It’s wedding season!

I’ve not been to all that many over the last couple of years. Mainly because I have been in Canada. This month alone however, I’ve attended two.

Weddings are wonderful. Emotions are high. People laugh, people cry. There’s all kinds of merriment from day to night. Everyone joins together in those feelings and make the day truly magical. The Bride and Groom can finally relax after all the planning, all their hard work. They see it all come together and can relish in what they have achieved.

I’m not an overly emotional person. Ok. That’s a lie. I’m not as emotional as I used to be. I’m hardened. Some things that should make me emotional, don’t. And things that shouldn’t. do. Generally, I don’t tend to get upset at weddings. My heart fills with joy, but no tears are shed.

Until Dan.

I attended a wedding a week after Dan died with the boys. I was fine and all of a sudden it came over me. From nowhere. A rush of emotion. The love that was in that room. The couples that were there, all feeling this kind of euphoria. I felt it and I wanted it. I wanted to share it with my husband. Only I couldn’t. It only lasted a few minutes but still it was there and I couldn’t hide it.

My cousin’s wedding in Dec 2015. I felt honoured to be invited. I had come back to Manchester for Christmas and was invited last minute. She didn’t have to do that. I had that same rush of emotion there. I couldn’t actually stay in my seat in the church. It was almost like a panic attack. Five minutes though and I was fine.

The first of my two weddings in 2017 was in Greece. The grandparents had my boys. It was wonderful to have a break from ‘single mum’ life. I was able to completely relax. Enjoy days in the sun without two little people in tow. I made friends that I may not have necessarily become as close to had the boys been with me. The wedding itself was beautiful. Set against the backdrop of a beach with the sun starting to set. It was everything that it should have been. Again, I cried. At a random moment. It was very close to Dan’s anniversary so I put it down to that. I was reminded that I was on my own. With the kids there or not. I was on my own. The only one not in a relationship. I don’t know why I find it so hard to handle. I don’t deserve to be on my own. I shouldn’t be on my own.

Cut to the wedding I went to on June 17th. My wonderful cousin Aimee. I have always been very close to her. I’d helped set the venue up the day before. You could tell it was the perfect venue and would be the perfect day for them. It absolutely was.

Something else happened that day. I didn’t cry. I didn’t have this rush of sadness. This feeling of wanting to be back at my own wedding. Sat with my husband reminiscing. I was just happy. Happy I was sharing in this wonderful day. Happy that I was with my family. Happy that I was simply, well, happy.

Maybe I have turned a corner. I can now start the process of moving on completely. Moving the horrendous part of that chapter to the back of my mind. Remember the positives that have come from it open my heart and mind to other things.

I will never lose my memories and I know they will come up on occasion. I know I will write about the boys, their feelings and my own. They are struggling right now and I don’t thinK that will subside any time soon.

But, that’s for another time.

Cx

I’ve attended a couple of funerals recently. The services were beautiful and their celebration of life brought everyone together and lovely stories were shared. Part of these services involved cremations. I couldn’t help but be brought back to Dan’s cremation. This is something I now look on with both horror and laughter. It may or may not be your cup of tea, but here goes.

You may or may not know that Dan had a regimental funeral. It was beautiful yet surreal. Thousands of officers from around the world, all coming to pay their respects to an officer who had their life taken. Because this was such a public event, we chose to have a small cremation after the service.

I’m assuming you’re aware of how cremations go. Or how they regularly go. You’re in a room that looks very similar to that of a church. An alter like area at the front and rows of benches facing it. The coffin is placed on a slightly disguised conveyor belt that has lovely velvet red (or another colour) curtains either side. Once the service has ended, music of your choice may be played. The coffin is slowly moved through the curtain and they slowly begin to close. Once the curtain has closed, if you haven’t left already, you leave and move on to the celebration of that person’s life. Their wake.

Dan’s cremation didn’t quite go that way..

My Brothers, my Grandmother and Dan’s closest friend had flown over to join us for the funeral. So along with mine and Dan’s parent’s, we would have a very quiet, private cremation. I had decided not to take the boys to this. As you read on, you will understand and thank the good Lord above that I made that decision. They had gone back with friends to celebrate their Dad with hundreds of other Police Officers at their Headquarters in Downtown Edmonton.

We arrived at the cremation centre (what do you even call it?!) and walked through the main doors. It was so lovely. A beautiful big room with the familiar alter and red curtains. Only thing I noticed was that it looked Very bare. Not at all ready for a cremation. Which was odd. But, they knew what they were doing…

We followed the funeral director and Chaplain past this lovely room and through a corridor. A little like a game of ‘Follow The Leader’. This continued until we reached the other side of the building. A more medicinal side of the building. The area that I don’t think the general public were meant to see. It was unusual, but again, they knew what they were doing right?

Wrong… very, very wrong.

I began to run a few scenarios in my head. Maybe we were going to walk in with the coffin and go into the benches before he was placed in front of the curtain? Maybe there was a smaller area that was for very small groups of people and were were going in a different way? No. And, no. Not quite coherent with what was actually happening, we followed the chaplain into a small, lifeless room.

