12.08.2022 Avoiding the abyss.

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 Friday 12th 58F. [at 7.15] Clear, wall to wall sunshine and hours of 28C promised. Woke at 3am and then slept until 6am. Time for a walk.

 8.30 70/21CF. Another early walk. Just a T-shirt today. So I remained cool. The lane-side field had been bailed. Providing a different sense of perspective. 

 A couple of teenage girls met at the junction with the lane on their bikes. Then proceeded onwards towards the main village. Presumably heading for school. A number of which are about 5km away. 

 That was a first sighting in all my years of walking and riding along the same route. It is rare enough to see a solitary "racing" cyclist out training. 

 I am unsure whether to open the windows and let the heat in. Or leave them closed and let the heat rise anyway. I have been leaving the greenhouse doors open overnight. To dump the previous day's heat. I have fine mesh panels to cover the open doors. So not even a butterfly can get in. Though that doesn't stop them finding a way. 

 After morning coffee I fitted a new cable and torpedo switch to the window extractor fan. I had been using an extension cord plugged into the hall socket. Now it is plugged into the third socket. Just above the toaster and kettle.

 I have reassembled our old, 1960s "modern" coffee table. Then cleaned and polished it repeatedly. It is long and slim with subtle, pleasing curves. So it goes well with the three, new/old chairs. This coffee table had decorated our various living rooms for decades.

 Then I started working on the clutter in the lounge again. It is horribly depressing having to go through everything she saved. Though I now have more stuff for the charity shops. Meanwhile, the armchairs are moving steadily backwards. Albeit measured only in centimetres. I must let go of more stuff!

13.00 82F/28C indoors and out. Lunch.

14.40. I keep seeing 83F in the shade on the outside thermometer. I am staying indoors out of the sun. I donated all of her many scarves to charity shops. Now I need a scarf to protect the back of my neck on the trike. My wife kept warning me about skin cancer but I had no sensible answer at the time. A handkerchief, arranged like the foreign legion caps might do. 

 18.30 79F/26C. Remaining very warm outside.

 20.43 72F outside. 79F indoors. I may have to sleep downstairs. Dinner was scrambled eggs with brown mushrooms. Chopped tomatoes on pasta. Followed by a bread roll.

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 I often felt. That thinking about the loss of my wife. Was like standing near the edge of a terrifying abyss. For months it was completely impossible for my thoughts to venture anywhere near the edge of that dark chasm. I dare not allow myself to even think about what it meant to be without her. Not even for an instant. To do so would inevitably pull me in. I would plummet helplessly into insanity. Or a depression so deep and dark as to drown all hope of recovery. 

 Inevitably the very fear of those hideous thoughts diminished over time. Little, by little, I allowed myself to edge towards that crumbling drop into the empty void. The daily tears eventually subsided. While I continued to pretend she was [somehow] still there. That there still remained a faint hope that she would turn up again. Despite all evidence to the contrary. I had held her hand as I watched my poor wife die. 

 To fully accept that she will never return remains both distant and premature. The hair trigger to a painful tightening of the throat and yet more burning tears. Why her? When vile monsters live on for decades more.

 Sometimes, as I dozed at the computer after lunch, I would hear her voice. She would be scolding me for yet another flaw in my behaviour.

 I still call out to her every time I come indoors. "Only me!" [Me alone.] Just as I did for years on my return from my morning walk. Or from a ride to the shops. 

 Usually, she would be sitting on the elm armchair up on the landing. Watching yet another YT gardening video on the big TV. I still glance up through the balusters. In the forlorn hope of seeing her. Still sitting there. 

 Now the wooden TV chair has been moved. I am not sure whether she would have approved of its superbly comfortable, leather replacement. She hasn't yet favoured me with a haunting. To tell me what she really thinks about all the changes I have made. The changes, she can never, will never enjoy.

 

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