As the first month of 2021 reaches its end I find myself wondering where the days went. One minute it was a new year, the next it was Tall's birthday and now it is the final day. In these strange times it is difficult to look back and see any thing that has actually been achieved, life feels like walking through treacle. No matter what time I get up in the morning I still get to the evening many days without a meal prepared or even a clue what to eat.
The same is true of the time since Tall died. It doesn't feel like it was only yesterday, but it does feel like it was only last year instead of it being 2019. Twenty months without his company. There's still a lot of things I cannot do. Some of them are very practical things like getting the Christmas tree down from the attic, I had to make do with a small one that used to be in the kids' bedrooms. I am very wary of getting jobs done around the house and garden, jobs that I am no longer young enough or strong enough to tackle or that I'm even capable of doing. Tall once tried patching up some missing plaster and he couldn't do it either.
Then there are the emotional things. The things I cannot change or get rid of. Tall's razor is still on the bathroom shelf. There are still tins of rice pudding in the pantry. The bed needs a new mattress, something Tall told me I should buy when he was gone, a fresh start. I cannot let it go.
A few months before Tall died my youngest son and his then girlfriend came to visit. Everyone knew what the situation was, Tall wouldn't let anyone be under any illusions. We went out for a walk with my youngest daughter and granddaughter, and the dogs to a small local park. Whilst my granddaughter played we talked about death and what to expect. My son's girlfriend told me about her grandfather's death at home. How the family had all been there. She told me that even though he had died around lunchtime her grandmother had wanted to keep him there and spend one last night with him. The family told her she couldn't. When I was told the story my initial reaction was that I couldn't possibly sleep next to someone who had died. It was only when I found myself in that situation that I realised that is exactly what I wanted to do too. I didn't want the body taken away. I wanted to keep Tall next to me forever. If I could have had him stuffed I would. The best I can do is keep the mattress that he died on. I can lie in his dip before moving over to my side of the bed and that gives me comfort.
It may not be for everyone. I know from widow's groups that there are some people who cannot use the bedroom after their loved one has died, who cannot use a loved one's chair or bear to see their things. We all deal with death in our own way. How we cope is as individual as our fingerprints.
For those whose loved ones have been cremated there seems to be many ways of dealing with death. There are those who have the ashes buried in a special place they can visit. Some people have ornate urns so that they can be kept in pride of place at home, waiting until they too die and the ashes can then be put together and left for next of kin to deal with. Some ashes are scattered, and some are turned into fireworks. I have heard of people getting their loved one's ashes tattooed into their skin. Whilst some of these things might not be for me I realise that everyone has to be free to deal with their grief in a way that suits them. I have learnt to be less judgemental. If their choices are hurting no one, not even themselves, then they should be free to get themselves tattooed or sleep in a dead man's bed.
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