I don't normally wear sunglasses.

“I don’t normally wear sunglasses, occasionally I do on a bright sunny day when I need to see the road. Although today is sunny I can see the road without them. But today is a bit different… today is the day that we moved the furniture out of my parents’ house. After mum went into care with dad it triggered the need to pay aged care deposits and to do so we had to sell the house. In Australia when your an aged pensioner and you own your home there's no way around it. What I wasn’t counting on was dad passing away so soon after mum went in.  And there I was thinking we’d have a glorious time packing up the house with dad to tell us what was what, and it wouldn’t be so painful because they were both still with us. But now dads not here and it adds a whole new dimension to the experience.

 

Up until now it’s been not too bad, we sold the house really quickly; it didn’t even make it to market properly because it sold the same day the agent took photos for the listing. So that part was easy, we had to pack up a little for that but now the rest has to be packed and moved. And then this week we’ve been thru the garage and popped all dad’s tools to one side because we needed to clear so that the removalists could move some of the furniture in the garage. And then last night after we finished in the garage, we went inside to empty out some furniture and I started packing up dads desk, and I know others would experience this losing family suddenly, but it’s like he just got up and left the room. He’d left the house in an ambulance in late April and he never got to come back, we'd talked about it but it never happened. There were bits and pieces there that I know if he’d had the time to do it himself it would have all been neatly packed away. He would have sorted through things. But there I am just putting it all into boxes carefully separating the contents from each drawer, trying to preserve a memory of him and how he left it. He’d had that desk for as long as I can remember. I was feeling anxious and like I was going to throw up because what I really wanted to do was cry.

 

And then today the movers put everything in the truck and started driving towards our houses ½ an hour away and I’d just started following the truck down the road and it hit me. It really is the beginning of the close of a chapter. It’s the final pages where the story is rounding out. My house is now full of my parents’ furniture, it replaces the hodge podge I had before. And as I drive it's eleven weeks since dad passed and 3 weeks since Charlie passed and I’m not hanging onto the loss of hopes and dreams, it’s like the end of series of books there’s nothing else to write the story is done.  They’ve both ran the entire marathon. But I keep thinking that Charlie would have loved mum and dads furniture in our house she would have loved their familiar smells… Grief sucks, it’s so tough. The tears are flowing while I drive.

 

So I’ve got my sunnies on and I’m headed back to the house. In a couple of weeks, we’ll close the door for the last time.

I don’t normally wear sunnies but today I’m hiding my grief.”

 

 

I recorded those words on a voice message on my phone on the 8th November. 2 ½ weeks have passed. We finished packing up and cleaned the house ready for the new owners. We handed the keys over a week ago. Between when I recorded my thoughts until now there have been many tears.

 

It’s strange having no more house to worry about. Dad’s goldfish from his pond are in a pond in my back yard. I was never able to get a water lily out of his pond. There are some things we had to say goodbye to because they couldn’t be moved.

 

And now I have some time back, since April all my spare time had been consumed by my parents, Charlie and my best friend with dementia. Now there’s just mum and my best friend. Now there’s time to notice what’s not, who’s not there. I have more time for my grief…..I’m fine when I’m at work, I’m fully distracted but when I’m home on my own, now I have more time at home, I’m missing Charlie. It’s hitting much harder now. On the days when I get to come home straight after work anxiety sets in at about 4.30. I’m doing my best to sit with my feelings to allow them to be. It can’t be avoided; I’ll have to deal with them sooner or later so it may as well be now.

 

Today I took mum to the optometrist and while I was waiting for her I stepped into a bookshop and in there I found 2 great books on grief. But I had to put them down, even the thought of reading them made me aware of the fact that my brain felt full, overwhelmed like I couldn’t process what was inside the cover of each book. And then I realised that I feel like this a lot, completely overwhelmed and unable to absorb much more. Most days I’m walking around feeling distraught on the inside and I have no idea when and if this will pass.

 

I keep trying to put a description to the year, I can’t say it’s been a terrible or even tragic year because everything that has happened has just been a part of life and aging. I could say it’s been a difficult year, at times overwhelming. But the best description is that it’s been a year of grief.

