It’s the little things

After Tim died I joined a bereavement counselling group at the local hospice. There were about eight of us I think, all with school age children, all who had lost a partner and we met every Thursday for about two months. It was raw and painful and I didn’t want to go, but the counsellor was patiently persistent and called me up so many times that I finally gave in  and went. And I’m glad I did because it saved my life in that awful miserable Spring when I struggled to imagine how we would all survive. There is nothing like being with others who do know absolutely what you are going through to make you count your blessings, because there were people in that group who were in desperately lonely sad situations. One in particular was a rather glamorous  man, a bit of a high flyer, who had by his own admission spent too much of his time at the office, in the gym or on the golf course, with his wife at home with their three young daughters. Then one day she was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of breast cancer and in less than a year was dead. So there he was, isolated because he had always been working too hard to build up much of a social life in the village or  to make many close friends, and overwhelmed by the pies and cakes that were piling up in his freezer made by his wife’s chums and concerned neighbours.  I remember him weeping as he told us that he didnt know how to plait the girls hair for  school each day.

Probably the last question I ever asked Tim was that he gave  me  the combination to his bike lock..it’s one of those things that you simply don’t even  think about in normal day to day life,  but believe me, these little things are a nightmare. By then he was past speaking,  so for months  his bike stood locked firmly to our front railings. Finally a friend came and sawed through the chain and I am pleased to say Reggie racer is still much loved and much used, a little less these days with the addition of a scooter to L’s life but he lives on. As do the trombones and numerous musical instruments. Less so the hub caps that he swore he had thrown away and the boxes of papers, posters, diaries, letters etc  that despite several culls over the years, we  have never quite been able to get rid of. And probably never will because all three kids seems to have inherited the “don’t throw it away, it might come in useful ” gene.  Along with the genetic malfunction that means at the precise moment of departure, car packed, cat fed, about to leave for holiday/party/family lunch/ meeting/theatre visit one of them will suddenly announce that they are going to play their trombone/practise the piano/have a shower/ bath/ iron some clothes/make a large complicated sandwich. This is most annoying and even more annoying for the rest of the street who over the years have had to put  up with a great deal of shouting and door slamming,  usually followed by me flouncing  off yelling that I will never ever go on holiday/to a party/family lunch/meeting/theatre visit with any of them ever again.  

 Parents evenings as a newly bereaved mum were pretty awful, and even more terminal because there was only one of me, which made it seem to go on for hours, and then there was the time when I was stuck in traffic and got there too late to see a single teacher. For about three weeks I attempted to show some support and stick around for Sunday rugby club, but to be honest I still don’t really understand the rules,  and standing next to a gaggle of red faced shouting rugby dads was territfying. I usually retreated to cry in the car after about fifteen minutes feeling totally useless. And then I remembered that actually Tim only ever went to about  one or two matches in his entire life so I reverted back to the drop and run system. Luckily we have a maths genius next door which avoided  homework meltdown as I have always run for the hills when confronted with fractions and percentages. School concerts and plays were unbearably sad but luckily there was always a cocoon of dear ones to sit and snivel with and a gaggle of cheery souls more than happy to bolt to the nearest pub afterwards. And for ages I kept thinking I could hear his keys in the door and that I saw him cycling past me out of the corner of my eye. 

It took a long time for all of us to adjust to being four rather than five and in many ways we never will, we have just learnt how to move onwards, a bit like shifting your position on the old comfortable worn sofa to accommodate everyone. Together we weathered storms and dark moments, days when it was hard to imagine we would ever laugh again and we were floored by the bleakest blackest misery that took our breath away . But gradually, the storms became calmer and less frequent, the sun came out and we did indeed start to laugh. And argue and fight, and love each other, and do all the things that families do. And even though next Monday it will be eleven years,  we continue to do so.