I am a widower. What does that mean?
Yes, of course. Once I was with wife; her death has left me wifeless. But might it be more than that? If I’ve thought about the word widower at all in the past I’ve imagined a condition: a man subjected to change, no longer whole, inevitably forlorn, wearing shabby clothes, tending to shun community, disappearing into a dwelling that is in itself anonymous, reading yesterday’s newspaper, rootling for food on the Reduced shelves. Walking down the street with eyes seemingly fixed on the horizon yet seeing nothing.
Just a minute! you say. It’s nothing like that. Fine, bugger off and write your own post. But see if you can avoid clichés. Leave me to my imagination, and to the unexpected.
Weeks ago I met a widow walking her dog. Her talk was articulate. Knowing that, for Veronica, there would be no funeral I asked the widow what was her experience of her husband’s funeral. Overwhelming tiredness, she said. See! Articulacy had caused her to think and to come up with a response that was conversationally non-instinctive yet immediately persuasive.
Veronica and I shared a number of beliefs and enthusiasms. But there were also differences, some quite radical. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I needed to be married to an individual not a female mirror-image of my inadequate self. As I mentioned earlier, during our poverty period we argued, often quite viciously.
The photo shows a Welsh dresser, an antique gift from my father, it's very old, probably worth a lot. I’ve never liked it. I’m not sure if Veronica liked it but she saw it as an opportunity to display a set of cups and saucers which had passed through her family over the years. This crockery is old but without value; it was acquired pre-war, a prize in a newspaper competition, and was treasured because prizes are rare in most lives. For Veronica it had a sentimental attachment.
She and I read a hell of a lot. Shelved books prevail in all the rooms including the downstairs loo. (“Why”, asked one of our guests, “did you think Anatomy for Nurses was appropriate?” Argumentatively I’d characterise that as an open goal.) The Welsh dresser is in the dining room, an under-used facility when we were a couple, even less so now. I’d love to get rid of the dresser and devote the whole of the wall behind to a monster bookshelf. Showing off, you say. Probably, I respond.
Veronica no longer lives here. The change could not harm her and I’m in need of a little indulgence. What do widowers do?
Do it. Why the hell not? Veronica isn't going to argue with you or be hurt, cups and saucers don't define your life, and it's your house now. Besides, you both liked to read, it's not like books were only your thing.
ReplyDeleteBeth: Wow, a birthday-present from over-the-seas despite the fact that August is long past.
DeleteWelcome back Beth. For those who are newer to Tone Deaf, Beth was singing with a Montreal (?) cathedral choir in 2016 when I decided to take singing lessons and she offered me lots of hard-nosed on-line encouragement and assistance during those early days. She may be the only TD commenter capable of recognising the significance of the fact that given 75% of Schöne Müllerin has been more or less digested (it only took three years) I am now flirting with Das Wirtshaus, a subsidiary indication of greater ambition.
As to Beth's recommendation that I go for books (see above) I appreciate the suggestion and see it as a rational solution of my situation. But there's the rub. I'm a widower and although the allusion to that state (again see above) is predominantly phantasmagoric there are wisps of truth therein. Notably that, these days, my way of thinking is not wholly governed by firm logic. There is a post-mortem aftermath of gratitude that must be considered and the only way this can be handled is via emotional rather than factual thinking. Veronica has no tombstone and I am the main custodian of how she will be remembered. Yes, books were important to both of us and that's a recognisable truth. But her attachment to the cups and saucers may - to others - seem indefensible, even pathetic; but it says something about her that needs to be preserved. Thus, the fate of the Welsh dresser rests in limbo... for the moment, at least.
You should do whatever makes you happy in your new life but before you get rid of your wife’s possessions you could ask family and friends if they would like to have something first.
ReplyDeleteMy dad systematically got rid of many of Mum’s belongings from the house after she died, without a word to anyone else, and there were things I would have loved to have. Nothing valuable (she was not a wealthy woman), just ordinary things.
Jean: Veronica's possessions have already required careful consideration. Both my daughters have helped; the best of her clothes have gone to the hospice shop in Hereford, a larger portion to the Salvation Army. There is, however, a red coat (reputedly expensive) which I feel I must hang on to. But what about things like cooking utensils which I will never use, surplus bed linen, and the painting impedimenta she used in her art class. Perhaps when the weather warms up it will be easier to make decisions.
ReplyDeleteI’m so glad you have done all that. My father just chucked everything away. I would have loved to have some of her old cooking utensils, some were from my grandmother’s time. He thought he didn’t need them so binned them.
DeleteAll of those things you mention would be welcomed at a charity shop. You could try selling the coat (or maybe your daughters could) on something like “Vinted”.
If S and M don't want anything else, then I would honestly say to get the bookcase. I had to fight dad to be able to get some of mum's things because he was determined to sell everything to the highest bidder.... (Q'uelle surprise I hear you murmur) Anyway, 'books' are what I think of when I remember the two of you, whilst visiting LC.. a huge bookcase in the front room, right next to where I sat, full of new literary adventures...absolute bliss.
ReplyDeleteAnon: I had to call up S to decode your abbreviation LC; Linden Crescent seems so distant now, we left there in 1978. As to huge bookcases, a quick guess now suggests that books and their storage have quintupled during the intervening 48 years. Re. the Welsh dresser, plans are now in motion and I hope to post an update in a week or two. Getting rid of 750 CDs (all classical, the contents transferred to a 33 GB chip the size of a postage stamp) represents the next logistics problem.
DeleteSee if the girls or grands want any of it, then get rid of it. I'd keep the globe, though.
ReplyDelete