On October 8 I will walk out of the door (for the very last time) of the place I’ve called home for most of my life and nearly all of my married life. I’m trying to prepare myself for that day because it will be extremely hard. But, it’s something I need to do.
I’d never been one who had been tied to bricks and mortar. My home served a purpose. It gave me shelter and a base from which to lead my life. But over recent years the more intangible things about my home have taken on more significance. It’s something many will not understand so I’ll try to explain.
It will be four years on December 8 this year’s since my husband walked out the front door for the last time. Neither of us had any expectation he would not return. But he didn’t. His time had come just as it will for us all. I’ve learnt to live with it, accepting has been harder.
When a partner is taken so suddenly and when you never had the chance to say goodbye you tend to cling to the things that bring you closer to them. When you’ve never had the chance to prepare yourself for loss (not that knowing makes it any easier) the separation for many of us is just that much harder. You touch the last things they touched; mundane things such as the bannister rail, the door handle. Richard’s reading glasses are still on the kitchen bench where he left them just before he walked out the door. When days are tough just touching the things they touched can make it just that little bit easier.
These four walls I call home have been the place where memories have been created; wonderful happy memories and devastatingly sad ones. But above all it’s been my sanctuary my security over the last few years. When you’ve lost so much you cling onto that bit of emotional security even if it is just four walls. Your home becomes your last place of refuge. It embraces you and protects you. It hides you from the world when you don’t have the courage to walk out the door. It allows you to remember and to heal in private.
It’s taken me a long time to make the decision to sell up and move away. But in my heart of hearts I know it’s the right thing to do. That doesn’t make it any easier. Between now and October 8 I will be an emotional wreck. In fact I already am. I accept that. I’m not just leaving a home. I’m leaving everything familiar to me and I’m leaving friends and my wonderful neighbours. I will be starting again. Something I never thought I’d be doing at my age on my own.
Over the past couple of months I’ve completed a make-over of my home. There was the faint hope it would change things. It didn’t. So I leave her filled with light and looking her beautiful best. A fitting tribute to a wonderful life here.
It’s rather ironic that Richard walked out of this house never to return on an 8th day being a Tuesday. I will also being leaving on an 8th day being a Tuesday. The symbolism hasn’t escaped me. I expect I’ll do just as Richard did. I will sit on the second step from the bottom and put on my shoes. Then, I will walk into the kitchen and rather than put down his glasses as he did, I’ll pick them up. They will be the last item to leave our home. I will open the door and whisper to myself, “Bye I’m off now” just as Richard shouted out to me on that last day. But I will leave knowing I will never come back.
It was the wonderful and wise Rumi who said, “It’s your road, and yours alone, others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.” I could not walk Richard’s final road with him, only he could do that. Just as no one can walk mine. The difference being, I know I have a Guardian Angel looking after me and guiding me as I walk this next road in my life. That is a comforting thought.
As the door closes it will be the final separation from we to me. That’s both scary and exciting as Aslan the Cat and I leave to start our next journey together.
