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It’s going to be a short post today for your Monday.
I didn’t mean for it to be.
I planned on sitting down to write this afternoon after a good, full morning.
But when Boris and I were out for an early walk, I noticed a solid looking futon sitting in a neighbor’s yard with a “free” sign on it. I’d been looking for something for my guest room so that friends from back East can come visit. I spent much of the afternoon looking for someone who might help me load and move said futon.
And here’s the thing: though I know there are a few widowed friends I might have called for help, I am resolutely stubborn. I asked for help in a few places, but no one got back to me before my stubborn-ness took over.
I’ve spent the last 3 hours (excuse the expression) man-handling an extremely heavy and unwieldy futon into the back of the van, out of the van, across the driveway, and into my house. And after another hour of trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to make it fit through my narrow hallways, I’ve had to… admit defeat. That is so insanely difficult for me to do.
All of this would have been over hours ago if Matt were here. No, first of all, he would have insisted on building something suitable, so we wouldn’t have been looking for, or moving, a futon in the first place. But even if we had chosen this futon today, he would have been here. He would have been right there to help. No need to ask: it’s a given.
When the one you have shared your life with dies, you lose your person. The one who is there, all the time. The one who sort of has to be there. There’s a reason one of the old terms for spouse was help-meet. You do these things together.
And calling someone else, while completely possible (especially if you are less stubborn than I am), is just that one step too far sometimes. To reach out for help, to ask someone else to leave their home or their family or whatever it is they’re already doing to come out and help you – sometimes that is just one barrier too many.
So if you are reading this, out there, nodding your head, missing your own person, the one who had your back, always, at all times (whether happily or not): yeah. I understand. Widowhood messes with everything. The futon wedged in my hallway will attest to that.
And on that note, I am off to rest, and to laugh at the ridiculous things my stubbornness gets me into.
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How about you? How has losing your person impacted the details of running your household? Where do you go when your person is gone? Let us know in the comments, or send me an email. I’d love to hear from you.
My garage light, which happens to be located on the ceiling about 17 feet above the floor, has been burned out for a long time. It is far too dangerous for me to get up there and fix it. The weather is bitter cold as is the garage so until it warms up so an electrician can work without freezing his or her hands, I search in the dark for what I need. Bill would have moved that light and fixed it before I knew it needed attention. I could list dozens of incidents like this…fixing things, lifting things, doing heavy chores are minor compared to the big stuff but they matter when I am searching for something at night in a dark garage. It is, however, the big things like his presence, his hugs, his warmth, and well —you all know this if you lost your spouse.
I do lots of things myself now, but sometimes ask for help (usually paid help). Deciding to do it myself sometimes works, but I don’t know when to quit and call someone. My belligerence gives me a chance to cuss, whine, and have a good cry, so it has a purpose. Still, there is satisfaction in being independent, although I wouldn’t try to move a futon myself, Megan. That’s going too far. I wonder if you’ll get it unstuck yourself or call for help.
Ah, belligerence. One of my best skillsets.
I did actually do it myself – went out and bought a set of wrenches, took the thing apart right there in the hallway, hoisted the parts into place, put it all back together. There are limits to my bull-headedness, but I often drive right past them.
I love the last sentence. Want to quote yourself on Twitter and I’ll share it? E
sure! Will do.
I agree with Mary about all the things her husband would and could do to fix whatever needed fixing. John was the same and as time creeps along I find I mourn his loss in many ways, not just as my husband, but as the repairman, the electrician, the computer guru, my therapist, my co-chef and on and on. Each of these roles has to be acknowledged and mourned, at least for me they do, and then of course I have to figure out how best to fill them.
true – and this is something the non-bereaved don’t realize: you’re mourning all the facets of the relationship, all the ways you seamlessly supported each other.
I had the exact same thing happen to me Megan! Stubbornness and all. Except mine was with an entertainment stand. And, as you said, it was just another reminder that my person was gone. I’ve also encountered this while filling in emergency contact numbers, taking my car in for service, and the most blatant one of all – getting a ride home from the airport from a friend. There are so many frigging reminders it makes me want to pull my hair out at times. I clearly haven’t mastered this one yet…
emergency contact – I *hate* that one. And the rides to the airport. And the mechanic. And for things like dental work, when you’re not supposed to drive yourself home. Argh.