Saturday, November 23, 2019

Saturday 23rd November

Life is so lonely without the person you love. Such a simple fact, the tears that spring unbidden at any time.  Round this house, Paul's pride in it was wonderful his presence is still captured, will I end up like Miss Havisham from Charles Dickens caught in a time frame forever.  I have left everything as it was, his watch and glasses in the bedroom, old jumper hanging from the chair.  Razor in the bathroom, shoes in the utility room.
I keep the radio on constantly, and switch the television on in the evening, I will do anything not to remember but memories cloud the head with their bitter-sweetness.
I should not write this of course, be brave and I have indeed tackled all the correspondence that flows through the letter box.  Hung on phones listening to interminable music whilst I was handed from one department to another.  Most big companies have a bereavement department is something I have learned.  Most people are kind and gentle is another.  Yesterday was a great relief and I was happy that a credit card was at last paid for and finished with, the man on the phone so good.
And of course all this happens as winter and darkness spreads around.  Waking up in the dark, listening to the radio at 3 o clock, bet you did not know we could have biased algorithms running the country, especially in the social security department.  Think about it, AI running amok with its logic and lacking the warmth of the human heart.
The Quiz night was something I attended, if you were to ask me why, I would point to the calendar which has Paul's notification on the day he predicted for this year, only one day out.  He so loved the village and was interested in things happening.  The quiz was incredibly hard, sweet Harriet found a lasagne for me amongst all the great portions of pie and chips everyone else had.  And I sat with Elaine, Keith and Alison their daughter.  When we first came she washed and cut Lucy and walked dogs but is now a decorator.  Her parents will build an eco-house on the land next to their cottage, and the village seems happy with it.  David in his loud town crier's voice introduced two newcomers to the village, and the raffle prizes were mostly booze.  The pub is a very friendly old-fashioned place, Harriet's friends intermingling with our older generation.
Well having written all that I am happier and it is getting lighter so that I can go out to let the two bantams out and feed the birds.  The owl has drifted away, yesterday apart from a pheasant prancing around on the lawn there were a couple of gallinula (little hens) or moorhens.  At first I thought they were ducks as they strode across the lawn, then their shape appeared, must have wandered down from the river.  Which reminds me that Keith had said that they had introduced beavers into the river/s at Cropton Forest to slow down the water with their dams.  Must look into that.  Which I did.


  1. You are doing fine, sorting things helps and people are kind...Thank goodness

  2. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you, especially now that Christmas is approaching. The middle of the night is the worst time for being awake (says she, with much experience of it) - pain feels worse, be it physical or emotional, and you feel so alone.

    I'm glad that you got out to the Quiz Night - it sounds a very popular event.

    I would be useless with all the paperwork and the financial side of our life which Keith deals with. Well done to you for keeping your shoulder to the wheel and getting everything sorted (and for putting up with that dreadful canned "music".)

  3. Two and a half years on Thelma and I still have David's cap by my pillow at night - and why not - love doesn;t die with one's loved one passing. You sound to be much like me - it gets easier - it has to - but that doesn't mean we have to forget does it? I think maybe it is easier in a village where one knows a lot more folk and also village folk tend to pull together. This awful November weather is no help at ll - but we soldier on. xx

  4. Have looked back through your lovely blog to understand this post. September is so very recent. May peace be with you.

  5. Because of Paul. In his honour and in his memory. You have to carry on. Baby steps. Being kind to yourself. Moving on. Little by little. After the winter springtime will return.

  6. Thank you everyone for your comments, see I have changed the comment form as well which makes it difficult to reply individually.

  7. It must be so difficult to even be able to blog about something so raw and personal. Don't want to write anything trite. Thinking of you.

  8. I've not been through the loss of my spouse, however 10 years ago I helped to clear out my Dad's possessions a few days after his death. Inanimate things have such power to move us, especially when a passing is recent. The glasses and his hearing aids on the stand by the bed, the shabby jackets and worn shoes. By the time we arrived 'home' my sister had given away anything of usefulness or value, so it was the detritus of a long life that remained to be sorted. I brought home a faded cap, a warm jacket, a pocket knife.
    There is surely no time line for adjusting or finding a 'new normal' after the death of one so close. The formalities must be tended almost immediately, after that it must be at one's own discretion when the belongings no longer needed are sorted.

  9. Hello Aril, I do come and read your blog, a sense of humour trickles through it that uplifts the spirit.

    Hi Sharon, Well you sparked me to go and do something about my comments so thank you. My ex-sister-law also came up on F/B which was good as well. Paul had two sons, they have never been to our village to visit so one day in the future hopefully they will come to make claim for some of his things. As with your father it is the little things that provoke strong memories and bring tears. And your last sentence is a very wise one thank you. X

  10. I am very new here, so I do not know of your sadness.

    And no words can help.

    I would just like to give you gentle hugs.

    But I can't.

    So cyber ones, will have to do... {{{{{{Dear One}}}}}}


  11. Hi Thelma my husband died 5 weeks ago and can identify with so much you're saying. Love to you Anna


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