Devotion

I live in a new house now. I started moving over from the old side to the new about six weeks ago. I’d always had a deadline of 1st April as that’s when Tom, my lead builder, was free again to come back to the project. That also gave me enough time to complete the work on the new side, including installing a brand new, bespoke kitchen; plumbing in two bathrooms;  second fix electrics; carpet laying; buying, building and moving furniture into place; choosing lights and having two patio spaces built outside the new kitchen extension (when I say “complete the work” I mean I made sure it happened, not that I did more than a fraction of it myself!)

Somehow all of this work has happened on time, and I’ve actually been living over here fully for more than a week now. It has made a tremendous difference to my mental health. I feel like a different person. I had underestimated how challenging it was to be practically living in the room where Fiddian died. It was the only warm, comfortable space on that side of the house and so I was in there for more than half of every day over winter. I couldn’t look at the floor without seeing his body lying there. For the first few months I was actually glad to be in there – it made me feel closer to him. But as his presence began to elude me, I wished to be elsewhere. 

Coming over to this new side of the house is bittersweet. I have started cooking again – something I found myself unable to do in our old, cold kitchen. The kitchen was so much his space, and cooking so much his joy. I have found that joy again myself in our beautiful, light, glamorous new kitchen. He would have loved cooking in this room and the fact that he won’t get to experience it stabs me in the heart. But I do get to experience the joy, and I am finding my feet again now that I can easily reach the pans I need and see the ingredients laid out in my fridge and pantry.

The process of moving has been quite intense. Apart from some much needed help with heavy pieces of furniture I have moved every item myself. This has involved thousands of small journeys, a lot of lifting and sorting, trips to the charity shop and the dump, dusting, cleaning, tidying, arranging. Fiddian and I were together for fourteen years, and neither of us was young when we met. We therefore had accumulated a lot of stuff. We liked to socialise, to take part in sport, to cook, to entertain, to make art, to collect art, to experiment with technology, to garden, to build. All of these pursuits generated lots of possessions, most of which I have kept, because I intend to keep on doing all of the things we enjoyed, and to share my life with our children and friends when they come to stay here.

I had so many kind offers of help, but I decided early on that I wanted to do as much of it alone as I could. I was lucky to have those six weeks between jobs to fully focus on making the move, and apart from a half day here and there to get out and be social, I have worked every waking hour to get it done. I wanted to do it myself as a focused act of devotion to Fiddian and the life we built together. Through touching and moving each item I relived our entire relationship and the stories he had told me about his life before. Both the kids came down to help me sort through some of the more personal items like clothing and photos. We have all taken away items of his to wear and use. I’m particularly glad that Cyrus now rides his beloved bike and Orla has his treasured camera. I wear his clothes every day, and still find it odd that his trousers fit me so well and that the colours that suited his dark complexion also suit my fair one.

I have taken many of his treasures out of storage and put them on display, mixing them with my own. In the living room there is a Japanese lacquered box, covered in exquisite paintings. A gift given to Fiddian by a master craftsman he met on a trip to Japan. who presented it to him as an apology for having assumed that a digital artist couldn’t also be a craftsman. The box is so beautiful that Fidd always hid it away, but I like to have it out where it can be seen and admired. It sits on a lovely mid century chest of drawers that I bought from a local furniture restorer a few weeks ago. It’s something I would never have bought before I knew Fidd, but his taste and his eye have rubbed off on me over the years. I know not all of the choices I make would meet with his approval, but I think I get it close enough that he would be alright with the way I’m decorating the place.

Perhaps I shouldn’t care so much about what he would think. This is my life to lead now. But I like the fact that our tastes converged so much over the years – that part of him lives on through me. I am still struggling, and have begun to understand that I will struggle for a long time. Fiddian was my home, quite literally, and being without him makes me feel as though I am out on a makeshift raft in the midlle of a dark and angry ocean. I do not know what I want or where I will be or even, really, who I am anymore. Part of me died along with him and now I find myself reborn again, starting a new life in a new place.

As I write this I am not at home. I’m in Lisbon, navigating a new job and a new set of circumstances. I’m not leaving Cornwall, but my horizons have grown again. I’m no longer stuck in a cold and miserable room with awful memories, or confined to a giant house with many empty rooms. Life is large and awesome and terrible, and I am learning to live it in a new way. Wish me luck.