Parking the NHS/social care stuff tonight. No swears. Too weary. Just a reflection about home life and LB.
We had the big push very early on to sort out his room/belongings and stuff. Agonisingly painful, but the right thing to do. A new ‘order’; special, special memories in a trunk in our bedroom (the one that LB shared with Owen), other belongings in the loft. Sob.
But the order drifted pretty much straightaway. We’re hoarders. Well maybe I’m the hoarder, indulged by those around me. Memories, mementoes, pieces, delights, treasures, things/objects that have, in the last few months, taken on an aching symbolism. Countless handmade gifts from school; dusty gift boxes/candle holders, decorated with shells, buttons, mosaic. (Priceless) declarations of love, care, affection and thought.
New spaces are appearing. Spilling outside the chest and the loft. The ‘pupil of the week’ sheets (yes, yes, he had so many… what can I say? The dude was a dude and a half…), stacked up behind fridge magnets have been stored away carefully. But other things appear. Hornby figures from LB’s 18th birthday, almost a year ago now, are lined up by the computer where I work at home. With a rogue football figure from his team of ‘football guys’, a bus badge sent to us by someone who works with Rich, and a stack of DVDs/CDs of photos from school, school trips and home movies.
Preciousness. More ways of keeping our exceptional dude in our hearts and minds. I don’t know. I’m not sure how much we need these reminders to remember LB. But when I think this, I weep. And continue to enjoy looking at the quirky reminders, of a quirky dude. Magnified.