Memories and triggers...

 

I was just reading a post from one of the pages I follow. It is a page about grief and I find so many of their posts to be really helpful. They remind me that what I feel is normal and okay. Today, one of the posts talked about triggers, about those sights or smells or sounds that take one back in time to a moment that is either incredibly happy or painfully sad. I commented that, for me, it more often a song or classical piece that triggers the tears. 

I can listen to most of Chris' favourite songs or classical pieces without becoming inconsolable. I often listen to Satie's "Gymnopedié 1" - the piece his daughter Lucy played at the memorial service - and remember the evenings Chris and I would sit in the living room listening to music and just enjoying being in each other's company. I can listen to music from the Afro Celt Sound System or Moby, both whom were introduced to me by Chris, and can sometimes get through it with dry eyes. The only piece I can't listen to in its entirety because of what feels like bottomless sorrow is Ralph Vaughn William's "A Lark Ascending." One time when Chris and I were listening, I told him that the piece reminded me of him. It is such a quintessentially English piece. The thought of a lark ascending always sends my mind to the South Downs in his native Sussex. I picture him standing there in the beautiful countryside, his smile spread across his face and his eyes twinkling. Chris loved our lives in Scotland, but he was a son of Sussex and remained so for his entire life. That is why half of his ashes are scattered at Charleston Farmhouse in Sussex - his favourite place in his favourite place. 

When we scattered his ashes, we played some pieces of music that we didn't include during the memorial service. We played Tedeshci Trucks Band's "Midnight in Harlem" and Simply Red's "Fairground." I can listen to those pieces, too. They make me smile, remembering how much he loved these pieces. But still, there is a sadness behind my smile, because I can't enjoy the music fully without him sat beside me.

There are some things I've made sure to put in a place they would be if he were still here. His favourite suede hat hangs next to the front door and his dressing gown still hangs next to mine. I will never remove them, no matter how many years pass by. That is where they belong, where they will always belong. I have his blue Mexican Baja hoodie and some of his favourite t-shirts. I still have the suit we bought him for Callie's wedding. I can't part with them. I just can't. I wear his wedding band, some of his ashes are in a pendant around my neck. His face can be found in frames around my apartment. Not in a weird "shrine" way, but just in a way that says "I belong here."

In a way, I welcome triggers. I find the tears cathartic and helpful in releasing the sadness that lives inside my heart. As I've said so many times before, I accept that sadness and know it is the price I pay for having loved and been loved so completely and unconditionally. It seems a more than fair exchange.

I've been continuing with work on Chris' photographs, trying to get them into the right format and size so that they can be downloaded for use in prints or canvases. In addition, my apartment is having its first year end inspection on Tuesday. That means I can start with all the changes. Very exciting. And it means I can hang up all my artwork, so much of which is part of the life Chris and I created together. 


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