Selfish sadness

Sat here listening to R.E.M. opposite a photo of a smug looking Paul I am reminded that he it was who came home with Murmur and that was my first taste of R.E.M. We had tickets to see them in Hyde Park on the Saturday after the Thursday when a group of evil Islamics blew up trains and a bus in London. Never did get to see them.

To even consider that not seeing R.E.M. was sad compared to real sadness is a travesty but its roots lie in selfishness. I'd have loved to see R.E.M. in Hyde Park but in the scheme of things it's insignificant.

With Paul's diagnosis the sadness was overwhelming and unrelenting. It still is.
Emotionally thoughts run about out of control but eventually there comes a point when you find yourself focused on me. How am I going to cope without him?

Cue a mass of guilt and a spell of more disordered thought. You consider what you can do for his wife and son, his sister, his mum and then you're  back at me. Who will I ask about, who will help me do, who will sort the computer,  the stereo and so it goes on. And the guilt becomes unbearable.

Then you get to the point when you realise that the depth to which his suffering affects you is a mark of how deeply you loved him. The fear, apprehension, reality of his loss is a mark of how closely your lives were entwined, how you depended on him for so much. Advice. Knowledge. Alternatives. Options.

This summer I redecorated this room and that meant disassembling the stereo. The main components are over twenty years old. The only component I've set up is the record deck. Everything else was put together by Paul. I knew what I wanted, he'd advise about cabling especially. He had a thing about cabling things up. Just as well for a network designer, implementer, administrator.

Under the pre amp there was a diagram of connections and a note to leave it alone. I couldn't, didn't and after a few false starts the noise from the right bit comes from the right place.

The computer, too I had to format c as he used to say and do a clean install. I did that last summer. Last time I did it was Windows 95 and Lotus Smartsuite. But it works. Sort of.

Getting by while his smug grin looks at me from a wooden frame in the hearth. He'd appreciate the music.

Now I'm getting bouts of guilt again. A continuation with a twist. For years every time I bought anything I'd run it past him to make sure that he was happy about it reasoning that eventually half would be his. That's why I had two record decks.

I liked the idea that when I bought some all singing all dancing Bosch professional goodness, or a bike, or whatever eventually it would end up being at his disposal. Maybe his sister wants a Bosch 550W oscillating saw. Maybe not. Probably doesn't want a large Specialized Crosstrail push bike either. He wouldn't have wanted a Brompton so there's a degree of redress and balance.

It hurts to have to think about who will put the tools to best use. I hope Paul's sisters partner is handy. Our grandson is a bit young to use such tools and by the time he can he'll probably do it with an app.

Selfish thoughts, again. Overwhelming and unrelenting sadness. But not despair. Peace abounds and occasionally there are wisps of joy like listening to R.E.M. streamed from the server upstairs and sounding utterly fabulous. That's part of his legacy to me.

Wish I could have left him mine.
Back to thinking about me again.