On Your Own Cocker

I Stood outside this front door and watched as they carried Mum away. Her tiny fragile body lay inside a body bag that somehow seemed far too big for her. She looked so small. So precious. It didn’t seem possible that the woman who had once held her entire family together could fit inside something so lifeless.

The private ambulance disappeared down the road. Everyone slowly left. The house fell silent. I closed the front door, and it felt as though every bit of life had left with them. The air inside the house was different. Heavy, silent, dark and unfamiliar.

I walked into the front room and just stood there. Only hours earlier this room had a purpose, and in the same way it was the room that kept my mum trapped. I knew she was free now but I felt empty, lost and emotionless.

I stripped her bed, packed away her equipment. Partly because it needed doing, but mostly because I wanted the house to feel more normal for my children. I wanted them to walk passed the room without being constantly reminded of what had just happened.

Every sheet I took off her bed felt like another goodbye. When I finished, I sat on the end of her bed, looking out of the window which had been her view for 2 years and started thinking..

What do I do now?

How does life worked without you?

Who do I call when I need a chat?

What happens next?

Nobody prepares you for home deaths. When you’ve spent years caring for someone, every day has structure. Every day has meaning. Then, in a single morning, all of that disappears!

As the days passed, I realised it wasn’t just mum’s room that changed. Every room in the house felt different. The kitchen wasn’t a kitchen anymore. It was where we shared recipes, laughed, cried and danced. The garden wasn’t simply a garden. It was Dad’s unfinished projects, his greenhouse, his hard work and the life he had poured into his home.

Every corner carried a memory. Beautiful and heartbreaking.

Looking around the house, I noticed all the jobs that Dad never had the chance to finish. Small repairs. Maintenance. Things he had tried to get time and energy to do but never did.

Something inside me knew exactly what to do. Because this was my way of honouring them.

Since then we’ve painted, wallpapered, repointed outside walls, fixed the kitchen roof, deep cleaned and re potted Dad’s plants. Every brush stroke, weed pull and repair done. I was saying ‘ I’ve got it now Dad. You can rest.’

Then the probate valuations. That was another kind of grief all together. People walking round the house, measuring rooms, discussing prices and talking market value. They saw a property with value. I saw my parents, birthdays, Christmas mornings, laughter, tears, and years of memories. How do you put a price on that?

Now I find myself living in a strange place between the past and the future. This house no longer feels like a home in the way it once did, yet I can’t move forward until probate is complete. The hardest part is knowing I have put myself in this situation.

When Mum and Dad needed me more, I gave up my own life. I could of gone travelling which was always been the plan. I choose to give it all up to care for the them. I left behind my independence, my routines, and the future I thought I was building, because their was no one else to do it. It was always going to be me, and deep down I think I always knew that. It was never a sacrifice, it was love and anything I had built, I had time to rebuild.

When each day was over, other family members could go home. This was my home. This is where I stayed. This was where I cared for them through the day and through the night. Now they’re gone, I’m still here.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be clinging on to the past. Probate has left me living in a house that no longer feels like the home it once was, surrounded by memories while my own future sits quietly on hold.

It’s a strange feeling to give up your life for the people you love, only to find yourself feeling trapped in the very place you fought so hard to keep your Mum’s wishes granted.

People often think grief is about missing the person. Sometimes it’s also about loosing the place where your story was written. where it all started. Because a childhood home isn’t just bricks and mortar. It’s the backdrop to your entire life. And when that changes….

A big part of you changes too.