Just where has September gone?
Today the 28th and Mum’s heavenly birthday, for her as soon as it was over it would have been the count down to Christmas. Mum always wanted presents bought and wrapped by the end of October.
Today is typically autumnal, or ‘back endish’ as one of my cycling pals would say. I watched as the gentle mist rose from the dew drenched grass in the park this morning, greeting the pale sun as it rose in the cloudless sky. A definite chill early doors, and the wellies are back out of hibernation.
Some things resolutely hanging on to summer while others committed to change. I’ve roses still in bud in the garden but the mighty copper beech is already in autumnal mode, the fruits of her labour a constant challenge. Prolifically she drops her prickly four lobed woody burrs, each containing one or two hard triangular nuts. I’ve already filled next doors and my brown bin and there’s still millions more to fall, and that’s even before she undresses for the winter.
Looking up at her magnificent might it’s hard to believe she was once a single nut no bigger than a bean, at 150 years old I often wonder at the stories she could tell, I truly believe given the opportunity she would create a forest in her likeness. The arborist said she was reaching her peak, middle aged she is unfazed and determined in her mission of procreation.
Pulling my jacket a bit tighter I recognise fashion is ‘At an in between stage’ for all of us. The choice of dress first thing often feels inappropriate by lunch time, but then the temperature drops quickly again as the sun sets. It’s a case of layers and preparing for all eventualities.
September is the start of change, January may be the start of the New Year but I believe that the ninth month is another beginning. As the evening draws in there’s new series on tv, school terms and after school activities begin again and a new routine starts.
I have filled my time since Ken died, mostly with the grandchildren, but September means preparing myself for the darker days ahead I dread.
And so there’s Youth club, the familiar faces and the new ones, the monthly women’s institute. I’m yet to get back to choir, but have fortnightly counselling sessions and local charity work to keep me busy. Still there is a hole that I’m not quite able to fill no matter how much I try. My concentration is improving a bit but I find it very difficult to feel absorbed by anything, reading a book, watching tv, my mind is constantly preoccupied it feels, with something I can’t quite comprehend.
‘So is this it?’
‘Is this how it is going to be?’
Despite the outward appearance I’m careful to share, there’s a dull numbness inside which I can’t seem to shake with action or positivity. I’m letting you in because I know I am not in anyway unique in this. Faking all is fine may just convince me it is okay.
My own research and experience of grief tells me six months is a notoriously exhausting and brutal stretch in the process. At the moment the wall in front of me is very high and I can’t quite see over it to the future, the one that should have been our retirement is a barren wasteland.
In the immediate weeks after loosing Ken shock and survival adrenaline have carried me through. Then the initial feeling turns into realisation. Quite naturally people get on with their lives, and expect you to too. Not in a bad way, just life goes on but it’s now that the permanent reality of absence sinks in deeply. Weirdly the dementia is fading, I’m now much more acutely aware this isn’t the life we planned with travel and experience like the other couples I know.
I’ve known it for ten years but for some reason it is now a permanent thing.
This is going to be a tough season, I’ve already preempted it with a long overdue visit to family in Scotland with my sister, then a solo city break to Iceland. (Somewhere else we wanted to go to).
I’m pushing myself with other projects too, with a mixture of positivity and doubts. Something Ken would have had all the experience and skills to make happen. Not having him makes it harder and makes us miss him all the more. His loss is felt deeply, I’d love to just be able to talk to him and share the vision.
I’ve seriously wondered if the bereavement counselling is helping or making things worse it has certainly made me feel more vulnerable, maybe that’s a good thing, I’ll talk about it with my counsellor next time.
Never ending circles, thoughts going round and around. I absolutely know that this is normal and I will see over that fence when I’m ready, I just have to be honest with myself and take the time it takes.
Life without Ken was never going to be easy.
