Saturday, 18 August 2018
But for 18 weeks now I have cried every single day.
It's not a melodramatic cry. I'm no Scarlett O'Hara
But it is more like a daily " welling up" a rush of emotions that occurs when a particular piece of music is played , a certain scene pops up in a movie or a certain advert dives under your emotional radar.
I am fed up of trying to shake away blurred vision, a blotchy face and that here we go again exasperation bereavement plonks on you out of the blue.
It's a bastard .....bereavement .
I know all this, Indeed I pride myself on my emotional intelligence, but 18 weeks isn't a long time in the great scheme of things to realise that your husband has chosen a life which is now different to the one you previously knew and that he has gone alongside with shared way of life , family and home.
Intellectually the blocks are in all of the right holes .
Emotionally my head is at times like spaghetti.
Yet I know what to do
Keep busy, get a job, sort out the practical things,
Enjoy friends, keep busy, try to roll with punches,
Keep busy, let things go, remember the good, keep busy,
Be pragmatic, let go of anger, keep busy....
It's just the doing which is sometime hard.
So this is my cathartic post, a bit like yesterday's but with a little more honesty.
Real life is more less exhausting than this necessary emotional romp of grief, and that is what I have to get back to.
My husband is no monster here, I would never of married him if he was a monster.
Mary has to be picked up from the groomers at 11 am and I've got some shopping to do before I ve got to help a colleague at Sams complete some interviews for new volunteers.
The village community Association is holding a treasure hunt this afternoon which I may go to if I can conscript a co pilot and I have got to see Flower Show Ann regarding our zip wire day, which we will be doing for charity ( coughs into hand which I expect every reader to donate on line to! )
Ann has warmed me that the " heavier" participants on the zip wire have a small parachute attached to them in order to slight slow their decent down.......I know I am going to resemble one of those refugee food drops in Africa where the tons of supplies are crash landed into the jungle !
I may go to the cinema later today, William is doing mighty fine , so doesn't need watching too much.
Onwards and upwards, so they say....
I'm not promising myself or you, that this will be my last emotional romp in blogland
After all Birony was right when she quoted
"“When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions”
But it will the last for now....
Friday, 17 August 2018
I needed to get out of the village this afternoon.
After giving William a painkiller and three cocktail sausages, I settled him down for a sleep on my bed then washed my face, shaved donned a clean shirt ( not one of my Walking Dead T shirts) and took myself out to a busier place.
I did some banking, saw a financial advisor , gossiped with Nu briefly and bought a quality newspaper which I read cover to cover as I treated myself to lunch at a sweet little coffee shop staffed by an even sweeter bearded barista
No big shakes.
No angst conversations
Just a little moment where I felt a tad more f*cking human
Early yesterday evening William was hit by a car.
He'd slipped his lead on his early evening walk, and ambled into the road as I was grappling with the other dogs' by the back gate
He walked three steps into the road, his blind eye to the upcoming traffic which never really comes...
But this time it did come...
The small hatchback car stopped only a half inch too short. It was a good natured young man from down Cwm Road
And William was knocked over with a yelp.
The boy went white
My heart broke but my nursing head took over.
The boy in the car held the dog's leads as I rushed the old boy into the kitchen to check him over on the kitchen top.
He shook like a leaf, had some bleeding from his nose and mouth and clung to me fearfully but all of his limbs and abdomen looked alright and after we all eventually returned to my living room chair he lay on my knee like for an absolute age, like a floppy shocked baby.....As I cried,a few grateful tears
I'm sick of this bad luck,
But at this time of typing , old William is fine, and sleeping a grateful sleep.
Thursday, 16 August 2018
She was just being nosey.
I could have punched her in the face until her eyes popped out
Instead I answered the question vaguely , giving what I thought were good enough non verbals for the conversation to be shut down.
" When I broke up with my first husband!" She droned "I went a bit wild and got myself dating half the single men at work "
" And several of the married guys so I've heard"
(I didn't say it but I oh so wanted to)
" Get yourself out there and kiss a few frogs" she suggested
" I'm doing the fastest zip wire in the world, joined a choir and got a part time job will that do?" I told her
She wasn't impressed
Wednesday, 15 August 2018
A benign post today
The plumber is presently lying on the bathroom floor with his face up the U bend
Winnie is lying parallel with her face inches from his
I can hear him explaining what he's doing and no doubt she is all ears.
She's in total rapture as she has already had a mooch through his extensive toolbox and almost swooned at the sight of his shiny new boiler suit.
" The pipes are all in the wrong position " the plumber explained when I took him a cup of tea and plate of custard creams " You may need another pan"
More expense, I thought with a sigh
" In the mean time don't flop yourself down for an hour or so!" He added passing a biscuit to Winnie who took it like Lady Grantham at high tea.
Perhaps he suspects my habit of reading the news in situ as it were is having an undesired effect on the polcelain
That reminds me its fat club this afternoon,
Tuesday, 14 August 2018
Monday, 13 August 2018
Today was a case in point, as Mary needed a trip to the vets and the car was parked over in Bangor.
No joined up thinking and a Welsh Terrier with an ear infection, not a good combination
So , village Elder Islwyn, as usual came to the rescue and gave Mary and I a lift to the station so we could catch the train, to get to Bangor, to collect the car.....you still with me there at the back?
I drank coffee on the virgin train while Mary jammed her head between the seats in order to bum something from the middle aged couple sitting behind us.
I think she managed to beg the ham filling out of a cheese and ham sandwich
Sunday, 12 August 2018
I spent yesterday dusting and carefully packing away my husband's large selection of books.
I wasn't angry or upset, I just wanted to clear the bookcase in the bedroom, clean it of twelve years of dust and repack it with my own , much more meagre selection of books.
All of the dogs and Albert lay around the mess in untidy heaps watching the action.
I'm not going to discuss my marriage here so please don't ask me anything, but I did wanted to talk about the peace and memories such a pastime brings to a person.
Books on politics and history , of queens long dead, of wartime and Art Deco whodunnits, the Mitford sisters and of Russian ballet dancers, all were wiped clean of soot and boxed awaiting sorting and tucked away behind them, in between them , were the flotsam of decades of ordinary life.
Train tickets dated 2007 to Bangor, a clock key, old wage packets , a half flattened stuffed platypus bought from Sydney Zoo. A few letters dated from when people actually wrote letters, a Christmas card list, dried flowers fallen out of a small family Bible ( a cutting from my Grandmother's wedding bouquet) my old Charge Nurse ID badge and a lady's handkerchief with a monogrammed K in one corner .
The pile of detritus grew as the books were packed away.
And I worked away in silence save for the chirping of the sparrow flock in the honeysuckle