Seconds pass, lives vanish, death comes to us all. And with it the irrelevance of stuff. What matters and what lasts are our social connections. The death of a parent mixes the two. I feel like I've lost my childhood. The time we spent, the memories we created, have gone. So I grieve my childhood, lost to me except through physical items like photographs and family possessions. The things we used, the clothes we wore, the plates we ate off. Most I can let go, but there's some I am attached to. And I find out these are more than I realised.
The garage sale is supposed to start at 8am but people arrive when the urge takes them. There's an early rush before we settle. So slow I get permission to go on my morning ride ride up to the airport. All is well after I have a coffee. More people come and go. The neighbours trickle in mid morning and we meet people we've never seen who know us. We "get rid of" more than we expected. It's great to see socket sets, LP's, wool blankets, lawn bowls get a new life somewhere else. Some garage salers take a long time and I ask one careful shopper to take me to the dump with stuff too unwieldy to fit in the Suzuki. Cameron is very obliging, says he hasn't got much to do today. Tells me about his mum in a wheel chair with MS. A slow death, too soon.
Late afternoon, we visit Jill, Lionel and Tui's, carer. She went above and beyond for some time- doing extras and telling me the inside story before she let Healthcare know so I could prepare myself for changes. She broke the rules and helped keep Lionel at home longer. She knew time in the house was more than cooking, cleaning and showering. It was human contact. Jill's also entertaining and we owe her big time. Today it's her turn for tragedy. Having already lost one daughter aged 18, she has another terminally sick in her mid 30's and an unwell husband. Who looks after her? Jill boxes on, her family life vanishing before her eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment