Seven months. Seven months. It seems impossible.Just the other day, I made him softshell crabs for dinner. And yet, it seems like he’s been gone so, so long.
We emptied his room out within the week of his death. I didn’t want to erase him from the house, (as if that were possible–he imbues every splinter, every molecule of air,) but I couldn’t bear to have it look like he’d be home any minute either. We moved his couch up from the basement–the one that was the scope of his world for months after his accident. Frank’s desk went in there. Pictures. Family Mementos. The antique table and all the games. We had it painted.
And there it stood still, a catchall for things we couldn’t deal with just yet. Not his room. Not Frank’s office. Not a game room. Just there.
The bathroom, essentially his, was the same. Stuff piled in the tub long after it was repainted. No shower curtain up. Just sinks, a toilet, and light fixtures.
I bought a new shower curtain yesterday, and put it up today. Then hung a picture, a big wooden star. It looks like a bathroom again. Frank and I also started putting his room back together. We hung pictures and rearranged the furniture so that it’s not all thrown in haphazardly. Best of all, we hung his bows–in all states of their creation–on the wall.
The top one is an arrow–two, in fact, from where he got a bullseye in a bullseye. If I remember correctly, it was at seventy yards. That’s where he usually shot from. Robin Hood would have been proud. That wasn’t the only time he did it, but it was the first. The rack it and the bows are lashed to? He built it as a frame to hold the bows while he varnished them. It was cathartic, putting it all together, hanging it on the wall. And not without a few tears.
This moving on thing is harder than anyone has any idea until they’re faced with doing it themselves. I’ll just leave that there now.
Peace.
Modesty Is For Suckers 
Wow, a bullseye in a bullseye is awesome, and more than once is amazing. There is a beautiful sense of movement and permanence in the rack of bows and arrows. ❤
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Thanks, love. He was an amazing marksman. Crazy good. Just another one of his talents. 🙂
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Peace, darling. I can’t imagine your pain. I can’t. But thinking of you in pain causes a deep ache in my chest. Love you.
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I hate causing you pain! But thank you for your empathy. In the cosmic scheme of things, it draws a little of mine away, I think. XX
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I wish you peace within the good memories, and hugs, lots of hugs. I can’t begin to imagine your path, but I know you will come through this sharing your lessons with those who will read them. You’re a beautiful soul, and you bless us all.
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Thanks, Bev. You ease my heart.
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Peace, indeed. Keep at it. Bit by bit, day by day, you construct your own calm. All good thoughts to you and Frankie.
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Thanks, Mark. I’ll pass it along, too. XX
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The bows are perfect. Somehow I know Chris loves that they are displayed there. In case I don’t say it, I’m proud of you. Every day you get up. You face the unthinkable in a honest way. That takes courage, my friend. ❤
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:::sniff, sniff::: Truly. Thank you, love. ❤
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Love in abundance. Always. ❤
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Back at ya, cariad. ❤
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I loved how you displayed Chris’s bows. My husband was in awe of Chris’s bow skills. He remembers clearly, Chris shooting perfect bulls eyes at the Pumpkin Shoot from his wheelchair. It knocked his socks off! ((hugs))
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One of his proudest moments. He won both pumpkin pies and ATE THEM all. I think he let Frank have a slice. 🙂
((Janis)) I think of you often.
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