I remember the first day I stepped back into our home after being gone for two months in Australia, where I had taken my husband Jeremy to spend his final days with his friends and family. Our home, which used to be a source of love, comfort, joy, jokes, naps, meals with friends, firsts with a baby, daydreams, till finally it held the beginning of a road that led to loss, now housed just me.
I’ve said this before, but even though I got to come back to a roof over my head, which is more than so many people in this world have, I felt home-less. My home was my people.
Not only did stepping back into our home feel so foreign and full of landmines, but I didn’t know if I wanted to leave it all behind or hibernate amongst the triggers and hide from the world.
I consulted a few of my fellow widow friends about it. When? When is the time right? When do I empty my kids dresser? When do I get rid of my husbands vitamins, and meds? When do I remove their shoes from the shoe cubbies? What do I do with the shoes?
I could just leave the drawers untouched. I could leave the bathroom cabinet filled with toiletries, and the pairs of pants hung on the hooks, dormant. I could just live alongside these things forever as though I live alongside some ghost version of my old life. But I know Jeremy would hate that for me, and to be honest I don’t love the idea of it either.
The advice from those who’ve walked this path before me was, don’t get rid of things too fast. Take your time. A year, at the least, to settle into this new reality and then put some things away. But keep some clothes, it’s nice to wear them. And also, you don’t have to listen to anyone. There are no rules.
I liked this advice. I wear Jeremy’s shirts all the time, and it brings me great comfort. As does putting them right back where they belong, on his side of the closet, in his drawers, folded exactly how he liked.
The other day though, I stood in my shower staring at a hook that had one of his shower puffs hanging on it, along with a scrubbing sponge on a wooden stick. Suddenly I found myself being rushed back to what it felt like when life was “normal” for just a second.
I was momentarily in a vortex where my brain got confused and looked at these items and thought they belonged to someone who still lives here. Who is just in the other room. And just as I got confused enough to wonder what is real and what is not, I remembered he is gone. He’ll never need these shower accessories again.
Should I throw them out? Won’t they just start to mold? I suddenly got so anxious by the thought that I decided I would come back to this idea some other day. These days when I get overwhelmed, I try not to push myself. Noone wins awards for soldiering through loss and the pain that comes with it.
That night as I settled into bed, and did my nightly combination of doom scrolling and comfort watching a show I shall not name (it rhymes with shmilmor shmirls), I heard a small crash in my house. I walked around cautiously looking for the source, and coming up empty handed.
The next morning, I went into the bathroom to shower and start my day and couldn’t believe my eyes. The hook, holding his sponge and shower puff, had fallen off of the wall. There it was, the decision made for me. Time to get rid of this proof of life.
Now, I am a person who believes in the afterlife. I have had so many experiences with the departed in my lifetime, and since Jeremy’s passing. I have had my fair share of conversations with amazing mediums and signs that have brought me comfort and a knowing that Jeremy is with me. Which is why, when I stumbled onto this situation in my shower, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Surely this is Jeremy’s way of helping me accept this new reality just a little bit in his own way. I especially appreciate this because he was never good at throwing things away or lightening the load of “stuff” around the house. So maybe he’s changed his tune now, and this is his way of helping me minimize the clutter a little. Either way, I guess the shower is just my territory now. But no matter how quiet it gets around here, this was a great reminder that I am not alone. Xx