My finest achievement this weekend was getting Wordle in 2.
I’m a normal Wordle solver in 5.
So this I’ll take as a bragging-right gift.
I’ve been enjoying a lazy Sunday, and its peaceful air of relaxation.
In a few I’ll take the Jeep out and see where the rest of the afternoon leads me. Maybe this time I’ll first go left … then go right …
I am embracing this calm.
Because in five days I am going back up and over the mountain, to my Mum’s house, so my brother Fred and I can begin the process of tagging her household items for donation and/or relocation to our respective houses.
We are all rather amicable beings when it comes to materials, so I think it will all work out.
But when Fred rang the other day, he was overwhelmed by the idea of this project. So I asked if he wanted my help. He said he did. So I am going.
And though I volunteered, I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to think about my Mum’s things being separated. I don’t want to work side by side with Fred, or any brother, because I don’t want to talk about what we’re doing.
I adore my brothers, all. But they talk a lot. And we often seem to dominate over each other. My brothers have themselves to look after, which does not include tending to their fragile sister.
I am sentimental by nature. And the idea of doing this is tearing at the edge of the metaphorical bandage protecting my heart break.
So to do this honourably AND hold it all together?
If I had my way, I would do this solo, so I could work it out methodically; in silence and in reflection, and pause if the tears take over.
My trepidation is not about the things. It’s not about confusing souls with a house.
Instead, it’s the dread of knowingly walking into a place that now represents my grief, physically, as I wait for my Mum to walk out of her bedroom and tell me the nap she just took did her a world of good.
Yeah, I’m still there. Hoping for an alternative story ending.
So the idea of having to dismantle my Mum’s life, and that of my Father’s? Making it a reality and final? And doing it all as a community? Whoosh.
I see myself next week wearing an emotional armour, something akin to a knight at Arthur’s table.
And like a knight?
I will do what I must do. What I am supposed to do. What is expected of me to do.
And whilst there, as is here, I will look heavily to my Faith. Because there is no way I can to do This without having That.