I hope I’m doing the right thing at the right time. It felt
good up at the antique mall today, to be in the presence of others who
understand the obsession of collecting. But handling Don’s collectibles and
remembering the where, when and how he got this or that might be hard. There
was always a story attached to each new acquisition.
Some people are clueless about why some of us amass a quantity of anything you can’t use. I have a relative who collects
advertising yard sticks because he likes the history behind the obsolete
businesses they came from. A friend of ours collects post cards because it’s a
way of learning geography. Another friend doesn’t collect anything older than
dust bunnies and very few of them because she’s a bit of a cleaning Nazi which
is why she doesn’t like having useless objects around. We are all so different.
And just as our collections are different, people collect for a variety of
reasons:
1) To bring back good childhood memories
2) To invest (hopefully) in something you enjoy looking at
3) To be an obsessed fan of all things related to a certain
topic
4) To have bragging right to having found something unique
5) To have fun---the thrill of the hunt
Don fell into the latter two categories of collectors. He
was an obsessed hunter who loved to story tell after the hunt was long over and
done. He could go into a flea market that covered acres and come out with
the tiniest things, like looking for a needle in a haystack. If he’d been a
caveman hunting for survival his family would not have starved to death. He was
a good hunter of things. Too good.
I feel over whelmed a lot since Don died. There’s so much to
do if I’m going to put myself in a position where I can downsize next year to a
smaller place. But any deadlines I have are all self imposed so they really
don’t count, do they. At least that’s what I keep telling myself in an attempt
to quell my sense of panic. What does count is that I’ve lost my sense of
purpose in life now that I’m no longer a wife and caregiver and I don’t think I
can get that back until I can move on to a life without all of Don’s stuff
weighting me down. As small as this mall project is going to be, I hope it’s a
step in the right direction. I don’t want this transitional period in my life to
become my sole purpose in life. I’m old and I have other things I want to do. ©
"I've lost my sense of purpose in life now that I'm no longer a wife and caregiver..." I'm still caring for my husband, but I relate to that so well. I hate the fact that caring seems to have become my purpose in life - and though I do it with love and devotion, part of me is also doing it grudgingly, I'm afraid. Perhaps because I'm 17 years younger than my husband and feel the end of my busier life has come too soon. Someone asked me what I'd do if or when my husband died. I said I'd sell up, buy a caravan (or trailer, in US parlance) and take off. I probably wouldn't do that, but it did seem an apt metaphor for the feeling of being trapped in a life I hadn't bargained for. But only another long-time carer could understand that feeling without thinking me cruel or loveless. I say: Get out there and chase some dreams.
ReplyDeleteI sure do know exactly what you mean. Family caregivers get trapped into a life not of their choosing. Even though it's done out of love it still stifles all our dreams. Hugs to you and thanks for the comment.
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