This seismic event happened a fortnight ago and I’d not actually seen Mum since. Don’t jump on me with this one: my Mum and I are very much alike. We appreciate the offers of help and support but only want to see people when the time is right. We’re much the same when we’re ill. I knew that I had to force myself to keep contact to phone only until she suggested meeting.
I don’t think I’ll come to terms with calling that house “Mum’s” rather than “Mum and Dad’s”. I think she should sell it and buy something smaller somewhere else. Even if they somehow get back together, the place will be full of unhappy recent memories. I think she’ll do that.
We had a very enjoyable evening together, talking a lot and going for dinner in a nearby pub. Neither of us cried, although it was always under the surface. It’s the small things that catch you unprepared and thus likely to cry. I stayed overnight but lay in bed until Mum had gone to work. Again, it’s what she’d want: she hates saying goodbye. After she’d gone, I got out of the house quite quickly but noticed the odd sadness of noticing that the fridge and cupboards were full. It might be comfort shopping (which would be out of character) but instead I think it’s just that she’s never in her whole life shopped for just one person. She has no idea of how few things she actually needs, so the fridge is full and stuff goes to waste. This will upset her, I know.
I’m sure that people who have experienced bereavement know these feelings. You come to terms with the drive and the wardrobe being empty. You rehearse the right words to use and refer to “the situation”. But you’re not quite ready for the shock of seeing the shocking nakedness of your mother’s hands with no rings for the first ever time. You’re not ready for opening the cupboard and finding yourself implausibly blabbering over the unexpected sight of an unopened packet of ginger nuts. It’s truly strange.
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