Finding Peace

I am starting to like what I come home to now, after I've been out and about — which is peace. 

For a long time I missed what I used to come home to: the warmth of his presence here. But the months have passed, and I guess I'm adjusting. After he died, for a long time I came home to his absence — and, simultaneously, a house full of his vividly remembered presence. The memories accentuated the actuality of loss. It was only today that I noticed myself feeling peace on entering my home.

I have made it my home now, in various ways — new furniture and household appliances as needed, a rearrangement of some rooms, and new routines becoming new habits. It's nice.  It suits me. 

And I am further away now from the way things used to be. Time has done that. The last year of his life was particularly intense in terms of caring for him. He started seeing the geriatric specialist; it became necessary to put some respite care in place, because he could no longer be left alone safely; he had to use the wheely walker at all times, even around the house; and I managed a complex regime of blood tests and medications which he could no longer manage himself. But now another year has passed, in which none of those things happened, and so I arrive at this new state. 

'He was a lovely man,' people still say about him, and indeed he was. I will never have again that warmth he brought to our home, even in his decline, just by being here and being who he was — but I am thankful to have peace.