It’s going to be a short post today for your Monday.
I didn’t mean for it to be.
I planned on sitting down to write this afternoon after a good, full morning.
But when Boris and I were out for an early walk, I noticed a solid looking futon sitting in a neighbor’s yard with a “free” sign on it. I’d been looking for something for my guest room so that friends from back East can come visit. I spent much of the afternoon looking for someone who might help me load and move said futon.
And here’s the thing: though I know there are a few widowed friends I might have called for help, I am resolutely stubborn. I asked for help in a few places, but no one got back to me before my stubborn-ness took over.
I’ve spent the last 3 hours (excuse the expression) man-handling an extremely heavy and unwieldy futon into the back of the van, out of the van, across the driveway, and into my house. And after another hour of trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to make it fit through my narrow hallways, I’ve had to… admit defeat. That is so insanely difficult for me to do.
All of this would have been over hours ago if Matt were here. No, first of all, he would have insisted on building something suitable, so we wouldn’t have been looking for, or moving, a futon in the first place. But even if we had chosen this futon today, he would have been here. He would have been right there to help. No need to ask: it’s a given.
When the one you have shared your life with dies, you lose your person. The one who is there, all the time. The one who sort of has to be there. There’s a reason one of the old terms for spouse was help-meet. You do these things together.
And calling someone else, while completely possible (especially if you are less stubborn than I am), is just that one step too far sometimes. To reach out for help, to ask someone else to leave their home or their family or whatever it is they’re already doing to come out and help you – sometimes that is just one barrier too many.
So if you are reading this, out there, nodding your head, missing your own person, the one who had your back, always, at all times (whether happily or not): yeah. I understand. Widowhood messes with everything. The futon wedged in my hallway will attest to that.
And on that note, I am off to rest, and to laugh at the ridiculous things my stubbornness gets me into.
How about you? How has losing your person impacted the details of running your household? Where do you go when your person is gone? Let us know in the comments, or send me an email. I’d love to hear from you.