Natascha McElhone - After you: letters of love, and loss, to a husband and father

Letters of Love, and Loss, to a Husband and Father

NATASCHA McELHONE

VIKING

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First published 2010

Copyright Natascha McElhone, 2010

The moral right of the author has been asserted

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ISBN: 978-0-14-196155-2

To my three cubs, you are above and beyond anything I could have wished for. Your Dadu would be so very proud of you.

To my mother and Roy for showing me what love is.

26th November 2009

My husband died suddenly eighteen months ago from a heart attack. He was at home. I was away working in Los Angeles with our two sons and I was pregnant with our third.

It has been an extraordinary eighteen months. I never believed I would say this, but at the moment I feel some happiness. I dont understand why I loved him so completely how can I possibly be happy without him? And yet somehow he has become a part of us, we have expanded, stretched, as a result of his death. We have reached for the furthest corners of ourselves and been surprised. No one has replaced him, no one has filled that void, but I think we are growing into its place.

When I was told my husband was dead, it was how I imagine war to be. Carnage, limbs being torn off, flesh left flapping in the wind. To come from that feeling to this now seems impossible; I dont know how it has happened. All I can think is that we humans are irrepressible; this hunger to live, to thrive, overwhelms every other impulse.

I am lucky I have these three juggernauts of love in my life who stop for nothing, who live here right now and have taught me to do the same. These little boys are my teachers, even Baby twisting his head to one side with a wry smile to grab my attention and snap me out of any reverie. Theres little time for reflection in our new world; its a doing, going places, hungry world packed with questions, most of which I cant answer.

What brings a lump to my throat now is not having someone to share all this with. When the time comes and I proudly watch these three boys become men setting out on their own journeys three sets of broad shoulders disappearing, carving a way towards their own destiny. Not having HIM there to celebrate that with I cant even write it

I hate that he will never see who they become, that they will never have the chance to show him.

*

I hope one day my boys will be glad to have a record of this.

What is the sense in loss if in its place it brings nothing?

Writing this has been a scaffolding to help prop me up, a handrail as I take my first steps down this dark, lonely staircase. Maybe it can be the same for someone else who has lost their person, their love?

I have found great comfort in two books, A Grief Observed by C. S. Lewis and Living On A Seabed by Lindsay Nicholson. Thank you to these authors and the many people who have helped me over the last eighteen months.

Martins death is the closest I have come to death myself. Coming back from that brings a new lease of life, a belief (however fleeting) that I must quickly share these experiences before they evaporate.

What follows are just snippets of my thoughts and feelings chased across a page in bed at 2 a.m., in a supermarket queue, at a school gate, even whilst giving birth. Writing to my husband has enabled me to keep him here long enough to come to terms with losing him. So here it is, my catharsis, my medicine, my prescription

You know, Im a doctor and I can tell you that the heart is the strongest muscle in the body. No matter how much damage it takes, it always repairs itself.

Martin Kelly

I am going through my diaries since you have died, all the things I have written to and about you. This strange exercise of writing, which I resisted at first, has now become like breathing for me, essential, if I am to accept what has happened.

I had a message on my phone from you as I watched our boys in their gymnastics class. Otis I remember was excelling in basket position; Theo, long-limbed and colty, was bounding across a crash mat. I had an unexpected hiatus in my day. I was filming at the studio opposite and had a break whilst they shot a different sequence. I listened to one of the many beautiful messages from you, Martin, Monkey, so many different names I gave you. You loved me, missed me, you couldnt wait to see me again and kiss my pregnant bump, escape for a night to a romantic hideaway for our tenth wedding anniversary. You would tumble about with the boys on the beach for a few days before going back to the coalface in London. There were only nine more days until we would see each other; everything was booked and written in stone. I deleted the message because there would always be more messages like that from you. The next message was from your best friend, Neil. He sounded low, dark, he wanted me to call him. It was too late UK time, but I thought maybe he had had a crisis with his girlfriend and needed to talk. No, I wont call him back its too late. Hmm theres a monkey on my shoulder saying I should. Why? Instinctively I walk towards the exit and dial Neils number

Are you alone? he says.

Well, -ish, dont worry, I say. Fire away.

They did everything they could, he says.

Right, what are you talking about?

Everyone tried their best, he says.

I have no idea what youre talking about. Monkey, are you talking about Monkey? Neil, whats happened, is there something wrong?

Everyone did everything, he says.

What the fuck, what the fuck are you trying to tell me? I dont understand you, are you trying to tell me hes not well, something has happened?

Yes he they tried everything

Neil, dont do this, dont fucking do this, youre kidding me, hes hes not dead?

I suggest this ridiculous idea for him to refute, so things can improve, we can get back on track, get to the bottom of whats really going on.

Yes, he didnt make it.

Make what? What the fuck? I wail.

My knees fold underneath me, this stupid phone slips from my hand. Two women whom I barely know run towards me, one of them sobbing. Theyve been standing watching me as I head towards my trailer from the kids gym, knowing what Im hearing on the phone. Were in a fucking movie theres trailers everywhere those women were just perfect in that scene. Yes, when youre really in the moment your body does strange things my legs went to jelly.