Family Visits
I wandered down to the basement bedroom and looked at what was left… a messed up bed and a playpen in one corner. But memories flitted through my head.
I wandered down to the basement bedroom and looked at what was left… a messed up bed and a playpen in one corner. But memories flitted through my head.
We’ve been neighbours for 20 years. Sadly, I watch her husky sons load the truck as they haul their mother’s furniture to her new apartment.
It always amazes me that the children you bear can be so terribly different. Delightful but different.
My hip surgery was behind me, my recovery going very well and the sun which had only shone seven days out of 31 last month was finally shinning brilliantly.
I woke up gradually and saw the face of my youngest daughter gazing at me rather anxiously. My hip surgery was over and now it was time to get back to the real world.
Many of us have experienced the let-down when the theatre play is over. It’s natural. For a while we are caught up in the movement, the story and sometimes the music and then it is done.
Daughter Robin bought our old house when we decided to move. It certainly made things easier…I didn’t have to tidy it up constantly for prospective buyers, and I left packed up boxes everywhere. Then one day in September the movers arrived.
Let there be laughter … no more tears
I’ve cried a river these past few years
There are so many examples in nature that remind us that things are never static … change is inevitable .
Things will get better, I know that’s true
Because I’ve walked the same road as you.
Up the stairs I lug the fair sized box. It contains my Christmas tree. This year I feel a little more enthusiastic about putting it up. (I know widows that refuse to continue putting up trees, but I’m a traditionalist.)
One thing I have learned these past few years is how varied grief is. My experience is similar to many yet I find others who are far more stoic, maybe braver, and not nearly as emotional as I have been.
I have kept a number of emails sent me after Harry died … one from a dear friend who assured me that although time would help, I would probably never get over my grief as my grief was a tribute to a man who loved me for many years.
And perhaps it is true, that the more you love someone the more you grieve.
“Can I do this?” I ask myself. Then making the decision even tougher, I chose the most miserable winter day I could find. It was -20 C and the snowfall at the sides of the roads was in windrows nearly four feet tall. But, I did it!
I hadn’t played the family movie for a few years so took courage one day and played it. We looked so young and as I watched I could see our baby girls grow into young adults in front of my eyes.
It is very hard in some ways to write about grief … mainly because it is about “you, you, you.”
The last time I got a pet and it died, I vowed I would never involve myself again in that kind of grief. The years have slipped by and I still pat dogs and cuddle kittens, but they are not mine … no way, the last lost puppy nearly did me in.
My best friend has just been put in long-term care. I remember how her and Harry cried the last time they saw each other at the hospital. I guess they knew the writing was on the wall.
