I wasn't expecting that

As I walked back from school with another mum this morning, the conversation turned as it so often does to my widowhood. She told me, as people so often do, that I'm so strong. Neither of us knew that less than an hour later I'd be crying in the car after dropping a donation off at a charity shop.   It was a practical, easy (or so I'd expected) job for this morning.  I'd done the hard bit of emptying and sorting the mountain of books and DVDs Mark kept on the bookcase I wanted moved to Oliver's play room. The ones I'd decided to donate were sat in three bags for life in the dining room, and needed to go this week ahead of the decorators coming on Monday.  I got to the shop, heaved in my three quite heavy bags and asked to leave a donation please.  The volunteer was obviously having a bad day because she just had a bad attitude.  I apologised that I needed the bags back please (they were the canvas kind, not the plastic ones, because, well they were full of books and needed to be strong enough to carry the weight).  Did I want to gift aid? Yes, I'm already on the system, but forgot my card.  Nobody of my name under this postcode- was I sure it was Barnados I signed up with? Yes. Computer says no.   Never mind I suggested, I'll just sign up again.   Lots of huffing and puffing and "not on there, over here" later and she set about emptying them into boxes she had behind the counter, presumably there for just this purpose.    As I watched her empty them, I had to hold back tears.  There goes another bit of him I thought.  I really wasn't expecting that.  I'm not someone who puts sentimental value on "stuff" and I am definitely not a hoarder.  But he was, and these things were his.  It was hard not to shout "stop! I'll take them back!"  Her parting shot of "next time if you could drop them off in bags you can leave, it'd really help us out" tipped me over the edge.  I rushed back to the car, where I proceeded to cry-drive home. 

Now she is probably just having a bad day for whatever reason, going through her own stuff. Maybe she's just got a headache or PMT today.  She wasn't all that unreasonable, just a bit grumpy.  I'm the one who over reacted here. But what it has shown me is that I'm not Ok and not ready to return to work, if a slight bad attitude is going to do that to me.  It's also shown me that I'm not as ready to let go of him as I thought.  I've got plans to change the house to "mine" not "ours" with redecorating, a new sofa and front door on the way.  Now I'm worried that all these changes are just going to be triggers rather than healthy progress. 

And to cap it all off I pulled onto the drive and was hit by another flashback of the police standing on the doorstep waiting for me, to tell me what he'd done. (I was out when they arrived and drove home to find them waiting) I must have pulled up at the same angle.  That triggered a panic attack and now I'm exhausted.  Yesterday I agreed with my counselor to write down what happens with these flash backs, in preparation for us starting in vivo trauma therapy next week in an effort to desensitize me to them.  I know I need to do it but I just want to take a nap now.  I've got an hour to rest before collecting Oliver for his therapy appointment, then another hour to rest after that before collecting him and his friend for a play date after school.  Why do I arrange these things?