I will never forget that room. It was all tiled. White brick shaped tiles. Small and the perfect brick formation. It felt sterile and medicinal. Ten of us were led to the right hand side of the door. All huddled in this small, cold room. No chairs, no windows, no comfort of any kind. The first thing I noticed was this contraption in the middle of the room. It looked like a huge car jack. Only this one was a lot bigger-the size of a coffee table- and had a very long handle on the side. Quite similar to the one pictured. It was close to us. Very, very close.

On the wall to the right of us was a large square hole. This hole had a metal frame around it. On the right hand side of the square, there were a number of buttons both large and small. Also, a red light and a green light. At the top of the square, in the centre, there was a big sign similar to this.

Looking inside this large square hole was interesting. The bottom was a flat surface. The 3 other sides had what can best be described as dark grey nylon type wool. Like those silver scrubbing pads you can buy. It surrounded the three other surfaces and across the back. Making a lovely square.

See where I’m going with this?

Suddenly my heart began to race and my forehead became clammy. This was it. This was the cremation. We weren’t going to that lovely room with the curtain. Where you feel sad but comforted by the peacefulness of it all as we said our final goodbyes. We were staying in here. This truly awful room. This is where Dan’s body would be cremated. This was the area that grieving families were absolutely not meant to see. Yet, here we were. Why on earth were we in here?! I was imagining it. I was being dramatic. They would never do this. We would move soon. It was all a joke. They would ask if we wanted to move.

They didn’t. We didn’t.

The pallbearers slowly brought the coffin into the room. They carefully placed it onto this large car jack- which we soon noticed wasn’t all that sturdy. With each gentle push from the pallbearers, the jack let out a little screech and wobbled. Then there was the lever. Oh, the lever. With a back and forward pumping motion-I kid you not, the jack was made to go higher. With each motion, a creaking, screeching sound-almost as if it needed some WD40 on the hinges- was made worse with the wobbling of the coffin after each motion. It seemed to go on forever. The pallbearers then walked backwards and left the room.

Oh.. My.. God...

We were all looking at each other in both horror and pure disbelief. All coming to the same horrifying conclusion.

The Chaplain began to speak.

Oh.. My.. God…

Now, there was no turning back. I couldn’t tell them to stop. I couldn’t do anything. I wanted to yell but my voice refused to be heard and my body refused to move. Dan’s mum suddenly called out in a broken, distraught voice- I’m sorry, I can’t do this. She shuffled past her son’s coffin which was less than a foot away from her and ran out the door. His dad soon followed her.

I have no idea what the Chaplain was saying. Something about laying him to rest no doubt. I felt compelled to say the prayer Eternal Rest. Dan wasn’t religious, but it felt right. Feeling this rush of emotion and asked everyone to leave the room. A few more words were said. Two officers came back into the room. They slowly began to slide the coffin into the wide expanse to the right of me. This was the moment. The final moment Dan’s body would be whole. I believe your body is just a shell for your soul. Meaning when you die, your soul is free. It’s the fact that we will never get to touch, to talk to and to actually see that person that hurts us inside. If it didn’t affect us, we wouldn’t get so upset. Once the coffin was in, the huge metal jaws slowly came down, as if it were devouring its latest meal. It was so mechanical. So very, very wrong.

Now the part I will never, ever forget. The part that is so insanely bizarre all I can do is think back and laugh. Thinking about the pure absurdity of the question, I don’t even think they actually thought about what they were asking me. Or how it could have easily been misinterpreted. At the time though, it made me shiver and want to literally punch the funeral director squarely in the face. Hard.

Claire, would you like to push the button?

Why, yes. Yes I would. It’s very important to me that I, myself, am able to set fire to my late husbands body rather than leave it for you…said no one. EVER.

NO. NO THANKYOU.

I marched out of that room with such anger. There was nothing to throw, nothing I could yell at. So I cried. That big ugly cry when your eyes swell up and your nose is likened to Rudolph.

I found my mum. She was sat on the bench at the back of that beautiful room. The one we should have been in all along. She held me tightly. As the Chaplain approached her grip got tighter. He knew something was wrong. Little did he know just how wrong it all was. I don’t remember the words my mum had given them. Her head turning a shade of purple and her voice talking through gritted teach at an octave I think only Barry White could hear. It was terrifying and I’m so glad I wasn’t on the receiving line. The Chaplain stood there in horror. Apologizing profusely but it was too late. What was done, was done. Once she had given the Chaplain a stern piece of her mind-which I still maintain was terrifying and amazingly courageous all at the same time, (Mama Bear was taking care of her cub!) we went back to Police HQ. Back to the celebration. Back to remembering the good over the bad. Knowing that someday we would talk about this and do the only thing that we could. What he would have done. Laugh.

Cx

Yesterday was The anniversary of Dan’s death. To me, it will always be the 9th of June rather than the 8th. The 8th is etched in my memory as a night of pain, shock and sheer bewilderment. The 9th.. well. That’s the Day that I had to tell my children that their dad wouldn’t be coming home. It was something that couldn’t be “put off”. It had to be dealt with. And it was awful.

