Spring

The view from my window changes – what was clear and open a few weeks ago is now dense with a myriad of fresh green shapes and forms. Young leaves wiggle in the wind and tall green shoots rise to meet them, disguising my view of the field beyond. Occasionally a black and white cow ambles into one of the tiny patches of field I can still see, surprising me. The other day I saw a grey squirrel fighting off an aggressive magpie, high in the branches of the beech tree.

So too my grief changes. The pain which was piercing and insistent at the start of May is now a dull ache that I struggle to feel at times. I still burst into tears at odd and inappropriate moments, but I also spend long periods of time with my mind pleasantly empty. Yesterday the dogs and I went to walk on the cliffs at St Materianas and to visit his grave. The sun was out and I lay on the turf on top of him, whispering news of the week’s events. “I finally learned how to sharpen your Japanese kitchen knife,” I tell him, proudly. Up there there is no escape from the weather. Usually it is blowing a gale. But for the past few weeks the sun has bathed everything, warming the soil around and above him from day break to sun down. I like to think some of that warmth reaches his cold bones, even though I know it doesn’t matter.

It is an extremely odd feeling, to lie on the warm grass above the body of your spouse, but I wonder if it is more common than you’d think. What else are graveyards for, but to commune with the ones you miss? And they are often empty, because the ungrieving, sensibly, tend to stay away. I have been reading Norwegian Wood, by Murakami. And there is a line in there about how, once you properly encounter death, you realise that it is part of everyday life, not an event to be “put off” until a later date. I think somehow I have started to integrate death into daily life, and that makes it less agonising. I suppose another word for this is “acceptance”.

There are little joys, daily. The iris next to the pond are in bloom, adding a needed dash of yellow to the green. Perennials that were miniscule are begining to develop some muscle, and with that a structure is coming to the walled garden and I can see that I am starting to become an ornamental gardener, not just a vegetable grower. meanwhile my greenhouse and veg beds are full, and I can return daily to eating plants that I have grown myself. I feel the benefits of this immediately. I cut the cabbage from the ground, give it the lightest steam, and eat it straight away. Something happens in the doing of this that makes one feel immeasurably better.

The house, too, is taking shape around me and starting to assume its intended form. Rooms are framed out, skylights revealed, pipes routed and floors laid. There is still a long way to go, but we are well over three quarters there, now. I have even started to think about the next phase of building, which will involve restoring the old annexe on the side of the house. My new job means some money is coming in to stem the tide of building expenses a little. Meanwhile my outgoings have shrunk. One mouth to feed is cheaper than two, and I don’t feel the need to eat out so much.

I am being sociable though. Last weekend I took myself clubbing in Bristol. This weekend I had a barbeque for some of my closest neighbours. Little steps back into the normal world. But still I find that I am liking being mostly by myself. There is a calmness and a peacefulness to it. I miss the blaring music, the silly jokes and the constant liveliness of his presence, but I am also enjoying this new stillness and quiet, which allows me to hear the leaves and the birds.