I had been told that my parents and Dan’s parents were on their way. What a crappy reason to be whisked away on a paid for flight. My parents coming to comfort their daughter and the Dan’s parents coming to lay their son to rest. It was a hectic day. Immediately we were sorting things out. Getting the house ready for interviews, receiving a constant stream of beautiful bouquets, food, gifts for the boys. Neighbours, I didn’t know, knocking on my door offering to host my family should I run out of room.

Preparations were being made to pick up our parents. Once they landed, they would be whisked through airport security- all very official-and chauffeured through the city to our home. Throughout the day, the city of Edmonton had begun to place blue ribbons all around the city. This was a mark of respect, not only for Dan, but for the police force in general. To show that they were all appreciated. That there were thankful for them. That they understood not only Dan’s sacrifice, but their daily sacrifice by going to a job that people seemed to take for granted the risk that these officers put themselves in day to day.

It was decided that there would be a special route for our parents. So they could see just how the city had rallied together and showed their love, respect and support for us.

In the evening that they arrived, as sad as they were, it was a wonderful sight for them to see. Boarding that plane must have been so unbelievably hard. But for that one moment, they saw just how much this city wanted to respect Dan’s memory. I am and will always will be forever grateful.

Cx

Since starting this blog, I have been flooded with memories about the weeks following Dan’s death. Things that I had put into the back of my mind. Things that maybe I didn’t want to remember. Things that had been lost in the madness and sheer magnitude of the weeks that lay ahead.

I was stood outside listening to all the voicemails and messages I had received. From there, I arranged for the boys to be looked after with their old childcare. They were excited. It was a sunny day and I let the boys play outside. Gabe was drawing all over the place with his chalks. I was either beckoned outside or a randomly went out . This Is what I saw..

He wanted his Dad to see it, y’know, seeing as he was now up in heaven. I added the hashtag EPSStrong. It had suddenly become a very popular tag for people to show their support. Giving him a hug and saying how kind that was, I walked inside. The house was full, people all talking around me, to each other, serious business, chit chat. I was still slightly- for want of a better term- zombiefied. My mind does begin to fade with I think about the order of what happened during the following weeks. But, here goes.

At some point I must have turned the radio on. The radio station was called 102.3NOW! Radio. Also just happens to be my (now former) workplace. They were doing the NOW! Takeover. An all request section of the show that ran from noon to one. The Chief of Police had confirmed Dan’s death to the various media outlets. So it was public knowledge. The station’s listeners were requesting a song named ‘Highway Of Heroes’. A beautiful song that was played often in respect of those servicemen and women returning home. For some reason, I felt compelled to message them. Being staff, you weren’t really meant to do that. I asked for Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York New York’ . Now, if you have attended a British wedding, or an celebration for that matter, this is usually the last song played. All the guests stand in a circle around the Bride and Groom/birthday boy or girl/ Engaged couple. Dan was quite introverted at the time of our wedding and having to be the centre of attention with a huge circle of people around him wasn’t his idea of fun. I can’t remember the message I sent but it was something about embarrassing him. A sad song didn’t seem right.No more sadness. I needed something happy!

Cx

Think of a pro and con list for yourself. You can usually outweigh the cons by the pros. I’m at a stalemate. We’re 50/50 and there is no shifting either way.

Right now, I am very lucky to be able to say that I live in two countries. If I chose to, I could go between them as and when I pleased because I have a home in Alberta, and a home in Manchester, Both places contain our belongings. The things that make it ours. Here’s my dilemma.

I have Manchester. The place where I grew up with the most amazing family ( I know we all say we had the best one, but mine was the best-sorry not sorry ) The place where I met lifelong friends in school and still have today. The place where I met my husband. The place where I got married. The place we bought our first home.

I have Edmonton. The place where we decided to live.To explore new opportunities. The place we purchased a new home. The place we found new friends who became our second family. The place where we developed as people, as a couple, as parents. The place where he died. The place where the city took us into their hearts. The place where they deemed him a hero.

Once Dan had died, I was adamant that I would remain in Edmonton. Possibly to the point of seeming selfish and hurtful to my family. I was going to prove that I could do this. That I could survive in a country that I sometimes struggled to be so far away in. I had often said that I would go back to Manchester should something happen to Dan and as soon as it did, I wanted no part of that. I was staying put. After all, that’s what people expected me to do wasn’t it? Jump on a plane back home. Nope. At the time, it felt like I would be burying my head in the sand by doing that. I would prove them wrong. Show them all I could do this. That I could make my own choices. By staying, I would be showing my loyalty to the city. Showing them that I was grateful for all their love and unwavering support. That I was strong. A force to be reckoned with.

I had my team rallying around me. My ladies. Ladies who dropped everything to help the boys and I with anything and everything we needed. They are my family and my lifelong friends.

There was something wrong though. I needed something else. Honestly, it hit me like a tidal wave. I needed family. My family. I needed to be Claire. Not “Constable Dan Woodall’s Widow, Claire” or “The wife of the fallen Police Officer, Claire Woodall”… just simply. Claire.

As much as I was loved and supported publicly, it was this publicity that seemed to stop me from moving forward. I didn’t want to lose my past, but I couldn’t see my future. I understand why I was referred in that manner. That’s how people knew me. As the widow that had the two young boys. I needed that-for want of a better term-tagline, to fade. To be myself. To begin new relationships. I’m certain that Dan would want me to move on. To have another male figure in the boys’ lives and provide them with the tools for their life to come. To learn right from wrong and do all the things that I can’t.