This was the day I walked around dazed and confused about the night before. Having had little sleep and trying to focus my brain into being a workable mum. Listening to messages on my voicemail, releasing statements, the beginnings of a constant stream of cards and beautifully made flower arrangements appearing at my door. to the point that a plea was made to stop them. My home was like a garden centre. So beautiful!

This was the day I started to begin the task of organising a funeral. To be honest, it wasn’t really me, it was those (un) lucky people who I voluntold. Again though, it had to be dealt with. Sitting in a chair opposite the chaplain, I sighed loudly, faked a smile and watched him take out his big leather binder.

The regimental funeral was scheduled for the 13th. Then the 15th. Eventually settling on the 17th. Mainly due to me. I knew there was too much to do. Too much to organize. They were sure everything would be ready. I knew they were wrong. To say I was a little defiant was an understatement. There was so much to do. I was lucky. I had this big group of people all helping me with things that I couldn’t effectively handle myself. I became likened to Jekyll and Hyde. Fine one moment and a raging psycho the next. And it was their job to keep me calm. Keep me on a level pegging. How they did it, I have no idea. They themselves were struggling and I couldn’t see that. They had lives to lead and they put them on hold. For me. I never thanked them but I wish I had.

I wish I had kept a diary. Writing everything that happened in the 9 days from Dan’s death to his funeral. They all mould into one. Memories dispersed all over the place. there isn’t really a timeline anymore. Friends ask me if I remember certain things that happened. To which I can only say no.  I’d love for my friends to write down what they remember, but it could just be too hard for them. It would bring back too many memories.

Maybe one day…

Cxx

We are all aware of it. The event that brought Manchester to the forefront of the world’s stage. The event that tried to tear down the very heart of a city. To divide it. To turn it black with hate and anger.

The Manchester 22.

The lives that were senselessly taken by someone that had no right. Someone whose mind was tainted by a belief that the majority struggle to understand.

I struggle to understand.

I don’t want to understand.

I’ve been envious of people before, yes. I have thought about punching someone squarely in the face for reasons that often relate to having one too many wobbly pops. Never. Never have I had the thought of wanting to kill people for the sake of something I believe in. Feeling like I should kill myself and those people because I am therefore saving them or myself. Never thought that innocent people need to be sacrificed in order for my soul to be saved. And I’m not aware of anyone that feels that way either.

Once again, I draw parallels to Dan’s death. People might struggle to understand why. Norman Raddatz was supposedly a Freeman on the Land. I’m not all that sure really of what that officially entailed. From what I am aware, he had issues with some laws (don’t we all?!?) and then chose not to follow the rules on these laws. Essentially breaking said laws as he felt they weren’t applicable to him.

Clear as mud? Yes? Me too.

Anywho.

Dan was in the Hate Crimes department-which has now changed it’s name FYI. Being that he was in this department and he was shot, I draw a parallel to the intensity of the event and the way the city has enveloped the victims and their families into their hearts.Just as the City of Edmonton did with mine.

I remember my parents being completely overwhelmed by the cheer magnitude of the Love and support I was shown by the city of Edmonton. Police officers were being hugged in the street and thanked by the public for keeping them safe. Schools were having collections, bake sales, anything that could raise some money for the boys and I. Wristbands were made, Blue ribbons were everywhere, t-shirts were made… I was often walking along the street or in the park with my children. Any public place and people would come over to us and tell me how sorry they were. Thanking Dan for his service and his sacrifice. Telling me that he didn’t die in vein and they would be there for us always.  It was beyond all belief.

I think of Manchester. I think of the way this city has come together in a way people may not have expected. A muslim man standing on the streets of Manchester, blindfolded a sign.

There were so many people who came and hugged this man that a line formed. Showing that they didn’t blame his religion. They didn’t blame him. They stood with him. In unity.

There have been so many gestures and fundraising events for the victims of this vicious attack. The biggest of this amazing solidarity of support being a tattoo of a worker bee. The bee is a symbol of Manchester. Back when the industrial revolution took place, Manchester was home to a lot of factories. All the workers in these factories were likened to a bees in a beehive. Coining the term ‘busy bees’. Tattoo shops have been inundated with requests and queues have been out the door for a number of days now.T shirts, decals and various other things have appeared- all with the bee being the symbol of Manchesters spirit.

Facebook pictures with I ❤ MCR all over. The world adorning various buildings with the Union Jack.

Pink balloons are everywhere. Pink balloons were dropped from the sky during the last song of the concert. From there, these pink balloons are a sign of remembrance.

Oasis. The band that basically are Manchester. Their song ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ has become an anthem. You can’t beat us. We look back on it with sadness, but not with hate. Rest assured that it has failed in achieving anything.

I am so, so proud to be a member of this city. To be able to say I have Manchester spirit flowing through my veins. That I was born in this buzzing city.

It has brought a city together in ways no-one else in the UK could follow. But ways we are all so very proud of. The city has proven what Mancunians knew all along.

And these hard times again, in these streets of our city, but we won’t take defeat and we don’t want your pity.

C xx