BEL MOONEY

If you will tell me why the fen/Appears impassable, I then Will tell you why I think that I/Can get across it if I try I MAY, I MIGHT, I MUST BY MARIANNE MOORE (U.S. POET, 1887-1972)

DEAR Bel,

I’M WRITING out of sheer desperation. Nothing prepared me for the unbearable grief after the sudden death of my lifelong partner.

If it were a physical pain, morphine wouldn’t even touch the sides. I will never be happy again.

Over two years ago, my partner died suddenly and unexpectedly, three months after my mother’s death and at the start of our retirement.

All my family and friends want me to come to terms, move on, build a new life and a new relationship. Follow the onesize-fits-all ‘five stages of grief’ and all will be well.

People suggest work — but I’ve worked all my life and couldn’t wait to retire. Or do voluntary work/study/join a club/ take up a new hobby — but I’m not artistic or musical and don’t like crafting.

I’ve tried volunteering and short-study courses — pointless time fillers. A lifelong avid reader, I can’t concentrate. Nobody wants to know or understand the shock, disbelief, pain and depth of sadness at the loss of the person you’ve shared nearly all your life with.

All I want is the everyday companionship of the person I spent over 45 years with.

We didn’t have children and always spent a lot of time together — nobody else knows our history or shared jokes. He was my family; now I have nothing. My siblings (previously close, though living miles away) are virtual strangers now.

Upset over what’s happened, they expect me to be back to normal and can’t understand why I’m not.

On the phone or in person, it’s like small talk to strangers. Days and nights are a struggle.

Unbidden thoughts upset me all over again. I used to love weekends, Christmas . . . all the small things of life, now I hate them.

They rub in what I’ve lost and will never have again. STEPHANIE