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Diarist A33 Day 20


September 16, 2022 


My mornings consistently start with wondering how to organize the day and by greeting my deceased husband with “I love you.” This morning was no exception, although there was more angst. This week has born with it more of a sense of sadness and loss. Several events seem to be triggering this. 


I let our two geese, L and O, out of their coop for their daily run of the yard. Sometimes they sceptically approach the door, then, cautiously walk through. This morning they stayed in until I entered. I need to walk through the goose coop to reach the chickens. L and O are curious and love to inspect whatever is going on. They are also leery of everything. If I’m wearing a different hat or a jacket they’ve not seen in a while, they eye this change before stepping too close. After gathering one egg, feeding and watering the chickens, I return to the house. 


Since my husband’s death, I continue to pare down what I can in order to down-size. This morning requires my attention to go through books on a tall shelf. The bookcase needs to be emptied to replace it with a smaller one. It will make the room feel less congested and open. This task has its “hooks” because of the memories they hold. Notes are found in them. Some passages are underlined and thoughts are written in the margins. Often notes are written in the back that were to be saved for a future reference. An idea may be just the thing needed as he was writing another essay. Depending on the note and its significance, I either stack it to let it go or put it aside to keep for further reading. 


Break times are needed so I eat cereal, then run errands. I have responsibility with the Hartford City Cuilting club and we have a retreat next week. I pick up the key to open our building, then drive to Muncie to pick up poison for mice and cement filler for cracks in concrete. Winter preparations are on my agenda before it gets too cold. 


Another dynamic floating it’s way into the week and day, is pressure to get my car in the repair shop due to mice chewing through wires. 


Pleasantly, I run into a friend at Rural King and talk a bit. Finding friendly people in the climate of our country’s divisive environment is a welcomed exchange. It helps make my day brighter. 


Returning home, I continue to go through more books. 


A phone call from my son results in coordinating times and activities for the next two weeks. Traveling to Illinois tomorrow for a funeral and moving furniture from place to place among four households requires our planning and communication. 


Among all this activity I feel overwhelmed with schedules. A funeral to participate in, a retreat to attend, a biopsy scheduled for Tuesday, my car to be repaired and being sabotaged by remaining grief work adds to the tension. 


Again . . . back to the books. Letting go of these seem like another “letting go” experience of my husband. I box up his collection of childhood mementos, also. These held stories and memories for him. Those stories and memories end with him. Passing them on robs me of those stories of which only he knew.