Good Grief 229

Finally, it's gone.
There was no great ceremony, in fact the opposite really. It was rather unceremoniously dumped. It's been part of a general process of clearing stuff out. I am heartily sick of clearing out dead people's stuff. F*%king pissed off with it, to be frank. It is slow going. 
A friend of mine and his partner had stayed overnight on their way back from visiting family just before Christmas. He said the place was cluttered. I was a bit hurt because I knew that. I realise how all these last years have been consumed in an utterly joyless existence, an un-nourished subsistence survival, and now mum and dad are gone, I am back chipping away at sorting stuff of my husband's and even my partner's from many years before that. I have sunk into a pretty depressed state, no longer needing to keep going any more and sinking under the detritus of the dead and feeling dead myself.
[Although I rather angrily call it detritus, it isn't, of course, and every item has connections and meanings. Last weekend it was old diaries and a few books - each one had a flyleaf tucked into the last page read, the last moment that book was picked up by him, that page read and then the flyleaf tucked in to mark point to start reading at next time.]