Reminders

Today I began the unbearably sad task of disposing of Di's clothes, starting with the work out clothes that she used during the time of her rehabilitation. She worked so hard and so courageously at rehab, only to have it all snatched away from her. Often I wonder if I could have been so courageous and so optimistic, and work so hard towards an uncertain recovery.

Those clothes I washed,dried, and hung up daily, and helped her to dress, in an effort to keep her looking "spiffy", when her coordination was poor due to weakness and spinal cord damage, and food spilled. She always took pride in looking neat and groomed, and it was my pleasure to try to keep her that way.

The whole house is a memorial to Dianne. We created that house together, design, decoration, gardens.  We spent hours talking and working with our interior decorator, choosing colors for walls and carpets, switches and trim. Everything was discussed and negotiated. The house was built especially for us, and we lived in it longer than we lived in any other house during our 53 years of married life, and had a bountiful family life.

There are needlework hangings, hand worked by Di, sweaters knitted by Di, Australiana collected by Di and me, photos of children and grandchildren, quilts made by our daughter for Di and me, participating in the innumerable happy family times we had in that house. What great memories! The "joys of ferocious family living" is a phrase I heard for the first time last year - and it fits. The house is a living monument to Dianne. At every turn there are heart catching, powerful reminders of her remarkable craft abilities, her humanity, her influence, the love she had for and gave to other people, and the love that other people had for her.

Tomorrow, our daughter in law from Lawrence will come down and help me with the clothes. One problem is that Dianne was such a small person that very few of her clothes fit other family members. So they will mostly go to small strangers, via established charities.

When I reread these posts in the future, I will hope to discern a pattern of walking towards the light of happiness and joy again. But in this transitional stage there is not a lot of joy, though almost imperceptibly, the sadness may be lessening. I am so grateful for friends who will take, or make the time to listen, and empathize. At this stage of grief journey it is all about me, and my perceived loss - very self centered. But I am equally sure that the path to happiness lies in looking outside oneself,  doing something for others. It reminds me  of a short grace, in a little book of graces that we have:

"I slept and dreamt that Life was joy, I awoke and saw that Life was service, I acted and B.E.H.O.L.D, service was joy." Rabindranath Tagore   (1861 - 1941)