Charity Begins At Home, Chapter 2 – Richard
Richard sat on the bed, staring at the contents of the open wardrobe.
It was still full of his late wife’s extensive (and expensive!) clothing collection and he had not had the energy or will to get rid of them. He should probably sell most of the clothes to a dress agency but he didn’t know how to go about it and it seemed demeaning to make money out of her belongings.
He and Eleanor had had a long and sometimes difficult marriage. Yes, they had loved each other in the beginning, perhaps she loved him more than he loved her, but it had been good to start with. Lots of fun, laughter, good sex, marvellous companionship; when had it started to go wrong? Perhaps after the first miscarriage, when he had been less than sympathetic – it had been very early in their marriage and he had been terrified when she had told him that she was pregnant; money was tight and he was still making his way up the corporate ladder in the financial sector.
Anyway, she had miscarried after 3 months of being sick every day and he was selfishly glad to get back to a tidy house and a cooked meal when he got home at night. When he tried to talk to her about it, she had shrugged him off and he hadn’t persevered – that’s when it had slowly started to erode their closeness, even their friendship. She had never denied him sex but seemed to endure it instead of joining in, so he spent long hours at work or watching late night TV so that he wouldn’t have to ask and see that look on her face.
Something had changed and she had actively encouraged him back into the bedroom! She was soon pregnant again and this time it did not worry him quite so much, although he wasn’t over-enthusiastic. However, the same thing happened again and he was trying to cope with a distraught wife at home, a demanding life at work. Unfortunately, work won – not as difficult to deal with as the emotional maelstrom at home. Although, with everything that was happening in the financial sector, he was becoming increasingly worried about his job and whether or not he would be able to continue until his retirement and extremely good pension. To avoid stressing his wife further, he kept this concern from her and worked even longer hours to make himself indispensable.
It didn’t work – at age 64 he was made redundant, thrown out on the scrap heap, albeit with a very nice golden handshake which would pay off the small amount of mortgage remaining and keep them solvent for some time to come, along with the pension fund. So from working 50-60 hours a week and keeping away from the emotional problems at home, he was suddenly at home all of the time, with nothing to do but to get under Eleanor’s feet. He had never had the time to take up a hobby, such as golf or fishing and now he wished that he had – was it too late to do so? Neither of them actually appealed to him but it was a way of getting out and, with golf especially, making new friends and having some male company.
Before he’d even had the time to apply for membership to the local golf club, another bombshell hit them – Eleanor was diagnosed with uterine cancer – probably caused by, or the cause of, the earlier problems with her pregnancies. She wasn’t too bad at first, apart from the shock of the diagnosis, and it gave them the opportunity to sit down and at last share their thoughts and feelings, with a lot of tears and many cups of tea. He went with her to every meeting with the consultants, then with the Macmillan team, discussing the various options for treatment and what was going to happen to her. He sat with her and held her close through her waking up from the total hysterectomy, through the biopsy results, through the chemotherapy and throughout the aftermath of that.
His life became so busy that he was grateful for the redundancy – how else would he have been able to support his wife emotionally and physically through this ordeal – and it was an ordeal. She rarely complained, even when she was being violently sick and having to be carried to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Richard became a very good cook, trying to tempt her poor appetite, and he even learnt how the vacuum cleaner and the washing machine worked! Unfortunately, the treatment was not effective and they were told that she would just receive palliative care in the home from now on; the Macmillan team was wonderful and kept them both fully up to date with everything that was happening all the way, until she eventually slipped away from them one lovely summer’s evening.
All he wanted to do was to sit and howl at the fate which had allowed him to learn to love his wife again, only to have her taken away from him but of course he was busy with all of the arrangements for the funeral; he had never thought that there was so much paperwork and officialdom involved, as well as so much expense! Collecting the death certificate, getting certified copies, sorting out bank accounts, going to the Register Office to get the official paperwork to authorise a cremation, going to the funeral parlour to choose service, coffin, flowers, music, readings – it just went on and on, with no-one to help him. How can having someone cremated in a simple utilitarian ceremony with one large bouquet of flowers and 50 people back to an hotel for a buffet cost nearly £10,000? How did people cope if they had no money?
Now he was alone in the house, everyone had gone, promising to keep in touch, invite him round for dinner or a BBQ from time to time, but he knew it wouldn’t happen. He was a solitary man and had devoted too much time to his job and not enough to relationships, with his wife or the few friends that they had. He was not sure that he even knew how to be a friend, although he felt that he had learnt how to be a husband and partner over the last six months. He would leave it a while, join that golf club and, hopefully, make a few new friends and a new life for himself.
Six months later he had neither joined the golf club, nor made new friends or a new life. His days seemed to be a quiet round of getting up late, shower and shave, breakfast, read the paper from cover to cover, listen to Radio 4, potter into town for his small amounts of shopping, perhaps even visiting the local coffee shop just to be with other people in the warm and to listen to their chatter. Little nap after lunch, maybe watch Countdown before thinking about what to cook for supper and an evening of watching dire television or reading and listening to Classic FM.
He knew that he had to change; he needed exercise and an interest in life. He was lucky that he had a lean frame and did not put on weight easily but the sedentary life was making him creaky and that had to stop! Walking into town allayed some of it but perhaps he could join a walking group locally, get some exercise and meet some new people. Women seemed to find it easier to join little groups and meet up for coffee, afternoon tea and girlie nights out but there wasn’t much for the men, except the pub and that had never been his style.
Now, as he sat on the bed, staring at the contents of the open wardrobe, he made a decision. He had noticed a rather up-market charity shop on the High Street the last time he had gone shopping – he didn’t normally go that far up but had needed one of the specialist shops at that end. Decision made – today’s task was to sort out her clothes, bag them up and take them down that charity shop. Who knew, it might do somebody some good.
The lady in the charity shop was younger than he expected. As she was on her own, he helped her to take them into the back room for sorting and, somehow, he stayed for a coffee as well. Luckily there were few customers that afternoon and he stayed to help her lock up at 5.30. They parted with a handshake and he walked back to his car with a little smile on his face. Perhaps this was the start of a new friendship – he hoped so.
Written by Laura Wickham
Laura Wickham
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