One week. It seems a lot longer.
There is a hole in my life that RC inhabited. It may never seal over, but I see signs it will close. I've put down an area rug so Deuce can be more comfortable on the hardwood floor. I've rearranged the furniture now that I don't need to allow for RC's mobility limitations. Rearranging the furniture allowed me to bring my grandmother's Eastlake rocker back to the living room.
It feels strange that such a small thing as having my grandmother's rocker back in my living space would have such a big impact. Being in the house with just Deuce and Loki has me reflecting on how much RC's health impacted the way we lived. Should I lie and say I feel no satisfaction in moving everything to where I want it? No, I will not.
I was twenty-six when my father died. The hospital called and told Mom she should come in "right away." Dad was gone when we arrived. My mother uttered these words: "I'm free." It shocked my young self but now I understand. No matter how much you love your spouse, caring for them through illness and end of life is both privilege and burden.
I don't regret the thirty years we spent together. We had good times before he had the first cancer. After that, we did the best we could do.
Will I be lonely? I have been lonely. Everywhere I went, I went alone because it was so difficult for him to get in and out of a vehicle. That will not change.
Will I work harder around the house and yard? I was already doing everything. That will not change.
But there will still be a hole in my life. His steadying presence is gone. His knowledge is gone, although I learned a lot from him.
Like my mother, I'm free, and that, too, is both privilege and burden.
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My home on the web- Between the Keys:
http://kckendricks.blogspot.com
Visit my bookshelf at:
https://kckendricks.blogspot.com/p/bookshelf.html
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