.............................................................My Story.......................................................................
This is my story. Your story will be very similar.
September, forty years married, normal ups and downs of everyday life that you would expect from bringing up three sons. Life had never been very easy, but, neither had it been very hard. just a normal life and my wife and I were very content.
The boys had moved on, all, with their wives, buying their own house, all in full time work, and there are six grand children. Life was good, and we never asked for "great". There is a smudge on the horizon and it is moving in quickly. This month I arrive at my sixty fifth year.
Its o.k., we own our house, no mortgage to pay,get a part time job, just to buy the little extras, we can still look forward to our days out, garden centres, seaside, etc, Saturday evenings at the "karaoke", with the family if they can get the baby sitter, the weekend dinner at a small restaurant, and of course, our large garden that we have looked after for thirty years. Yes, retirement will be good.
The garden in particular was our place. We both selected the plants and shrubs, a long drawn out selection process, but generally we agreed on the new acquisition, then the visit to the coffee shop and on the way out, a small pack of "tablet" for the journey home. I was the gardener, Sarah, my wife, was the labourer. I cut the hedges, and Sarah picked up the clippings. Sarah did the weeding, Sarah swept the paths. I planted the new shrubs, and cut the grass. Sarah picked up the grass.
We bought a seat and sited it exactly where it would be in the evening sun, we joked about putting a plaque on it, "To spend our later days". We never did that.20 On several occasions, on arriving home from work, Sarah's first words were, somebody knocked on the door to say how lovely the garden looked.
Fridays, home from work, cup of tea, and off to the supermarket. A very normal, and, necessary thing to do, but I enjoyed doing it. We were together. On the way home collect the "fish and chips" for dinner.
As I have said, life was good.But the most important thing was that we were content with each other. I did have some little worries as I was well aware that we would be spending a lot more time together, I had heard stories about other couples finding themselves in this new situation and the home becoming a "battle ground". We had talked about this and decided that the small bedroom would be my "retreat" for hobbies, painting etc. We had planned for my retirement.
Two weeks before my retirement the bad news came. Sarah had been attending the hospital with a problem, this is not the place to go in to details, but that "problem" became, out of the blue, confirmation of cancer. Thirty sessions of chemotherapy culminated in that October meeting with the consultant and the news "six months at most".
As you have chosen to read this story I can only guess that you have been in a similar situation, or, that you know of some one that is close to you, be it, family, friends or even a neighbour who is at this time in the same situation. and I do not wish to write in any great detail of the obvious shock that the consultants words caused. It was Sarah that said, "Christmas is getting close, we had better start planning".
Early in February Sarah passed away. She had spent a week in a Hospice but, with the support of the local staff at the health centre, Sarah was in a borrowed hospital bed in her own house when the end came.
The following week was a blur involving the many official things that must be done, and with the full support of the family, there is not a lot of time to think about anything except your loss and the forthcoming funeral.
Now, you are on your own , you are lonely and lost , but how else would you expect to be. You have never been in this position before, you have known for a while now, but never given it any thought. I knew that there were things that I had to do, Sarah's clothes must be moved out of the draws and wardrobe. I dont think that this, though I believe it is very necessary, should be done by the bereaved. I was lucky that having three daughter in laws, they did remove the clothes, taking away those that were not wanted to the recycling site, and packing the rest ready for me to take to the charity shop, I needed to do that myself. My advice to anyone else, and I believe that it is very important, do the same thing, it is part of accepting that certain things are finished, and they are.
I lay in bed at nights, I do not claim to be religious but I say my prayers, I always have. I see my prayers as a way of voicing my thoughts and wishes, not as speaking to a God, but I cant sleep because I am trying to picture Sarah's face, and I cant do it, and I don't know why.
You wander around the house, picking up things and putting them down again. You are doing nothing, but there is nothing that you want to do.
It was about three weeks after Sarah had died when I picked up a camera, it was of the type that used film, and on examining it I found that only three photographs had been taken. My memory took me back to that day in early November, a lovely autumn day, Sarah and I drove down to Helensburgh, it was a place that held many pleasant memories from her childhood, and I had taken three photos.
I quickly wound back the film and removed it from the camera and ten minutes later I was at the shop that developed in twenty four hours. I did not sleep that night and I called at the shop twice before the photographs came back from the developers, I remember that the shop assistant apologized to me, "Im sorry, it looks like only three came out", if only she had known how happy I was with that news.
I forced myself to wait as I walked back to the car and drove the couple of minutes to my house. I remember that my hands were shaking as I opened the wallet and looked for the first time at the pictures.
I am looking at one of the photographs as I write this, perfectly developed, perfectly in focus, the water is blue, the hills in the background are beautiful greens and greys.
In the middle of the photograph is Sarah's mother. of course its not, its Sarah, and its Sarah as I had never seen her.
I go upstairs and collect all the photograph albums from the last forty or more years, I take out each photo of Sarah and lay them on the bed in chronological order from two years before we were married up to the new ones that I have just collected from the shop.
Sarah did get older, here is the proof, but I still don't believe it. When I said good bye for the last time I still saw the face of that beautiful girl that married me.
I look at my own reflection in the mirror, I have never seen that face before. I am old, and all of me is old along with it. and yet, I never saw it as old just two short months ago.
(To go to part two of MY STORY click below)
