The morning after Lennon’s funeral we flew to Majorca for a week. Over the years we had always said that we would take the girls abroad soon after Lennon died. Mainly to give them a holiday they had never been able to experience before, but also to inject a little happiness back into their lives.
In that respect it worked. Both Isla and Florence had a fantastic time. (Despite isla being poorly for a couple of days.) We only left the hotel once, and they spent most of the week in the swimming pool.
Even Ian seemed to enjoy himself, swimming in the sea and getting involved with the hotel entertainment.
I really thought it would be a good idea to go away for me too. I honestly thought that I would feel a little better.
Who doesn’t feel happier in a sunnier, warmer environment, lying by a pool all day?!
I can honestly say I didn’t feel any different being away from home, other then feeling further away from Lennon.
I still began and ended everyday in floods of tears, and spent the days hiding behind my sunglasses or a book trying the blink the tears out of my glassy eyes.
The pain and the emptiness still there, and the gapping hole in me still wide open and raw.
Forcing smiles and happiness for my daughters, so that they can’t see the pain I am in and the constant discomfort I feel.
Trying to enjoy myself (as I am told “you’ll feel so much better”). But those true feelings of enjoyment and happiness have abandoned me. Deep sorrow, emptiness and loneliness have taken their place.
It was a relief to walk back through our front door, and into our home. Lennon’s home.
Everything in Lennon’s bedroom is still as it was when he left that Tuesday night. His feed pump still has his clear fluids attached. His syringes and medications are all still on his unit and his fluid charts and emergency plans all still hang on the wall. His clothes in his drawers and his toys and books still in his bed.
I feel close to Lennon here at home and at this moment in time, it’s the only tiny bit of comfort that I can find and cling on to.