As I sit here listening to some old Eurovision classics (it's currently Another Summer Night, the Maltese entry from 2001, the year you first went), I'm writing this to you and reminiscing about the good times.
Today marks exactly one month since you were taken from me and, in that time, so much has changed. I can't say it's been easy adapting to life without you. I haven't made any real progress. I do smile occasionally but, for the most part, it's been hard. I still can't talk about your death without crying, I still can't look people in the eye when they ask how you died, and I still can't come to terms with the fact that I'll never see you again.
We gave you a good send-off just eight short days after you died (though you wouldn't have been happy that at least two of the gang were on the Swedish stuff!) and we're going to scatter half of your ashes in the Mersey by your favourite place by the Tate at Albert Dock, just as you wanted. We buried the other half with your dad so that we'll always have somewhere to visit and I hope you are having fun up there together. I still miss your laughter, your smile, your tears. Actually, I still miss all of you. Completely. I'm still grateful to have had you in my life for fourteen years. I made a massive mistake with the first man I ever fell for. You saved me from him. And I saved you from leaving me.
(I also kept some of your ashes for myself. They're inside a little necklace I've had made and I'll treasure it forever.)
I've also started some new chapters in my life. Firstly, I quit my job. I couldn't carry on with it, knowing I couldn't save you, so I'm going to retrain as a hairstylist in your honour. It's all going rather well so far, plus it gives me chance to spend more time with our baby boy. He's three months old now and growing so fast. He still misses you as much as I do and, in time, I will tell him what a wonderful man Daddy Owen was. Secondly, I had a clear-out. I got rid of a few things but I kept a few things of yours to remember you by. I have a little trinket box with your necklace, engagement ring, wedding ring, and a locket with a little lock of your hair in it, which I cut from your head just before you left my life forever. Thirdly, we also donated a few of your organs. We couldn't let your heart and lungs go, as they were too badly damaged, but most of your working organs and tissue went to other people. You always said you wanted to help others, and now you have, even in death.
Lastly, and this may come as quite a surprise to you, but I moved out of the house we called home for eight years and moved in with a new man, just like you did when we first met. And he's a nice young man at that. His name's Nathaniel but, as he hates being called his full name, everyone calls him Nate. He's tall, he's fair-haired and, much like you, he's a very handsome Viking. And he's still an O as his second given name is Oscar. He's also a little bit older than me. You knew him too. You worked together in the salon and he was there when we said goodbye to you for the final time. He is also Danish, just like you but, unlike you, he's also half Norwegian, so maybe now I'll get to learn some Norwegian after all! I never got to learn it with you so it's yet another new chapter in my life. The only downside is he supports FC Nordsjælland. Still, at least it's not Brøndby, so I can forgive him. I would have had to kick him out of my life completely if it turned out he supported that 'orrible lot! We actually shared our first kiss at this year's Pride and I fell for him straight away. I know you wouldn't mind. You'd have told me to move on with my life and I've done just that. I know it's only a month since you passed but I couldn't have done it on my own. I need someone to share my dreams with me and, if that can't be you anymore, then someone else will have to do.
(PS: Your mum gave Nate and I her blessing. She wouldn't have wanted me to go it alone either. Both her and Elisa are still grieving too but they're just about getting there, as am I.)
Since you died, so many things have changed, and I still wish you could have been here for the ride. You may physically not here, but I know you are still by my side cheering me on, as well as cheering on the football teams we supported together along the way alongside everyone else inside the stadiums. I've also started to let other people call me Ant. I never did that whilst you were still alive. Only you got away with it. Now, in your honour, I don't mind it. It makes me smile. It makes me think of you.
(Speaking of the football, Tranmere Rovers, FC Copenhagen and our national teams aren't doing so badly. We may have lost a few games, and FC Copenhagen may now be playing in the Europa League, but we've also won a few, so I take that as 'still doing well'. You'd have been proud of us - though not so much when our fans started kicking off a few weeks ago. I'm sure you were looking down, tutting and muttering to yourself, and thinking "hva' fanden?!", just as you always did whilst you were still alive. Oh, and Denmark's Ladies also became runners-up in the recent Women's European Championships, only just losing to Holland, so you'd have definitely been proud of that.)
You are still a great influence in my life. I always think, "what would Owen say if he were here?" and I know you would be kicking me up the arse for still getting upset over your death but, I promise you, I am trying my best. Our circle of friends hasn't been the same since you crossed over to the other side. You touched so many lives and there was never a dull moment with you. You are still missed by so many people who loved you so very much.
So, dearest husband and soulmate, that's all I have to share for now. I'll raise a glass for you over Christmas, and for your thirty-sixth birthday next February, and I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers for as long as I shall live.
Yours, as always, your ever-loving husband.
Ant. xx
