Yesterday I had an outpouring (literally in the tears that I cried), which left me with an overwhelming desire to connect with Cliff in some way. I searched for old letters that he'd written me, cards that he gave me, scraps of paper that he'd drawn plans on (for the house), culminating in me looking through and scanning in some favourite photos. I even (gulp) looked though our wedding scrapbook and was astonished to find myself enveloped in warmth as opposed to pain, whilst savouring each and every item and photo contained therein.
How oblivious, how blissfully chilled and happy. How I've aged ...
I think the firework did bring me closure. At the time it was surreal. But looking back it is very real. Clear. I have reached acceptance. Acceptance sucks. Big time.I have now accepted on EVERY level that he's dead. That he's never coming home. Gone in a corporeal sense.
The proof is that I bought a replacement vacuum for the one that was stolen while I was in Australia, and yesterday evening I took it out of the box and vacuumed the whole house, dusted, mopped, emptied bins and wrote myself a to-do list for today (which is mercifully short).
Then I started looking around different rooms ... the lounge, the kitchen, our bedroom (should I say my bedroom?), one of the spare bedrooms ... and I could visualize how they will look, and most importantly what I can do on my own ... to make it happen.
Gary and Shaun need to put 20 more tiles on the roof. Cliff's brother John is going to do the kitchen and dining area, and "finish" other projects ... then I can start clearing stuff out and decorating.
His hard work won't go to waste. I'll honour him by finishing it off ... with a little (lot) of help.
And to keep it ship-shape, I've decided that when it's completed, I'm going to employ a cleaner once a week, and a gardener once a month to weed and mow the lawn, keep the trees in check. And keep the ivy from squeezing the happy memories out of our decking. I'm not lazy ... but I work damn hard and commute two hours a day. I see it as a trade-off. I'll do the basics, but the stuff like cleaning skirting boards and cleaning windows ... you know the stuff that domestic goddesses do, I just don't even consider, till it's staring me in the face, bringing shame to me.
I have the motivation to do this. I also accept that there will be days ahead during which motivation will escape me, and that's ok too.
Right then, off to get some basic shopping, do the washing and clean the interior of the car ... which translates to - removing all fur from the back seat ... BMW Emergency Services are swapping my courtesy car for another one tomorrow, and I've just noticed that the paperwork states I'm not allowed to smoke or have animals in the car. LOL. For me, those are the two things that I will always do in a car. It seems like an eternity since I've driven my own car. The new Mini is fun, but the novelty has worn off ... I want mine back ... the familiar. And unlike my beautiful husband, it can come home.