approaching your friend's death in a logical way?' I asked.
My client looked at me, surprised at the way I had defined what she had done and realised that was exactly what she had attempted to do.
I told her grief doesn't follow logic, it can't be reasoned with. It is an emotional state of being and we have to work through whatever feelings and pain we have as a result.
In a society where grief is a taboo subject, where we are expected to show we are coping well rather than showing how we truly feel, some of us try to escape the torture and suffering grief entails. Unfortunately there is no escape clause or get out of jail free card. There is only grief, acknowledging our loss and then acceptance. 
This all takes time, and for each of us its different. Acknowledging our loss and the pain of losing someone is honoring the relationship we had with this person and honoring the person left behind. 
Don't try to avoid or evade your grief. Wallow in it. Allow yourself to 'be' in it for as long as it takes.
love and respect
Cherie xx 

written November 2010
It has been just over two years since Butch has passed.  I never got angry about his passing, about being left behind, about being alone and  lonely.  To be honest, I'm not one of those people that gets angry, except when I turn it inside.  Well, now it is starting to come out whether I want it to or not...  The anger I am holding is has turned into a huge angry rash that is driving me crazy.  It won't go away, no matter what I do or take for it. To make matters worse, my tears have turned to acid once again - a sure sign I'm feeling sad and angry.I think it's time for me to release this anger.
I am having trrouble sleeping again, as if struggling with the day to day stuff  isn't enough, now I can't even close my eyes and pretend it's not happening! I've been waking up at 3am every day for a week (according to the body time chart, this is the time of anger), so it is time to take action...
I decided to make a date with myself to smash 'stuff' tonight (Friday night). I am meant to be going to my daughter's in Brisbane for the weekend, but I told her I have something 'urgent' to do tonight. I'm assuming that everyone who has a life will be out and I won't have to worry too much about being heard. 
Breaking anything is extremely hard for me, as I'm the sort of person who buys a dinner set from the op shop with the intention of smashing it and then gets caught up in the thought that this set belonged to someone who once loved it, or by smashing it, I am depriving someone else of the pleasure of this ugly dinnerset!
Tonight, I've gone throught the house picking everything out that no longer needs to be kept, whether its a coffee jar (which I have been stockpiling), a partial bottle of alcohol left behind by visitors to a medicine bottle I kept from when Butch was alive.  To give me a bit of dutch courage, I am playing loud music (Meatloaf - one of our favourite cds). I'm having a couple of drinks (I'm not a drinker) before I begin to go 'crazy' in my grief of all that was and all that cannot be.
I have prepared the spot where I am going to smash these items and I sure am hoping this will be a liberating and healing experience.
I gave up smoking a while ago, but I am doing that as well. It's time to get the anger involved with why I smoke and how angry it makes me feel when I do out of the way also.  They taste awful, as does the booze, but I'm hoping thaty by doing all the things I hate, because they indicate I have no control, I am hoping to purge them as well.
I'm not a screamer either and I am hoping the alcohol will loosen those restrictions I place on myself.
Yes, I am a planner but I know if I try to do this spontaneously, it will never happen.  I apologise to my liver and lungs in advance for what I am about to do to them.
I need to do this for self preservation, the rash is only the tip of the iceburg and if I don't do something soon, I know will end up really sick. It has taken over way too much of my body and I just want to peel my skin off so it will stop!
An hour later....
It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. The first few things I threw bounced! Bounced! I said in a loud voice 'I am angry because I feel cheated out of the old age Butch and I were going to share...'. As I watched it bounce, I had a giggle and told myself I clearly wasn't angry enough! I started small after that - I found out lightbulbs make a very satisfying noise as they explode. I was right in the swing of it by the time I'd finished, screaming like a wild banshee and it was kinda disappointing when I'd run out of things to throw. My shoulder is a bit sore though, and my throat is a little raw.
Although I was going to clean up in the morning, I decided to clean up after I had laid waste to my pile of glass and crockery,  I didn't see any point in waking up to it. It was ironic that after I had finished destroying all my 'disposable' items, I didn't know  what my next move should be.  Did I stay sad and morbid afterwards? I hadn't planned that far ahead.
As I was sweeping all the debris towards the garage door, I noticed some lights flashing underneath it. (in my tipsy state I told myself it was probably a little too early for UFOs) I heard a knock and a voice saying 'Please open the door'.
