From the blackness of grief to a rainbow of colours
“Would you like to go out for dinner?” It seemed innocent enough. Just two people who know each other, sharing a meal instead of eating alone. (I didn’t realise at the time that I was heading for a disaster. 😕)
I’ll get back to that story, because this post is about the whole ‘dating thing’ after losing a partner. I’ve never been one to shy away from controversial topics (evidenced by Should You View Your Loved One in a Coffin, and Is All Grief the Same)….however I’ve been putting this topic on the back burner for a long time.
Why? Because ‘re-partnering’ is a massive topic. Because it can open a door to judgmental opinions. Because I would need to ‘bare my soul’ and share stuff that I’ve kept tucked away. And because it really doesn’t apply to me….or does it?
I couldn’t have imagined ever having to consider this. When Norbert died, it was like I entered into a strange alternative universe, having to make decisions like what he would wear in the coffin. And then I was asked “What would you like to do with his ashes?”
Seriously? I mean…whoever thinks about this! What a gut-wrenching decision! There is one right answer though, and discussing this sad subject with others has helped me to realise what that right answer is.
Whatever you do, don’t take MY lead in this important decision. I mean, I sent my husband into the afterlife with no underwear on! Yes, you read that right. He attended his own funeral….COMMANDO! 😂
I’m not giving myself a hard time about it though. When the person you love dies suddenly, there is so much you are not prepared for, but I was particularly unprepared when the Funeral Director said “Can you please bring in a set of clothing for Norbert to wear for his funeral.”
This post is taking AGES to write as I only have 9 fingers. Well, 9 operational fingers. One of them is out of action thanks to a ‘kitchen incident’.
Anyway, let me tell you the story of what happened last Sunday night, and importantly, what I’ve learned from the (somewhat stressful) experience.
As I walked through my (our) house for the last time, my footsteps echoed in the empty rooms. The blue floral curtains I loved were still hanging at the windows and the mirrored alcove that Norbert had built looked strangely bare in the corner of the lounge room.
Carefully I laid out all the keys on the kitchen bench, slowly removing the final key to the front door from my key chain and adding it to the number. With tears in my eyes and my head filled with visions of ‘what might have been’, I walked to the front door and closed it behind me for the very last time.
As I said goodbye to the house where Norbert and I had lived together until he died, I asked myself…”Any regrets?“
This post is about FEAR. It’s about what happens when I need to run away…and I can’t. OK, that’s a strange way to begin a blog post and you might be wondering what I’m on about with that statement. Quite honestly though, the understanding behind it has been a recent epiphany for me! I’m confusing you though and I need to start at the beginning. 😏
I’ve been going through a very difficult time. Actually, that’s rather an understatement as I’ve been so stressed that the panic attacks I first experienced after Norbert died have returned. I hadn’t had a panic attack for ages and I thought they were part of a traumatic past….so it has been scary to go back there.
What has happened? You really don’t need all the detail but suffice it to say that since I signed the contract that signified the sale of my house, it has been a spiral downward due mainly to the fact that I haven’t been able to find another place to go, and the date I have to leave is looming closer. Add to that some upsetting issues with agents and buyers and a houseful of stuff that needs sorting, packing and boxing….not to mention the whole pandemic thing which has prevented family being able to come up and help.
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I found myself standing in the kitchen with my heart pounding, hands shaking, sweating and trying not to be sick. I was feeling scared, and very, very alone. Unlike the first time after Norbert died when I thought I was having a heart attack, this time I at least knew that it was a panic attack. Full on….like I was back at the beginning of the nightmare.