Passing on stuff

Dusk is falling again. I am not doing too badly. I walk through parks, visit galleries, have coffee with friends. For now all is leading to the memorial which will happen on 17 November. I am trying to take it a bit easy. Spread things out. I am still doing stints of passing things on. Yesterday somebody came to collect the two bottles of Eau de Toilette KS ordered in May. This was in a phase of nausea and he was hoping some nice scent would somehow help him through all of that. One sniff of each of the bottles was enough and they have been sitting on a shelf since. Until I posted them on TrashNothing. There was a lot of interest in these bottles. Today someone will come for a bag of clothes hangers. And another one for an oral irrigator. So much stuff to pass on. Most of Kamalashila’s books will get a home in the library of a newly required retreat centre. They will go into storage nearby tomorrow. They are now sitting in boxes in the hallway. It will be good to know they are safely on their way.

Two friends came a few days ago. The day after the ashes had arrived home. They asked to sit in KS’s room for a few minutes. I felt quite moved. It really stirred something up. There are these moments that draw out grief. Today I received a letter from the council about KS’s blue badge. They said it needed to be destroyed immediately. This is a badge that allows you to park anywhere for free. It is for disabled people. KS had applied for it earlier this year at the instigation of a friend. He received it and was absolutely delighted. It suited him to the ground to be able to park just near the Tate Modern, for instance. And he was so excited as well about the permission to drive into streets where you are normally are not allowed to go. What a joy that was for him. It is a pity he didn’t use it that much, because he stopped driving after he received his diagnosis. And of course he also had given his car away. After the revised diagnosis end July he started looking for cars again. Maybe he could still drive if he was going to get better. But of course this didn’t happen. And there I was, thinking about all of this as I was cutting the blue badge into many pieces. I cried because all his delight had permanently gone.

Clothes hangers of diverse shapes and sizes, all with a different history, carrying different garments. All memories that have been forgotten.
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Categorised as bereaved