The airing cupboard and other (ridiculous) ambushes

My airing cupboard was too full. It needed sorting out, and I knew this should probably result in some things being thrown out or given away. I’d been putting it off, partly, because I know there would be some ‘difficult’ items in there (!!!). When we got married, B and I both brought things with us into the marriage and one of those was towels. My old ones have all gone, but there were still some of B’s left! Many have been thrown out because they were frayed or threadbare, but some remained. If he had been here, we might have just have agreed to get rid of them; now he is gone, they have suddenly become precious items. I know this sounds (is) ridiculous, and I can’t get my head around how items I previously would have got rid of in a flash have now become cherished items, but there it is! Anyway, I managed to get rid of some, but a few have stayed. They remind me that B was real and that he was here and part of my life…

I was, in fact, very glad that I had tidied the airing cupboard as, on Monday, I had to get the plumber in. I had a few, fairly minor, problems but ones that couldn’t be left, i.e. a very slow draining sink, and a stopcock I couldn’t turn, etc. Anyway, the plumber needed to look in the airing cupboard. He was very helpful, in that he showed me what the numerous taps in the cupboard did. I hadn’t really noticed these when I was tidying in there, but as he showed me what each tap did I was completely ambushed when I realised that several of the taps had tags that B had written hanging off them, identifying the part of the water system each controlled. It was like he was sending me instructions to be able to survive without him. In reality, he had probably written the tags to help him as much as me, but it knocked me sideways. I just about managed to hold it together until the plumber left.

Another example of items suddenly becoming precious is a picture that is hanging in the front-room. It’s one of B’s paintings that he had before we got married – Van de Velde’s ‘Calm Waters’ (as it’s labelled on our version, anyway). I can’t say I particularly like the picture and, when I looked it up on the internet, the colours seemed rather ‘off’ on our copy. I decided that I would take it down and donate it to a charity (after all, somebody else might like it more than I do) but for some, illogical, reason I just couldn’t. I could feel the nausea rising inside me. I have no idea as to why, except that it was B’s and it has always been on our wall. So, there it’s has to stay, at least for a while longer… 

This made me ponder William Morris’ adage, “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” Prior to B’s death, this might have been something to aspire to, and although above mentioned towels could be deemed useful, they aren’t really as I’m unlikely to use most of them. Others may deem the Van de Velde picture beautiful, but I don’t. So, now I need to add to Morris’ quote, “or precious” or, as a friend recently said, “or has meaning”. I guess it’s a bit like B’s slippers, which are no longer useful and are certainly not beautiful, but they still have those emotional ties attached to them. I know that the towels, the picture and the slippers are not precious in themselves, but they are precious to me as they are a tangible link to B, a simple reminder that he was here and part of my life. Perhaps, they are an emotional crutch but, at least for the moment, I have to keep them.

Later in the week, I was coming home after a walk. Getting my keys out to open the front door it hit me that, if B came home, he would not be able to get into the house! This was so ludicrously upsetting. Hard as it is, I know that B’s not coming back and won’t be trying to let himself in, but it floored me. The new door has been there for several weeks now, so why then and not all the other occasions I had let myself in? 

Lastly, Sunday was hard! Church is often hard, but yesterday I was mess. It’s usually the hymns and /or the prayers that knock me sideways; yesterday it was both. To cap it all, in the afternoon, I went to a memorial service in the afternoon and we sang a hymn that I had had for B’s Service of Thanksgiving, and another that we had had at our wedding. I love both hymns, but I couldn’t sing them. It was just too hard! Let’s just say, I was grateful for tissues, but more so for all my friends who were ‘just there’, who understood, and didn’t try to make me feel better. 

After occasions such as all of these, my head now tells me that I am stupid to think these things, and that they are ridiculous. I criticise myself for still crying. I guess this is what Julia Samuel calls ‘The Shitty Committee’; the voices in my head judging my grief. Some of these ambushes are ridiculous and I can sometimes laugh about them afterwards, but that doesn’t make them any easier. When they happen my heart just screams as they are all reminders that B is not here and just remind me how much I miss him.