It doesn’t take much to move me from smiles to a break down these days. The stupidest thing can jog a memory or hit a nerve and I lose it. Luckily its normally in the comfort and privacy of our home, where the dogs provide immediate support with worried looks and slobbery kisses to wipe away my tears.
Yesterday I had just such a moment.
Cleaning isn’t one of my favourite pastimes. I do the minimum necessary unless anyone is visiting.; then the house can be blitzed from top to bottom, inside and out in a just a few hours. Yesterday I decided the top of the tv cabinet really needed some attention. The marks in the dust were too obvious to be missed. With reluctant hands i grabbed some cleaning stuff and set to.
On top of the tv cabinet are an array of family photos, as well as Tony’s ashes and a couple of momentos from times gone by. It’s always been like that, the only difference these days is the addition of Tony’s Urn. Strangely its not the urn or its contents that upset me but the photos. I am the only one still living in any of them. Each has a poignant memory, now bittersweet.
I really thought that by now episodes of grief would have been easier and fewer but they still hit like a sucker punch or tsunami, stopping me in my tracks as I pull myself back together and some semblance of normalcy. Grief really is a bastard.