As I look over my freshly cleaned house, the squeaky bright feeling runs much deeper than a dust-free coffee table and shiny floors.
Sometimes little stones become great boulders in our minds and tiny speed bumps morph into enormous roadblocks. This is what I have experienced lately with housework. Now, very few people who know my home would characterize me as meticulous, but I like a tidy and clean house and am willing to work on keeping it that way.
Growing up, my mother set the standard of “weekly cleaning.” She worked as a school teacher and Saturday mornings served as cleaning time. No matter what we had going on Saturdays, we could not leave until the whole house was cleaned – to her standards. My sister, brother, and I could move like white tornadoes when we had a deadline and needed to be somewhere. This practice of cleaning the whole house in one weekly pop has followed me through my life. Granted, the weekly thing has, in recent years, stretched into an every two week thing, but the task is the same – the whole house in one swoop, then don’t worry about anything but picking up debris in between crazy cleaning days.
As I read about the journey through grief, I intellectualize that healing is a process, and takes time. Everything I read validates the fact that the process works out at different rates for every person, and it cannot be rushed; it must happen in due time. In past writings, I have spoken of the ebbs and flows of grief and some days certainly mete out better than others, but I definitely see a particular pattern of when the pain and pangs of sorrow ooze up from a deeper place and break through scarring that has already taken place.
Recently, I have been operating on a very comfortable and even keel. My downs have not been terribly down and I find enjoyment in my days. But, an obstacle that just would not get out of my way was housework.
Procrastination has never been a problem for me, but a lifestyle. I know I am a procrastinator and work around that issue. Day-to-day responsibilities and activities are getting done; I have groceries in the kitchen and meals on the table, but somehow, when it comes to pushing the dreaded vacuum cleaner around the room, or picking dirty clothes off the floor, I seem to have been immobilized.
The worst part is that I would think of cleaning up around the house, picture myself doing it, but could not bring myself to action. Something as simple as putting the mail in its proper place seemed to be out of my reach. Create a visual of trying to take care of tasks with cement shoes, a snorkel and mask, while submerged underwater; that is the world of grief.
My great news is that today I tore through the house like the cleaning tornado I know how to be. I set out a goal and completed it with energy, and had my first “weekly cleaning” in well over a month. That felt so good. I think back to the many times in my pre tragedy days when dreading a task would get in the way of doing it, and before I knew it, my dread that started as a speed bump became the brick wall that I would have to tear down. Yes, procrastination can grow into a mushroom cloud, but I have always been able to manage the ‘shroom.
Now, as the journey of grief continues, elements like this become exaggerated and I am learning the art of trudging through the muck to achieve some level of normalcy. Days like today give me such an accomplished feeling, where I achieved a seemingly small goal, but it represents so much in the realm of getting back into life. This gives me the courage to tackle the big goals in this process.
And, I have a clean house ----- for the moment. Clover spent the day at the groomers and she is home now. We’ll see how long the squeakiness lasts.
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