Categories: uncategorized
Date: 09 May 2007 15:58:28
I am glad that I know that life is likely to throw me brickbats to see how I react.
I am not reacting well this afternoon because I am procrastinating instead of getting on with things, but in a minute I'll pull my socks up (literally, seeing as it's a bit blustery round the ankles outside) and get on with the million and one things I'm trying to avoid thinking about at the moment. Because those million and one things are centred squarely (can you be centred squarely? Is it appropriate for a Maths teacher to talk in those terms?) around Dad.
The thing is, I had a phone call yesterday. The buyer, who so enthusiastically made an offer on Dad's bungalow before it had even gone on the market, pulled out yesterday. Cold feet at the thought of so major a move, I guess. Four weeks short of signing on the dotted line, our buyer suddenly vanishes and we're back at square one. Before square one, in fact, because we hadn't even got so far as the estate agents making up their details.
The timing is a bit of a pain because this weekend I had realised how desperate I am to have closure as far as the bungalow is concerned. It's starting to wear on me emotionally and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to go round there - it seems so empty and soulless. I'm not mourning Dad - I miss him dreadfully, but I'm not grieving as such. I guess I did plenty of grieving in the months before he died and I'd lost him in many senses long since. The bungalow doesn't remind me of him at all - it seems obstinately to rub in the fact that there's no sense of him left there at all. He doesn't live there any more, he's moved on to a new and better home, but the bungalow seems to sit there saying it doesn't really care, doesn't really miss him... and because of it I simply don't want to go in.
With the garden it's almost the opposite. That seems to be saying "where is he?" The camelia and the peach tree blossomed beautifully and seemed to be waiting for him to come and rejoice in their beauty... and the petals have dropped, unfulfilled. The garden seems to miss him. It is overgrown and needs a good weeding out and tidying up... but I don't want to go there because I can't explain to the plants that he's gone. Stupid, isn't it?
(Bet you're scratching your heads and thinking "She never seemed such a weirdo!" .. or maybe you aren't!)
Two days ago I had said to myself "It's OK, you don't need to go in there for a week or two. Just leave it and get on with your own home". Then this phone call. So today and tomorrow I need to go round and tidy up, brighten it up, put flowers in the vases and weed the garden, make the empty shell feel warm and welcoming again, ready for the estate agent to go in and take photographs on Friday and begin the procedure of selling.
Ho hum.
Good job I never quite allowed myself to get to the point of believing it'd all go through.