A very different post today
A short story and details of my journaling chat.
One thing we all need when grief comes calling is the time and space to process our emotions and thoughts. This is a short story about one woman’s journey. All the characters are fictional, even Millicent 😁.
An Easter weekend short story.
I always hated camping. It was like torture. So why am I sitting here looking out of tent, alone and why did I hate camping? The latter part of the question is easy, particularly as a head strong prepubescent teenager. There was no privacy, no peace, no hot water, no proper meals, no baths, no comfortable beds with warm feather duvets, no electricity and therefore no hair dryer. There was cold, rain, mud, noise, wind, damp sleeping bags on lumpy ground and annoying younger brothers. My parents thought camping was a children’s idea of heaven. We would have freedom, we could play in the fields and get close to nature, learn new skills. I never learnt any new skills, I hate bugs, am allergic to cats and moved to London, from our boring small town, as soon as I left home.
Why did I marry Gordon, a man who thought the same way as my parents? He even managed to persuade me to move into the countryside, as soon as we had children. I have to admit it was to a rambling stunning Queen Ann mansion. After 15 years of marriage, Gordon agreed to upgrade to a caravan and after 30 years to a brand new, fiercely expensive camper van. In his defence once a year every year of our marriage, we went on, what I would define as proper holidays with all the mod cons. In later years they were fabulous, travelling Route 66, trekking in Thailand, Australia, China, India. The only time I really enjoyed camping was our safari in Botswana. That was real camping with all the luxuries.
The first part of my question is more complex. I repeat why am I sitting alone in a tent in Norfolk with nobody else around, reading my book? Because I now have total freedom, I am not accountable to anybody or anything. There is just m, Millicent, my small one-person tent, a sleeping bag, and the basics to make a cup of tea. Everything fits into the back of my mini cooper.
When Gordon died 6 months ago, I became lost in my own grief. After the funeral there was nothing. The house closed in on me, even though it has 7 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, 10 acres of garden and meadows with glorious views over beautiful Wiltshire countryside. A few days later my best friend Olivia took me to lunch. We were talking about local goings on, avoiding the very real questions of what I was going to do now. As we were about to leave Olivia remembered something.
“We met a film producer the other day at the Smythes. They need to rent a house for their star actor for six months as soon as possible. They are filming in the area but the house they originally rented fell through. I said I would ask around. I know you can’t, but you wouldn’t know anyone would you? The money was amazing.” She mentioned the figure, it was eye watering.
One month later, having told my family I was going travelling, I handed over two sets of keys to the film producer. I provided her with the details of the housekeeper and other staff. l packed up my belongings, and Millicent, my 4 year old black Labrador and put them all into my brand-new Mini Countryman and left.
I had no idea where I was going to stay or where I was going. The first two nights I stayed in a luxury hotel in the Cotswolds. As I was wandering the streets I found myself looking into a camping shop. Memories began to stir in my grief laden mind.
That was five months ago. Now, I am enjoying the freedom. I can move on when I want to, stop where I want to, nobody tells me I should be enjoying the open air, nobody teaches me new skills and my brothers are at the end of the phone not throwing mud pies at me. I can scream at Gordon for dying, I can cry when I want to. I learnt which are the best camping mattresses and sleeping bags for a reasonable night's sleep. I have even upgraded my tent. I can enjoy my own company. Millicent can share my double sleeping bags, well two put together. Nobody tutts at me.
If it is too wet, I can book into the nearest dog friendly hotel, or one where I have always wanted. I can stop in the nearest town to buy some glad rags, get my hair done. I know how to merge into the surroundings of whichever luxury hotel I have chosen or has a vacancy.
For the next five nights I am Lympstone Manor. Nobody would know I was a homeless woman itinerant. I went into the local dress shops and stocked up. When I leave, I will donate them to the nearest charity shop, except the big fluffy jumper. The space in the car is far more important than the clothes. I make sure Millicent my 5-year-old black Labrador is spotless. She has enjoyed trying out new pooch parlours on our travels. She wears her best collar that I keep in the glove compartment. I will admit my brand-new Mini Countryman is no longer shiny and looks a little battered from my scrapes with gates, potholes, and rough terrain.
When I leave Lympstone I will only have one week left until I have to return to reality. I want to find an isolated spot for my last few nights of freedom.
The End
Looking back at my own experience of the grief of losing my soulmate it would have been nice to have taken off and to have been totally alone to process John’s death. But I couldn’t have afforded the luxury hotels, throwing my clothes away. Plus all the rabbits 🐇, foxes 🦊, badgers 🦡 and otters 🦦 would have stood by and had fun watching my ridiculous attempts at putting a tent ⛺️ up.
My way of dealing with grief was moving house and being over busy, burying emotions. In hindsight my way was not the right way. I am not saying my decisions were flawed nor wrong, but the tsunami hit me when the frantic busyness stopped 9 months later.
How do you deal with difficult emotions you need to process alone?
A continuation of my last post a journaling space.
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Oh Jo, I was reading this and wanted to go and sit with that lady in the tent, I got so engrossed I thought it was really you. I haven't had the terrible grief caused by the death of a partner but I am still struggling from the loss of my parents very close together in 2021 which sounds ridiculous when compared to the loss of a husband. We obviously all grieve so differently, despite what they say about those 5 stages of grief. Even once it has been accepted it never really goes away and that's OK as of course that person will always be in our hearts. If I ever win the lottery I promise I will give you the money to go and stay in that nice hotel. x I hope you have a lovely Easter weekend.
I don't think there is a wrong . . . or right . . . way to deal with grief. Even while stuffing it, we are dealing with it on some level. Perhaps setting up the ground work for the devastation to follow.
My soulmate didn't die. He left. And I had 3 kids to raise. I only allowed the pain to exist in a very small window when the kids weren't at home. It was excruciating and I was very thankful we had no neighbor on my bedroom side of the house. They probably would have called animal control thinking an animal was dying in there.
We do what we must to survive and survive you have. In your own way, on your own terms and in your own time. I admire and applaud you for taking steps to move on and move out of your cocoon into the scary world once again. 🫂