Home, sweet home

I lost my home the day she died.

I now wake up everyday to an empty bed, an unbearably still day, a life that has paused. After 45 years of loving and living with me, was it fair to shift homes now?

What happens to the garden she had nurtured with so much love? Will it wilt and dry up, waiting for her, as I do?

What about our plans to clean out the attic? Will the clutter die with the house, forever uncleared? (Yeah, we were a bit lazy there…)

Will the study remain unpapered? Such plans we had, the number of wallpapers we sifted through, the final selection, now lying unclaimed at the store.

I’ve decided - best to shift homes, or rather houses. Home no longer exists, only a shell with the soul gone.

Better to start afresh in a new house, a smaller one perhaps, far away from the memories of the only home I have ever known.

And yet, can I really leave behind the memories? The scent of her which pervades the very walls. The sweet humming that I can still hear in my weaker moments.

All the years that went into building my home, they are here - in my heart, in my head.

Home still exists - here - if I will let it. Accept that she’s gone but has left behind a wealth of a lifetime, enshrined in what I still call my home.