Feeling Weird

One of the reasons that I started writing this blog was because I felt that it would be cathartic, and this week I feel more in need of some form of release for my feelings than I have for some time, because last Friday I sold my late Mother's house and it has affected me a great deal more than I expected that it would.

My Mother died at the start of the year. I wouldn't say that it was either expected nor that it came as a total shock. Ever since about this time last year I had felt that Mum was not quite her normal self; "slightly off her game" was the way I described it. Largely I put it down simply to the fact that she was getting older, but she seemed to have lost a lot of her enthusiasm for life; in short she had lost interest in things, in life itself.

Mum came to us for Christmas dinner and although she was fairly subdued, she seemed to be a little more like her old self, telling us some things she intended doing in the New Year. She ate fairly well but went home quite early as she was feeling tired. A few days passed after Christmas and we had had no contact, which was not uncommon; we didn't live in each other's pockets and Mum was often out at the shops or at the church, so when I phoned and got no answer I wasn't unduly concerned. That was until we got a call asking if Mum was Ok as some of her friends had not seen her for a few days and she hadn't been answering the phone. We went to Mum's house and I admit to having an uneasy feeling as I opened the front door.

Mum was lying in the hall and clearly she was dead, from a heart attack it later proved and blessedly her passing must have been swift; the evidence suggested that she didn't suffer, for which I am grateful. Of course a sudden death like this, in the home and when not under specific treatment, adds to the bureaucracy that surrounds someone's passing, and the first few weeks of the New Year were spent dealing with administration.  From getting the Death Certificate to arranging the funeral; from notifying the utility companies to making sure the house was secure, anyone who has had to deal with a death in the family will tell you that there is often little time to grieve as you are too busy with practical issues.

Funerals are something of a watershed. Although it was a day when, on one level, I felt that I was saying goodbye to my Mother, I knew it was still nearer the start of the grieving process than the end. Research by the Sue Ryder charity has been published that suggests that people grieve on average for two years, one month and four days after losing a loved one, or, for those without any support, an additional eight months, three weeks and five days on average. The danger with this sort of research is that people can take it too literally and feel that once these deadlines have been reached they will be better. In my experience, and I am certain I am not alone, the grieving process itself is not linear, we progress and then we go back. We may take two steps forward then one step back because although many people say time is a healer, it only heals if we help it to.

Time passed and dealing with the practical aspects of settling Mum's affairs I had neither the opportunity, nor to some extent, the cause, to feel too upset.  Although it was odd in the extreme to go to Mum's house, to clean, tidy, dispose of furniture, sort through effects, get rid of her clothes, empty the shed, keep the lawn mown and generally keep the place in order while the estate agents were marketing it, it helped to be busy. Practical matters take the mind off the emotions.

Almost immediately that the house was put on the market, we had an offer; two in fact. A first time buyer (with mortgage) and a cash buyer. We plumped for the latter, which promptly fell through when local searches revealed that the council would not permit the conversion of the property for multiple occupancy. On reflection I was actually quite glad about that. Mum's neighbours had always been really good to her, and were supportive after her death; I didn't think it would be very nice for them to have a HMO (Home in Multiple Occupancy) next door.

A couple of other false starts and then we seemed to be proceeding quite nicely with a sale, again to a first time buyer, so no chain. This suggested that once things got to a certain point, there would be no need for a month between exchange and completion; I expected a week but because I've never been in this situation before, the call I had from the agents asking if we could exchange and complete the very next day threw me into a state of panic. On one hand I was reluctant to agree as there was still some residual tidying and cleaning to do, but equally disinclined to refuse in case something happened to cause the deal to fall through. In the end I agreed and spent a few hours finishing off and leaving the house in a fit state for its new owners. A few items that I couldn't work out what to do with now reside in my garage pending a decision.

And that was when I began to feel distinctly weird. While the house was unsold, a part of my Mum was still with me. Once it had gone, the final cord had been cut, the final link with Mum had gone. On a rational, logical level she has been gone since the turn of the year, but now the house had gone I felt that I missed her more than ever.  The sale of the house seems much more strange, more unsettling, than any other I've been involved with. Possibly because I didn't live there, didn't have to move out, I'm finding it difficult to come to terms with the fact that the house is now nothing to do with me, that I don't have to go round and do something tomorrow, or the day after. And now there's no one to go and talk to about things that the family are up to. Mum's not there to talk to on the phone, or to listen to about what's going on in her life, or at church.

I'm by no means unique in having to face up to a death in the family, by no means unusual in having to deal with the death of a parent, and it isn't as though I haven't had to deal with a sudden death of someone very close to me before, it's just that this time I am finding it harder to deal with than I expected. I've been looking through some old photos, and there's a strange thing, the photo albums I remember from my childhood were nowhere to be found when we cleared Mum's house. Some old pictures remain, found stuffed in envelopes, but some I distinctly remember, particularly Mum in a polka dot dress on her honeymoon to Jersey in 1955, have vanished. I miss them and I miss her.