Short days, the candle is nearly out. Darkness floats by my eyes as I look into the garden. Cold wind and rain is making it chilly and damp. Memory tugs at my mind, pulling my mouth down at the corners. But I caught myself laughing a couple of times today.
Where will I be at the end of next year? Will I find the safety and solace I seek. Will I manage on my own. Decades of being a couple makes it difficult to predict. I’m trying to explain how I feel about things. I feel like I did when I left school after that being my whole life. The cliff edge is close, my hubby could climb down cliffs while I cowered at the top. I don’t like them. I want to be settled and secure. Oh well, we will see….
Sleeping is a issue yet again. I’m either too cold or too hot. Lost without my hubby who passed away three weeks ago. I really have a heavy heart. I just spent the last hour or so remembering things we did in the past. Going for bike or tandem rides when we were younger. The feeling of almost flying along, racing each other down hills (I was always more cautious). How he took in a stray cat a few years ago that had come limping into our garden, it turned out to have been abandoned by it’s owner. That cat is now sleeping on hubbys bodywarmer. I think it misses him as much as I do. It’s almost 5am. Going to make a cocoa.
Of all the influences on my life various artists stand out as the main contenders. These include in no particular order:
Michaelangelo, Leonardo Davinci, Berthe Morissette,the French Impressionists a lot of the surrealist movement, David Hockney, Maggie Hambling, and so many more.
I don’t paint in any of their manners, some of their techniques are totally beyond me. But I do feel excited by their work.
Colours, patterns, shapes, the way they deal with light and shade. Perception, composition, knowledge, understanding. Looking and learning. Painting is a wonderful skill, I wish more people practiced it.
I’ve spent the day watching old Christmas films and mostly crying. I can’t remember watching so many in one go. It started with ‘White Christmas’, then ‘the Sound of Music’ and finally the Richard Attenborough version of ‘Miracle on 34th Street’.
I realised that the films were very heartwarming, and they made me think of all sorts of memories from my past. I tried to think of the word that described how I was feeling and could only think Cathartic. It’s definition is:
providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions; causing catharsis.
I haven’t sent Christmas cards this year. Circumstances have been really bad and I haven’t given it much thought. This was on my Facebook memories today. So sending love and hugs. X
The year I was born was a long time ago. I was a baby at the time so I don’t remember much about it. I guess I could look things up on line, because I don’t really have anyone I can ask anymore.
But why do I want to tell you? I’m reticent to share recollections that might be data mined by anyone who happened to read this blog. I try and avoid people phishing my information. And aren’t we all supposed to be cautious about sharing info anyway. Next I will be sharing pet names or favourite foods.
I could tell you the schools I went to, where I was born, which cities I have visited. Some of that is already available on the net when I was younger and more foolish (last week). I can think of lots of information I will share, but not birthdays, or signs of the zodiac or other personal information. Life is short, and I am cautious.
I woke at 5.30am, unable to sleep, I was enveloped in waves of heat and cold from the covid virus. I couldn’t decide whether to snuggle under the duvet or throw it off. I lay listening to the news on the radio.
Just after 8am I came downstairs. I took my medication and prepared to light a candle for my hubby. Today was the day he would be cremated but circumstances meant I could not go to a funeral. Life isn’t always fair. Many friends and family had promised to light candles for him too and I spent an hour in calm and quiet peace thinking about my loss and contacting people who had left messages and thoughts on social media. What a strange way of doing things these days.
After breakfast I wondered if I should take another covid test, but decided I will wait till tomorrow to see. What would be the point of just confirming I was still ill. I continued to get messages and contacted friends and family.
I’ve cried and cried today. Little things like stories of people going through similar circumstances touched my heart. A film which was one of my hubbys favourites was on the TV. ‘The railway children’ is a sweet film and when it reached the end I started crying all over again.
Sleeping has helped this afternoon. I decided to ignore the fuel bills and have the heating on today. I was so tired at one point that my sandwich I’d made for tea slid off the plate and spilt all over the floor. I was not happy with myself.
I know these posts are not nice. I guess I’m just trying to document how I feel. If I explain perhaps it could help someone else? I don’t know.
What’s the matter now? Became a response when my hubby couldn’t hear me properly. He was always having problems with his hearing aids. They made his ears sore. Or if he got his hair trapped they would whistle.
What’s the matter now? Was almost a catchphrase. I dreaded it, it meant he was irritated by me, or something was getting on his nerves.
Decades of living with someone, and you don’t know what will happen. Can you know someone well enough to be able to solve all their problems? Not in a normal life. It’s not all romance, it’s trying to give and take, accept difficulties. Putting doubts out of your mind. The marriage service has it right. The balance between sickness and health. Riches and poverty. Somehow you rub along.
I will be guilty for a long time for feeling I should have done more. To make everything OK? Not a chance, but I can wish. For now I will try and remember the ‘what’s the matter now?’ moments and try to accept that was part of our life too. If there is something after life I hope he forgives me. I don’t know what else to ask for of him. Processing grief is horrible but it has to be done.
Mallaband-Brown 