 

The loss of my dad, and my pet, of my life as i knew it, and the slow loss of my friend to dementia. Everything has changed and I’m not sure that I’m on board with all of this adulting that I’ve had to do lately.

 

I crave a day where I have absolutely nothing to do and I can just sit with how I’m feeling, no distractions. But knowing my self all too well I know that even if the opportunity did arise, I’d find something that needed doing. So I also crave a day with the perfect set of circumstances to sit with my feelings that also comes with it the awareness that I need to stop and seize the moment. Will it help who knows, but I guess it’s just my brain needing silence from the overwhelm.

Lib x

Walking Thru The Tunnel

 She's gone.... Charlie, my girl who I often described as 'natures little wonder on 4 legs' has earned her wings. Outside in the sunshine on my parents back lawn we said goodbye. She turned 16 in August and a little over 2 weeks ago on the 18th October I let her go. My dear sweet girl had begun to struggle, her arthritis left her unable to get up on her own and there was an issue with her bladder. She was everything to me and I didn't want her to suffer.

Just 8 weeks before this my dear Dad passed away and I imagined him there waiting for her. They had a special relationship, she was always in awe of him. When ever she saw him her tail and bottom would wag and she'd wimper with glee. 

I recently heard someone say 'grief is a tunnel' and I find myself ever so slowly moving thru it. I've known grief before and tangled up with it there's always been the loss of hopes and dreams. I find myself in an unusual space which defies the many conversations on grief that I've come across that include the loss of hopes and dreams. Both my Dad and my Charlie girl had very long lives, my Dad had just turned 96. They both run the full marathon there were no hopes and dreams for the future, we'd been in bonus days with both of them for quiet a while. I'm at peace with their passing.

My grief is quite simply the loss of them no longer being here. I miss them, that's all. I just miss them, I miss what they each brought to my life on a daily basis. I miss the smiles, the hugs, the cuddles, Charlie snoring, dad's dry sense of humour.......I miss their earthly energy and the space that they filled up.

I can still however dissolve into tears at any moment. The thought that I wont see them again in their earthly forms shatters me. The space they each left is huge. I've developed a coping strategy for this, which I learnt from my doggie loves and it's the reason why they are so forgiving. Dogs lack the part of the brain that allows them to attach a story to an event. So when I apply this I can think or say they've passed away and as long as I don't attach the story that makes me sad I can get through. Having said that when I'm home alone or in the car I allow myself to attach the story so that I can allow my grief.

My house is so quiet without Charlie, I keep catching myself waiting to hear her make a noise. The last few months she'd been spending a lot of time in my bedroom, she'd always slept in there and when she could still jump would wait on the bed for me most of the day. But as her arthritis progressed and she could no longer jump I made her a bed out of stacked doonas beside my bed and from there she would summon me if she wanted food or wanted help to get up and go outside. It was from there I would hear her bark as I came in the door from work. Now there's only silence. 

On my parents back lawn as I spent my last sweet moments with her I looked at the sky. On the tail end of a long cloud there was a shape that resembled a dog frolicking in the sky, a few moments later Charlies vet walked out the back door and it was time to start saying my final goodbye. My girl went quickly she was ready and ... she snored....it was like she was saying "I'm just going to sleep mum" 

Her doonas are folded up under the window, one of her blankets, her pillow and her favourite toys are on top. There's also the envelope that holds a card from her vet and some paw prints and a lock of her hair. And in the back corner is the bag from the crematorium that inside has the wooden box containing her ashes. I'm not ready to put her bed completely away. It will stay there until I can work it all out..... I'm only at the start of the tunnel.

edit

I woke up this morning after writing this post late last night and realised there was one thing still to say..... 

I have so much gratitude theirs,  were 2 lives well lived and well loved. I'm grateful they were both here as long as they were. For the last year I often used to thank Charlie for choosing to be with me another day. It was a joy to be with them for as long as I was, so many years of love ❤️ 

I haven’t spoken much about Dad here or on my social media, he was a very private person. I feel like I need to honour that for now xxx