As I lifted the door, I was surprised to find two police persons on the other side.
I am a cadbury girl - in other words a glass and a half is all that it takes for me to be more than a little tipsy - so my first words were 'Sorry, my husband passed away just over two years ago, and I've been puging my anger.' 
They told me quite a few of my neigbours had been concerned enough to ring when they heard things smashing and screaming coming from the premises.  I was impressed the police had been notified, especially as I don't have a lot to do with my neighours and said so.
The policeman said to me they obviously were a little worried and had rung as I was normally a quiet person.  He suggested next year I could play Meatloaf but buy a punching bag in the interim.
I said I thought the music was playing loud enough to disguise the noise and the police lady told me it was obviously not loud enough. 
How fortunate was I that they were such good sorts? 
I explained about my issues with breaking things and that it took a lot of effort on my part to do so, as we all eyed up the huge pile of broken glass on my garage floor.  
The policeman told me he loved Meatloaf, that he had grown up with it, and I could still play that as I vented my anger - on a punching bag, ( I get the feeling he was trying to make a point, but what couldit have been?!)
As they were talking to me Butch and my song 'Two outta three ain't bad' was playing, so I had a quiet laugh, knowing he was probably somewhere having a giggle too.
My life has always been like that, all huge moments in my life had ended on a tragically funny, or at least comical note - and clearly this was another one of them!
They asked my full name and I couldn't help but think, 'Hmm, if I ever get famous, this won't look good!'  They also asked if I would mind providing my date of birth. I told them, adding 'I am over 50 and really should know better!'
I thanked them for coming and asked if it was okay to give them both a hug before they left, which they both did with good humour.
Smashing stuff and venting my anger was truly liberating, I feel lighter and as if I have truly released something that has been holding me back.  I don't think I need to do it again.  I feel bad about my poor neighbours, but I am grateful to know someone cares enough to call the authorities.
After I tidied up, I rang a couple of good friends and we all had a huge laugh at my expense.  I find it amusing to think I, who have never been in trouble with the police, finally created a ruckus at this stage of my life! ...but it was so worth it!
(In fact my cousins have often told me I should have a tatto saying 'Born to be mild'),
I definitely recommend releasing anger, but maybe not in a way that you get unexpected visitors!
(if you look at the photo I took before I cleaned up, you can see lots of orbs on the wall closest to the door. Nice to know I wasn't alone!)

04/08/11 - The other night I dreamt about Butch, I relived his gradual deterioration and passing once again. This isn't the first time I have had this dream, but this time it was slightly different. I had the opportunity to say all those things I wish I'd said before he lost the ability to answer. It was an incredibly sad dream and I felt like I was experiencing the whole grieving process again. When I awoke I was devastated. I would have been quite happy to just lay there and wallow in the awfulness of it all.
In this dream I remember telling him that losing him the first time was incredibly hard, that my world imploded and I could find no reason to carry on. He looked at me with such love as tears rolled down his face and I promised I would try harder this time.
Reality was a different scenario, I woke up so heavy with my sadness and grief I could barely function. The pain permeated my soul and I spent a fair amount of time 'washing out my eyes' from within.
All day I felt 'out of sorts'. I couldn't focus or feel. By the end of the day, I was relieved to go to bed and stop the perpetual
loop it felt like I was in.It is only now I can see the positive in this dream where, in the altered reality of my mind, I had the opportunity to say all those things I regretted I never had a chance to say to Butch. On reflection it was a more positive than negative experience, I just had to look past the sadness to see that.
When someone we love passes away, it doesn't seem to matter how much we talk beforehand or how much we understand and love each other, we can still feel as if some things have been left unsaid. The unfortunate thing is we can't just pick up a telephone, tell them and feel that sense of closure. For some, like me, it can mean the recurrence of an event through dreams until we can release the pent up emotion we have been clutching at. It was  easier for me to suppress my emotions, to beat myself up and as a consequence feel unnecessary guilt.
If I was to be realistic, I would say, in grief there is always something we hold on to that can prevent us from moving forward or moving on...but perhaps that is just my truth. I know I have a few more issues to work through yet. (my motto must be 'why hold onto one thing, when you can fit so much into two hands...?)