Good Grief 17

Visceral. Most of what comes with grief is so hard to articulate. It is so felt and can be so very physical. So inconsolably painful that it is impossible to know what to do with yourself. It can be a case of lying low and hoping the worst of the storm may blow over. At other times it can have a very strange energy, a weird and slightly foreboding presence. That is a bit how it is now.

In a 'get rid of stuff' moment, I went to throw his shoes out for the clothes bank. Most clothing has long since gone, but these had been waiting, initially in the back of the car for when he would need them, for when he was better and coming out of hospital. He didn't. So eventually the shoes ended up in the shed and then I decided to clear it a little but at first I thought, 'they are in good nick, I can't let them go unpolished, they need to look loved and cared for'. And so I set to and polished them. I realised my hands were where his feet last were. I could feel the mould, the shape, the form, the sense of the reality of him, that has otherwise been so lost. What was once so solid and real has become so dreamlike and unreal. This felt real. The polishing became an act of love, all that I can do now. A loving, nurturing ritual. With no grave to tend (and I am not sure I would have liked that and he didn't want it anyway) there is no 'place' as such. That is ok, but there was something about this process and being able to do something that was grounding somehow. And now, here they are, nice and shiny and loved. And I can't let them go!