I’ve been working my way through the clutter of an unexpected exit (this sentence doesn’t do the chore justice). I am wading through mountains of paper, trying to sort out someone else’s procrastinations and it’s a shit show. It’s another thing on a long list of things I never wanted to do.
It feels like I’ve opened a can and the worms are escaping – so many worms, each carrying a secret. It appears this can has been threatening to explode for a long time and the secrets within it have been itching to get out. Not sinister secrets; not tales of infidelity or philandering; but the type of secrets that keep a person awake at night, that make you grind your teeth. Secrets that inspire worry.
He had a lot going on, a lot of stuff he kept to himself, stuff that would have been so much easier to cope with if he had shared the load. It makes my heart ache – not only was he sick to die, he was pulling a wagon of worry behind him. I can’t imagine how weary he must have been.
We always kept our personal stuff separate from the professional – he had a business and I had kids. He worked hard and so did I. I didn’t bother him with the nitty gritty of child rearing and he didn’t share the roller coaster of business with me. I think we both thought we were making life easier on the other. But it isn’t easier now.
Some days it feels like someone has dumped a thousand piece puzzle on the dining room table and taken the box away. We have no clue what the picture we are trying to put together looks like. I am thankful for the helpers who have shown up, the people who have stepped forward and offered their expertise and their condolences without judgement. We are slowly piecing the puzzle together.
It would be easy to be angry about this mess, to curse the unfinished business, but I can’t find it in my heart to do that. What is spread on the dining room table is confusion and a sense of hopelessness. As the pieces come together more worry is revealed – my heart breaks a little more with each revelation.
“Pride goeth before the fall”, or so the saying goes. He was a prideful man and he worked hard to stay standing. This mess on the table does not reflect the story of him, it’s the tale of his demise. I don’t know if he lost control of the business before his health failed or if his health caused the business to falter – and it really doesn’t matter now. What the puzzle is revealing is a mess he never wanted me to see.
What I’m discovering is that inasmuch as his shortcomings are spread across the dining room table, his character is showing up with the people coming to my aid. They are bringing loyalty, honesty, commitment, generosity and perseverance through the front door. They are showing up for him. His story isn’t in the mess on the table, it’s in the people who are helping to sort it out. And that is a testament to him.
Comments (5)
My heart breaks for you on each step in this difficult journey. But I know your strength and your ability to attract people who can support and love you through whatever you need to deal with. I am glad you are not alone.
This post resonated wuth me last night. I’m on the same stagecoach with you, bumping along and digging deeper ruts. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Broken stuff, rusted stuff, missing pieces stuff. This is hard. And i havent started his desk yet or the shed. I can barely make it through the finding of 30 pairs of glasses- who knew? I get mad when i cant find the expensive sunglasses i know he bought and promised-oh promised -to always be careful with them never leave them laying around. I get mad when i find something broken and now unusable, why is it here? I get mad when i find something i was counting on being in good shape and saleable and now because of neglect it’s not.
But i know enough to take a deep,deep breath and let it out slowly and then think…..he must of been sicker for longer than i realized. Too weak, too tired to even do as much as he did. Yes, like you said too prideful to tell the one he loved and cared for so much, not wanting to worry or add burden to them. I love him for that. But can i still be mad? A gentle tsk-tsk mad, shaking my finger at him mad, an i’ll always love you mad. Yes i can. It might even help me move on to a frustrated giggle at him with -Robin What were you thinking? Or robin?..really? But oh…..the desk…….oh….the shed. The children are going to definitely have to help with those if they want me to stay sane.
I’ll be thinking of you Elva….sending good energy and good wishes. And i’ll keep reading your posts because they are resonating often, making me express and reflect. And i thank you for that.
Thank you for this comment. This is a tiring road to travel – sometimes there is relief just knowing you’re not the only one on the journey. I’m sending good energy and good wishes to you too. One foot then the other .
No one asked to be part of this widows club and I am certain no one is ever prepared. I am finding it is getting easier but I had a lot of mud on my boots when I was going through it. Keep the faith. There is a light coming. Les
‘Mud on your boots’ — great analogy.