The Cleaver

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

Kate Cleaver

This last month has been so busy. One last push and I have finished as much of the house as I have been capable of. My body must cope with a long-term illness, and I have simply run out of fitness. Sounds odd, but anyone who lives with chronic pain knows that there is a point where you start to break down.

It started a month ago and I ignored it. Amazing how much will-power can override warning signs. You simply carry on moving because you have to.

It reminds me that last year Roland and I went to Greenwich to go to our son’s graduation. It was a fantastic weekend, and we were about three days in when we decided to stand on the Greenwich mean timeline.

I had been doing around ten to fifteen thousand steps a day and that day I was in pain, not surprising as that is way over what I normally do. But I wanted to go. So, with stick in hand, we set off up a hill, not very steep but incredibly long. It was beautiful.

Paintings

The trees had grown in a way you see in paintings and romantic movies. The path was filled with people and yet it was open and calm. You could smell the country in the air rather than the city and the tube stations. Everything was green and after days of grey, the green was so bright and vibrant.

Oddly, although the height of summer, when I think about that time, I feel that it is autumn. May have had something to do with the weather which was windy and somehow reminded me of a warm autumn day rather than summer.

Still, I was too hot when we reached the top of the hill. I started crying halfway up. It was just so painful. It felt like every joint was filled with glass and it was terrifying to take the next step and know that I needed to feel that pain all the way to the end of the journey.

It happens a lot in my life. If I stayed in the ‘no pain’ place I would basically not move much past a few steps a day. My ability to push the pain aside, through tears, if necessary, has allowed me to have an active life.

That day though I had no idea it would be the last time Roland, and I would visit London together. If I had I wouldn’t have changed anything.

I would have cried up that hill and taken a photo at the top looking down on the city, I would have looked at the Greenwich line and posed for the photos. I lived that day as well as I could, and my husband was beside me in every step. Yes, it hurt, and yes it was traumatic in a way, but goodness it was a great day.

Push

I guess it is how I live. I push all the time. That is how I have finished the house and got it on the market. It is also how I am looking for the next. There are a few houses that are on the market that meet what I need. Two in particular.

One hasn’t been touched in its layout since it was built; outside ty bach, coal bunker and old-style shelved pantry.

The other is finished, it has heat source and solar panels and is perfect. Created and designed by an artist I don’t think I have seen a more beautiful house. It is tiny though. I would have to sell half my furniture to fit in, and possibly downsize my dog and his toys. Beautiful but not what I’m looking for.

If anything, the death of my husband and having to finish the house has made me realise that I can do more than I ever imagined.

With Roland I thought I had managed to exceed my own expectations, looking after a house and him, running the business and getting my PhD. Then he died and I was left alone.

At first, as always happens, family rally and you are not left alone. You are protected but slowly people go back to their lives.

Responsibility

I was asked if I wanted to go back to the smallholding and I declined. I mean it would have been easy – I would have given up responsibility – but that wouldn’t have been living, not in the sense I had with Roland. I need to push and climb the hill, even if I cry as I do it, because I can guarantee that the view from the top will be breathtaking.

So, when it comes to houses, I am not looking for perfection or even ease. What I want is the house that I can bend into what I want. Even if that means moving a bathroom and putting an extension on. I need a place that can be mine near my family. A place enough in the country that I can feel the connection with nature. Something that makes me feel closer to Roland.

Walking is something we loved to do, I have so many pictures of us near mountains, beaches, woodland and grassland.

Now I feel like he walks with me wherever I go. Part of me hopes that he will understand the house choice but mostly I don’t think he will care if I am happy.

So, I guess I will look again at the semi with its original layout and decide which walls to move. Maybe it will work and maybe it won’t but one thing I can guarantee is that I will try.

I do know that the business will carry on and I will keep writing, no matter what occurs to my living arrangements.

Now, I just to find space to get the canvases put and throw some paint around. I will get there, and I will get to a space where I can write and make art.

And I know when I do, even once I move, my husband will be with me. Probably looking over my shoulder and trying to point out grammar and spelling problems.