And now, 18 months later, I am contemplating doing just that. What changed?
I’m not exactly sure. It seems many things have changed on many levels. In practical terms, I don’t need this much house. And the fact that some strange man was able to enter my home while I slept a few feet down the hall does factor a little into my new attitude. And, of course, living closer to my son would be more convenient and less wear and tear on my car. But I know there is more to it than those practical considerations.
I think over the past year and a half of grieving, the physical reminders have begun to matter less and less. When Rick first died, I didn’t want to part with anything, nothing he had touched, or owned, or created. I gathered all his things and put them in his office. I left as many of items untouched as I could: the mints on the livingroom table, the toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet, the things in his office, and on his desk, and on bedroom end table. I tried to keep him frozen in time. I tried to stay close to him by clinging to his possessions.
And as time has moved on, I’ve discovered that those “things” have meant less and less to me. His memory isn’t present in artifacts, and keeping any or all of his possessions won’t bring him back. Read the blog on the Hope for Widows website.