Now, after 18 months, I have come back to Manchester. Back to the motherland. Things are different here, but so very much the same. Doesn’t make sense really does it. In some ways, I feel like I never left. All the roads are the same. All the houses look the same. The schools look the same. Yes, there are some new buildings, houses where it used to be green space, but 99.9% of my hometown hasn’t changed. I kinda like that.

The boys get to experience family all around them. Grandparents living a street away. Other Grandparents,cousins, Aunts, Uncles..All within a fifteen minute car ride. The boys go to school and wear a uniform. A school that I also went to as a child. That has the same colours-and the same style tie-it had when I was there. The school is small and has 240 children in total and goes from aged 3-11. A far cry from the 1100 strong school they came from with children from aged 6-15. In their current school here alone, they have 6 cousins. Something they have never experienced. It was so overwhelming and confusing for them, they would point to random children and ask if that person was their cousin. In the time that we have been here,the boys have been to a family gathering that filled a very large function room and been completely overwhelmed by the amount of people that are “their family”. It is a completely different world and it’s amazing to see them experience family the way that I did.

For me? It’s just like old times. Which is brilliant and frightening.  Brilliant because I am building a new relationship with all these people I was once so close to. And for some of them, getting closer to them than I ever was. It’s a great feeling. Frightening because this time around I am here on my own. On my own with two children when everyone else around me, all the cousins I grew up with, are in their relationships. Last time, it was me in the marriage and most others were single. Now I feel like I have gone back to a time when I was single but they have moved on. And why shouldn’t they move on and have babies and get married. It’s not their fault I’m a widow.

That anonymity I was talking about? I miss it a little. It was something I could hide behind. Something I knew people were aware of. It gave me a security. Simple things like going out to a bar and I could feel safe- safe that people would know that I’m single for a reason. That I wasn’t unlovable. I hadn’t divorced. There was nothing “wrong” with me. It made me curious as to why I actually began to feel like that. I have plenty of friends who are single, have divorced, are married.. there is nothing wrong with them. So why, now that I am here, do I feel like I need a sign on my forehead in big neon letters saying Widow-not unlovable. 

So, you see my dilemma. I feel like I belong in both places. I have reasons to stay in both places. At some point, I will have to decide where I make my base. As it stands right now, I have no idea where that will be. Or maybe I do and I don’t want to admit it? I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever will.

Cx

The boys usually woke up for school at around 6:45am. They would have their milk, watch a little Rescue Bots and get dressed for their day. I would take them to their childcare, Continue on to work and Dan would get some sleep.

That obviously didn’t happen and they didn’t wake up at 6:45am. Waiting for them to wake up was absolute torture. I had this huge thing to tell them. This awful thing that I had to try and put into simple terms whilst holding it together. But I also wanted to make the morning as normal as possible for them.

All of a sudden, they came down the stairs. There were more people in the house than they were used to so they instantly had a look of confusion. My heart started racing. I followed our ritual as closely as I could. Sit them down, give them their milk.. and stalled when they asked for the TV.

How do you tell a child that their daddy isn’t coming back home? I had always told them that when Daddy was on a night shift, he was keeping us safe whilst we slept but we would see him in the morning. Now, that was a lie. A big, fat lie.

I don’t remember how I started to tell them. I do remember what I said. It’s still what they believe and any other child who happens to ask is told more or less the same.

“Last night, Daddy was trying to get a bad guy. Daddy got the bad guy but the bad guy also hurt Daddy’s heart. Because his heart was so badly hurt, Daddy decided that it would be better to go to heaven and watch over us from up there. Rather than being really poorly here in earth with us.”

Then those words.. the ones that I can never remove from my memory, nor the image that came with it. The ones that told me Gabe understood. His beautiful brown eyes widened and glazed over with tears, his chin quivering.

“So, we will never see him again?”

He was only 6 years old. He comprehended the enormity of it all. It was heartbreaking. I held my breath and tried to keep it together.

“Gabe, we won’t get to touch him anymore, but we will feel him in our hearts. He’s an angel in the sky now. When we close our eyes, we will see him in our mind. When we go to sleep we can dream about him. Dream of all the fun things you used to do together and how much he loves you. I want you to know that it’s OK to be sad. We can’t be sad forever though. We are very lucky that we had Daddy in our lives.”

Callen shrugged it off. He was only 4 after all. He was just a little too young to understand. This day wasn’t much different to others. Dad wasn’t home yet. No big deal. I’d said that he was going to heaven soooo, that’s where he was. Simple as that.

I couldn’t say anymore. It was too much for them and it was too much for me. A friend was sat with them and took over. The sad thing is, I don’t even remember if I hugged them, I hope to God I did.

Walking away from them was my opportunity to breathe. When I was talking to them, I’d felt like my lungs were craving air that I couldn’t provide. I needed to be strong for them. I needed to show them that I was proud of their dad for “getting the bad guy” and making the choice to go to heaven.

In reality, I know he had no choice. I know his heart was untouched. I couldn’t tell them that though. It would be too hard for them to comprehend. It was too hard for me to comprehend.

I turned my phone on. BEEP, BUZZ,RING…A continuous stream of messages, voicemails and social media messages continued to appear. With phone in hand, I walked out to the back garden to face the days ahead.

Cx