Rule The World

It was unexpected generally. I mean those closest to me know I'm partial to a bit of pop music but I'm not sure if anyone really expected us to have Rule The World by Take That as our first dance on our wedding day. My taste in music has always been of an "avant garde" persuasion, a point that was made by my Best Man in his speech. It was just another one of those opposite things that me and Laura had. Earlier in the day, during my speech, I remarked that it's the opposites that made our dynamic work. We were opposites in many ways in the things that we liked but all those things were exactly that, just things. They didn't define us. I said in my speech we didn't have to see eye to eye in such trivial subjects, after all it's more important to be facing the same direction than looking at each other or behind us. That wasn't the way we were going.

You light the skies up above me. A star so bright you blind me.  

So Take That came as a little surprise. We had watched the movie Stardust leading up to the Big Day and had liked the song when it was in the charts, so I suggested it and Laura agreed. That was that. Another thing ticked off the wedding list. To be honest it was possibly the only input I had! Well, that and writing the names on the place cards.

I always thought the lyrics to be apt as a first dance song. It says everything you have to say. It's uplifting and full of promise.

Yeah, you and me we can ride on a star. If you stay with me, girl, we can rule the world.

13 years later the lyrics have taken on a whole new meaning. I didn't consider for a single moment back then that the words "don't close your eyes, don't fade away" would hurt my heart so much as they do now. The lyrics of the song are now completely about the loss of Laura. Rarely a day goes by when I don't listen to it. At first it was difficult but I played it anyway. On my own. On repeat. I would play it even though it hurt me to the core. I'd try to sing along but my voice would always break or I simply couldn't breathe due to the lump in my throat and the heaviness in my chest. But play it I did. I played it whilst doing chores around the house, crying over the kitchen sink wiping away tears with an already wet hand or stopping while hoovering, too weak with sadness to push the damn thing. It elicited feelings of anger and frustration, of sorrow and futility. It was like I was exorcising my grief. Those little episodes were the only occasions that it actually started to show. In the house, on my own, I'd let it out just enough to stop it totally debilitating me. I can play it more now without the almost overwhelming feeling of devastating heartbreak but I still feel every single syllable of those lyrics.

You saved my soul. Don't leave me now.

Although the song now describes perfectly the irreplaceable loss of Laura, the image that fills my head isn't the song playing as we said our final goodbyes at the funeral. What I see is us on a dance floor, me lifting her up and spinning her around at the chorus and that feeling of unbridled happiness we both shared 13 years ago today, 21st August 2010.

All the stars are coming out tonight, they're lighting up the sky tonight, for you.

For you.

 

The Unwritten

Laura's clothes are still in the drawers in our bedroom and still hang in the wardrobe. Her stuff is in the top two drawers and mine in the bottom two. In one of her drawers, hidden underneath the side with her headbands and hats, I found writing paper. Lots of writing paper. She had told me she had ordered loads and I'd forgotten all about it until I came across it when looking through her stuff. It was her intention to write letters to everyone; family, all her friends and the kids. She told me she also wanted to record videos too but was worried that she wouldn't have the nerve to say what she wanted to say without breaking down, so letters were the best solution.

Unfortunately, those letters went unwritten.

When she was given a year, she thought she had at least a year. We both did. We both hoped and wished for longer. We actually didn't consider that it would be less. Within those hopes and wishes there was time to think about what the contents of those letters would be and to actually write them. But it was not to be.

A few years ago, when my oldest friend was diagnosed with cancer and was told that he didn't have much time left, he wrote me a letter and it's an incredibly precious thing. I keep it in the drawer beside my bed and every so often I get it out. Sometimes I read it, sometimes I just look at it. I don't necessarily have to open it and read it as the feel of it suffices. Just holding the envelope itself is sometimes enough. It is a real and palpable gift of love and friendship and such a beautiful thing. Heartbreakingly beautiful but beautiful nonetheless. It is also deeply personal. What that letter is can never be understated. He took the time to write and reaffirm our bond and our love. I will treasure it forever.

I am saddened that the recipients of Laura's Letters won't have that token. Especially the kids. Not that I needed a letter to measure my love for my oldest friend and nor will they. However, it's nice to have something personal and individual. We all know love isn't measured by such things. Love lives long in the memory and there are many things that reignite that memory just when it seems to have faded even slightly.

It was once said to me that as devastating as cancer is, at least you do get the chance to say goodbye. That I suppose is true in the majority of cases. In the 5 months we did get, Laura accomplished so much, even given her very poor health towards the end. We may not have gotten our letters but she left us with hope and the courage to go on. And so much more. While we all would like to leave something behind, something to be remembered by, some sort of legacy, sometimes it is enough to have left that; courage, love and hope. It doesn't need to be written down if those you care for know how much you loved them. Just don't let what goes unwritten go unsaid.