Packing Memories

Life lesson: Memories will stay with us forever. Focus on the good memories.

I had a problem with a sprinkler valve, which I finally got working after I don’t know how many hours and frustrations. I did get to know the check-out girls at the hardware store and they all loved the dog when I took her.

Now I can get back to packing. I am scheduled to leave in three days and I still have a lot to do. The house gets cleaned out, and all of the food that has a chance to spoil or explode has to go. I usually eat everything down, but this time I didn’t seem able to do that. I just kept gathering more and more food that had to be packed and moved. At least I won’t have to shop for a while at my summer house.

This is another difficult time. It is close to my wife’s death day. This time last year was spent in seeing her deteriorate. I can’t get the images out of my mind. She was so frightened. She didn’t know me or the house.

Then she fell and broke her hip. She had to endure surgery and rehab, where she didn’t receive adequate pain intervention, where I couldn’t fix things for her.

This is the house we returned to from out-of-state, where we had been living for many years. We returned to the town where we met, where we fell madly in love and where we began our long, devoted lives to each other. How it hurts to not have her here.

While packing, I pick up some of her things, which sends me into a spasm of grief. Again, it leaves me so weak I can hardly stand. It upsets the dog. I can’t totally dispose of her things, the funny little things that she cherished. I can't pack them all. It feels like I am leaving a part of her behind. It is unbearable.

Last year I packed and left shortly after her death. I was too numb to notice much. This year, I noticed everything, even though I have come to terms with the fact that she’s no longer here. How could she not be here? She was always here for 50 years of our lives. That loss has created a void.

I have to keep busy, although I find when I overdo and get tired, the grief is ready to emerge at the slightest provocation. It feels so unfair for her to leave me behind, to leave me vulnerable.

I can find relief at some of her antics, even when she was very ill. I can smile at her sneaking over to the neighbors for a cup of coffee and returning with a big grin on her face, knowing that she pulled it off even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the house without me.

I can remember how she discovered a shortcut home with the car when she was still driving, when she was first becoming ill.

I remember how to fix a picture I was working on, she just took it and did magic with her hands.

I remember how she laughed and did high-fives with her caretakers, even during her final days.

I remember how she always thanked me, and everyone else who did anything for her.

I remember how she was never cross or unkind during her illness. She was not mean and hateful, as I understand many Dementia victims are.

I remember how she readily gave up driving when her doctor told her she was a hazard to our finances if she was ever in an accident, whether it was her fault or not.

I remember how she loved playing poker and had to stop when she couldn’t remember the cards.

I remember how much she gave up, such a vibrant, multi-talented woman, with her illness.

And more than anything else, I remember how much I lost when it was her time to go.

I have to pack. Along with the boxes, I pack my memories. She goes with me. Always.

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Photo Credit: © 2023 Rachel Gareau