... yep.
This is my reality. :-(
As we roll up to 10 weeks, (66 days today) the fact that this is now my reality is starting to really sink in. Week 8 was hard, when he should have been back from whatever det he was on. Week 9 was ok so far, because now I've managed to really tell myself that this is it. The things in the house that were his are now mine, and I have to choose what happens with them. I cannot keep everything - we had too much stuff as it was. But how does one decide what parts of a loved ones memories to keep, and which to discard?
I saw Rich do this, when the BG left. Effectively, for him, it was a bereavement. The She-Ex had said she had no intentions of ever coming back to drippy old England, that she had taken everything she wanted to take, that the rest of it could rot in hell alongside him, and so on. And so he had to hire a skip and, as he put it, "throw away my daughters life with me." He had to throw away toys, clothes, books, papers, he had to empty every room to hand back to the RAF. He had to do it in 2 weeks after having a breakdown caused by losing his daughter. Obviously we helped - it's what friends do, but for him, it was a bereavement.
I saw my parents do this when Grandma died. But that had been a gradual thing. When she moved from Stratton to Windmill Cottage, lots of her stuff and grandads stuff went. When she went from Windmill Cottage to a room at my parents house, more went. When she died, there was clothes, photographs, and that was about it.
But this isn't me watching other people do it, or even helping. I can't focus on the joyful death of an old lady who had been ready to die for over a year, and who had been in hospital for months. I can't focus on the dirt and filth to mask the pain of what we are actually doing, like we did at Rich's old house. All there is here, is the lack of himself. He was a vibrant, fit man. He deserved better in so many ways, but he lived with what he had - he played the cards he was dealt.
Right now, I'm wrapped in his dressing gown. It surrounds me with warmth and love. Part of me wants to leave things just where he left them, but that is almost like he is coming back, and just as we knew that BG wasn't coming back, we know that he isn't coming back in any physical form. Part of me wants to eradicate any sign of him from the house, just to stop it hurting when I look at his things, but I know that that is a kneejerk reaction, and I'd be unhappy in a couple of months. There are things that I shall keep for the BG, things I shall keep for the AC, and things I shall keep for us. And the rest? The rest will be recycled wherever possible, either given to others to use, given back to the RAF, given to charity, and only at the last minute will anything go to the bins. There is nothing to sell as such.
I will have to do this slowly, carefully, painstakingly. I-t-B has asked about some things. Some of it I shall graciously acquiesce to. Some of it I shall not. The She-Ex has asked about nothing in particular, just "things" and so until she is particular, and even if she ever is, I shall decide what is kept for BG, and it will remain here, boxed, until she herself comes for it.
But now? Now I shall shower, and plaster on the gameface and go into my day.
This is my reality.
