The Cleaver

A bit of writing about being neurodivergent, disabled, ethnic and a widow in Wales.

Kate Cleaver

And it is over… Finally, the extension is finished, bar the decoration, and I can do what I want with the house. No more inspections or holding my breath in storms. Everything is complete and watertight. No more drips and leaks. No more stress. But that means I have taken a step toward ‘the goal’.

Have you seen the movie on Netflix now? “Arthur the King” is a cute true story about a dog who helps a group of racers, think extreme cross country that takes days. This pup, called Arthur, is so like my dog. Padric even has a scar across his back the same as Arthur. But both dogs have come from the most awful circumstances, and both have shown they are simply wanting to help. Sometimes I over focus and become distracted. This means I miss the cooker timer or my pill alarm. Padric has started to ‘tell’ me when it happens. He will get up and push my leg with his nose, telling me something needs my attention.

Alarms

Did you know that in Wales the fire fighters offer a free service that lets them come out and test your fire alarms? Distressingly it turned out that I had none working. While the large red engine with a full team sat outside, ready to spring into action if there was a 999 call, a lovely pair walked through my home and fitted 3 alarms and one heat sensor. The last of which they placed above the toaster but said it would alarm to heat and not smoke. Luckily this has not gone off, despite me burning the crumpets this morning. I told them about my pup and the fact that he alerts me to alarms and they were impressed.

I then told them he had only been with me just over four months, and he was a rescue, and they were surprised. They watched as he looked on curiously as he tested the alarms, on him not barking or running away. He looked to me for a reassurance at the first harsh cry, but I simply told him it was good, and he stood strong. I have never had a dog like him and to tell you the truth he has saved my life more than once. Since Roland has died, I have stood with my toes hanging over the edge of a cliff of dark and thought about simply closing my eyes and falling forward but every time Padric has pulled me back. He has insisted that we change and live for us.

Grief

That brings me to the goal. Up until recently I have known that I needed to move but there is now more substance to it. Grief is a strange thing; to lose your partner, you lose your safety and world, so finding a goal is a huge thing. It isn’t a massive goal. If Roland were here, he would probably think my plans were awful, but then he was all about music and people and laughter under strobe lights. Me, well I am about nooks and books, gardens filled with berries and soft light from the sun. Crisp mornings and crunchy leaves. I am going to change the cityscape to a rural scape. Buildings will be replaced with mountains and trees. I will be closer to my parents and my sister, and my life will be quieter.

The goal is within an arm reach, and I am scared. Not to quibble but I am simply scared. I find myself stopping the final tasks because I fear the unknown. I could stay. It would be a life I couldn’t fill 100% but maybe 80% is good enough. Except for a promise.

“You must live and not just survive,” Roland said.

He had assumed that it would mean I carry on our life without him, except that I am not the me I was with him. I am quieter and tread lighter on the world. I want to disappear and create but I don’t feel right here. It is our home, and so very loved, but I need to find my own place. I need to live with my grief and find laughter in the small things. What my future will look like I am not sure, but I can guarantee there will be jam making and bread making and music, but it will be done in a place that gives me space and quiet air to breathe.

Despite the fear I am going to finish those final things that will mean I can get the house on the market. And I will find a cottage where Padric can enjoy with the garden and a room I can turn into a place I can create in. And I will live as I promised, perhaps not what Roland would have expected but where I will find peace and a little laughter. I want a log burner and a kitchen big enough to create a Sunday roast in.

I think that grief is hardest because you must make decisions by yourself for yourself. You must think how to be the best you can be, even if that best is a slightly odd author and artist living in a small town with a smart white dog. You can’t feel guilty, and you must let go the life you had with your partner and find your own truth. But if you can then who knows what will happen. My future is not known because I am choosing to change because of a promise I made.