It’s the little things that are beginning to flag up that Tony is no longer here, and that I am stepping out onto a new footpath of a life lived alone.
The toilet seat stays down! He never was much good at lowering it after a trip to the loo and I have obviously acquired a habit of reaching out to lower it. That can stop.
It’s the sounds that indicated his presence – a cough or a sigh / oh deary me… I guess they always will be part of the fabric if this house.
It’s the tug of the duvet as I adjust it over me… there’s no longer any reciprocating tug back. The duvet just behaves itself, a tamer personality.
The rubbish stays in the bin and is no longer rescued as being too useful to throw away. It’s in the correct bin too.
And there is no more waiting, things happen in real time. There are no more repeated questions. And no more instructing or correcting me as I drive along. I’m sure I will miss his commanding me to: look at birds flying or floating by; admire contrails in the sky. Natural observances of the minutiae of daily life..
There are other things of course – moving the plant pots, and opening the shed door had long ago dropped off his list of daily chores. And he had even given up on sinks of hot water and dirty dishes. The plants stay in place and the shed door stays shut. I was slow to recognise these as the signals of how ill he really was.
I’m sure many things will smack me in the face and overwhelm me as time passes. The little irritations of daily life will become mammoth holes of regret. A happy regret I hope.
In fact, his indomitable will deceived so many people, including Nurse Clare, who eventually got to telephone me earlier, and who muttered how cheerful he always was. And I nearly snarled back that she would have done well to have listened more to what, we, his carers were saying about how ill he was… as you would with any Alzheimer’s patient. Never mind one with brain cancer too.
Moving on …
After another early and virtual walk, I fell asleep again, waking at 09.45. 09.45! Unheard of! Pen was incredulous, but awake at the same time. Ali and Dave, too, surfaced late after getting themselves to an evening function which will have benefitted them both.
Thankfully, Pen adjusted the original plan which was to be here by 10.00am and was here before 11.00am.
We went through T’s wardrobe, somewhat ruthlessly, and cleared it. I felt a bit as though I was shredding his personality as different T shirts were edged out into black bags. He had several quilted gilets which were dispersed to charity shop amongst some better / rarely worn clothing.
And Pen and I drove to the recycling centre. We’ve kept a few personal or memorable things for him to wear on his final journey. It was not an easy job, but was done with love.
We met up with Ali and Fleur for a very pleasant girly lunch at the Beetle. It’s another little thing, but we sat at the same table that we sat at a few weeks ago following one of our hospital trips. I think we will make it our table. Just by the wood stove, in the bar area, looking out at a rather brown Thames. Brown and fast flowing.
It was a good lunch. Ali had hot footed it from hockey via a shower chez nous. Fleur was picked up from home by Pen and myself. She’s off for a sleep over with a friend which will do her a lot of good.
I returned home to a peaceful and quiet house, and H and I did a quick walk around Streatley Rec in near darkness. We chatted to a nice lady with a flashing beagle about the number of rescue dogs in the local area.
Once home, I prepared myself for an evening of TV. Strictly final was to feature. First I chatted to Eleanor at length and she was patient enough to listen. Thank you to her. It has taken me two days to find the time, we have been so busy. But today was quieter. Pen can actually have a couple of days to herself without having to drive here.
I am expecting Neal and Anne to visit on Sunday morning. They will bring a main dish and I will provide the desert. Gooseberry crumble. It will be good to see them, we had made the visit arrangement weeks ago, with seeing T as a priority. Too late!
Doubtless more of the little things will pop up soon.
Thought for the Day
Happier times – I dig deep into the memories pre-2017.
You are sorely missed.
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