I haven’t gone back to work yet, though both John and Ray have done. Work, and the fact that at some point I shall have to return, does not enter my thoughts at all. I am grateful that no pressure has been put upon me so far to go back and my salary continues to be paid each month. Ray felt he ought to resume work some weeks ago – not because he missed going out each day but because he knew his company would not indulge him indefinitely. For my part, I couldn’t care less right now.
Vanda’s health continues to decline due to her diabetes and failing kidneys and I spend part of most days helping her out if needed, although it is mostly transport to her various hospital appointments and to the shops that she requires. This is yet another heartache. Were I able to donate a kidney to her, I would do so tomorrow. Unfortunately, I know I am not a match and so we must hope that one becomes available before she has to spend too long on dialysis, which is looking imminent. Of all the family, she alone seems to have some understanding of how I am feeling, perhaps because we have similar temperaments.
A few weeks earlier, I lost interest in doing anything at all. I had no energy or even the inclination, to cook, clean or shop. All the things I normally enjoy have palled for me and I can find no pleasure in anything. After a short time, however, my better self took control and I am now cooking and baking again to a certain extent. As well as this, I have done some rearranging of the rooms, bought a few new pieces of furniture and have found some solace in the garden. I have a dedicated plot solely for Rachel, and there are various plants and shrubs named especially for her. It comforts me somewhat to be among nature and to imagine that she is out there with me.
The daily visits to the cemetery continue as they have from the day we laid her to rest. I get no consolation at all in being there but I do not want her grave to look unkempt or uncared for. Choosing a headstone does not figure highly at the moment. It is enough to know that the flowers are renewed regularly and are looking as nice as I can make them.
Ray visits her at least twice a day, though he too has said that he draws no comfort from this. Initially, we would go together, but that doesn’t happen much nowadays for several reasons. For my part, it just became too stressful for me to observe Ray’s utter distress each time he approached the grave. To see his tears, to watch how his face crumpled up and the accompanying tuneless humming he would emit was just too heartbreaking for me to cope with. I can offer him no comfort, because I have none to give. I think we are becoming a little selfish and – dare I say it – a little angry with each other. I now feel that he doesn’t want me there with him and he can grieve more freely when he is on his own.
Quite often, too, there are members of the public by Rachel’s grave and this upsets and annoys me somewhat at times. I do not know them and they do not know me but some of them have a morbid curiosity about her death. I cannot, nor do I want to, discuss this with anyone and I see these people as intruding on my privacy and my grief. Ray, on the other hand, has a totally different attitude to it. He is glad to talk to strangers about Rachel and considers that she has become public property, so he feels it is only right that he converse with them. In the beginning, doing fresh floral displays for her each day helped to keep me sane but it is starting to wear off a little now. Lately I feel I am just going through the motions.
I haven’t exactly become reclusive, but I do not welcome visitors unless they are acceptable to me. Since we are not especially sociable people, this is not entirely unusual. I am putting off in particular a promised visit from some of my work colleagues. I know that they have good intentions but what could we possibly talk about, I wonder? The forthcoming court case is definitely taboo for obvious reasons and I am just unable to indulge in small talk at the moment. I certainly don’t wish to hear about work, nor about their daughters when mine is dead.
For the same reason, I will drive miles out of my way to go shopping, partly so I don’t bump into anyone I may be acquainted with but mainly so that I am on unfamiliar ground. Rachel and I went many places together but I cannot face any of them alone. Everywhere I go I think I see her and many times I have had to stop myself from buying her a book, or some item she would have liked. It is so very, very hard to imagine that she is never going to be with me again on my travels. I find it particularly poignant to see girls of Rachel’s age pushing prams and buggies and knowing that she will never be a mother. Unless our son eventually settles down, there will be no more grandchildren for us. I will never take out my needles and hooks to make a layette for Rachel’s babies, as I would have done. It seems so very unfair that this unspeakable thing should happen to her, when there are so many bad people in this world.
I never cease to be horrified when I see and hear youngsters out on the streets at all hours and think of the dangers that could befall them. In the main, they have probably never known anything different, whereas Rachel had been cosseted and protected from day one. Despite this, she still came to grief. The odds of that happening must be considerably greater than winning the lottery. How ironic can that be and how hard for parents like us to accept, who were always so very conscientious?
The stifling days continue and I am keeping myself busy. Ray is withdrawing further into himself and I know that I am no help or comfort to him. There are so many things that could and should be said but the days go by and nothing is said. It is slightly less fraught on the rare occasions when we have visitors, so obviously we do need to talk, just not to each other it seems. The long silences are terrible and any conversation we do have is stilted. I can do nothing about it as I feel too shattered and so very angry. It seems like not one person can understand how I am feeling and no doubt Ray feels the same way about his own emotions.
To me, it seems that each of us – especially we, her parents – feels that we alone have lost Rachel. That we alone are the one who feels her loss the most and are suffering the most. That she was more important to us than to any other family member or to Mark, her boyfriend. I myself feel that I, as her mother, must surely have figured higher in her life than anybody else, yet I am sure that Ray feels that, as her father, he was her priority. Common sense, along with my knowledge of Rachel, tells me that none of this is true. She thought no more or less of either of us and cared for each of her siblings equally. None of us can know how she truly felt about Mark, who knew her in a completely different way to any of us. The pain and hurt that poor boy is suffering goes beyond any words and each successive day is taking its toll on him. God only knows how he is going to cope with the trial when it comes. I would give anything to spare him that ordeal.