Bontempi (Photo credit: Jacob Whittaker)
The last thing you need on a post-birthday hangover are the strains of a child’s Bontempi organ bouncing off your eardrums.
However this morning my daughter has rediscovered the cursed instrument which has hitherto been hidden in a cupboard for months.
It has been in the cupboard for reasons other than her inability to play a note. There is a demo tune on it which takes me whirling back to a moment in time that I’m trying hard to forget – specifically, six days after M died.
The woman from The Humanist Society had just arrived to talk to us about M’s funeral service. Did we have any stories we wanted to include? What sort of man was my husband? Their son? Her brother?
My daughter, still high on the constant stream of visitors and piles of placatory sweets from the past six days, was corralled in the living room with my sister and the Bontempi. They spent the half an hour or so making up a daft dance to the demo that she is playing now, on a loop, downstairs. When we had finished with The Humanist we emerged from the kitchen, wrung out and catatonic, and had to sit and watch the dance. Over and over again.
I’m tired of this. Tired of the reminders of what I have lost and the traumas I have had to face. I spend my time finding distractions, but I am tired of waking up without Him, not remembering going to bed.
I’ve just turned thirty-eight. I shouldn’t be this weary.
Wife After Death 
So sorry my friend. There is nothing I can say that would be useful or helpful. Just want you to know I think of you daily.
Just that is useful ad helpful. Thank you. X
I am so terribly sorry for all that makes your heart ache for Him; I know, it’s a never ending cavalcade of the simplest images, sounds, articles, thoughts, memories and resulting pain that sucker punches us, and that we have no idea when it is coming and what the fuck to do with it when it does. I sometimes try to dream of some place to find respite, but then realize I would have to come home at some point and it would all be the same, over and over again. the weariness you speak of is so real and so decimating, when I am in the throws of grief that brings me to my knees and makes me beg to die on the spot sometimes, I am terrified that if I lay down on my bed, the bed He died in, right beside me, to sob and scream out the pain, I will never be able to get up again. I think to myself, multiple times a day – He died, he is gone forever, I will never see him again. and then a tortuous loop of similar and despondent thoughts consume me. often, there seems to be no diversion powerful enough to stop it. and I do not have a 5 yr old little daughter, so I cannot even imagine how horribly painful it is for you. once someone who was going though these same agonies said something; she said, “let’s just cling onto each other, and hold on tight for dear life!”. I thought that was as good a suggestion as anything I could ever come up with. so let’s do it, even though it’s through cyber space and we are far, far away from each other – together, let’s just hang on tight for dear life. I hold you close to my heart and think of you often. if you can see my e-mail address and want to talk, feel free. sometimes we just need someone to listen and to know we are not alone.
love and light, XOXO
karen
Karen, love. Thanks for sharing – your honestly and openness and for thinking of me.It’s a lonely old business and I’m struggling at the moment, so to receive support like that is so important. I can see you email address and will take you up on your offer. I’m hanging on. X