‘God bless us, everyone.’

The year my father died was also the year Richard was very ill with raging tinnitus and the year his mother died.

Richard left teaching, my mother had to adjust to living on her own for the first time ever and two weeks after she was widowed she turned 69.

That was 1993. 2019 has been almost as difficult, but in quite different ways:

January saw us sending £1000 a week to my brother for improvements to mum’s house. It  was - after almost five years of arguing with her council about the impact of their trees - on the field next to her house - and the damage caused to the foundations - time to put the house on the market. Our childhood home finally had a new kitchen and bathroom.

But, before we could actively deal with her property, we let out our garage to house the furniture which belonged to our friends. Their mother had so sadly died in December 2018. By January 2019 they were clearing her bungalow. Such a traumatic start to the new year for them. 

I well remember a couple from Frome crossing our garden in deep snow to get to the garage. And they walked back with a small cupboard, having given me cash for it, and I’d made money for our friends. They wanted to pay for a headstone for their lovely mum. 

In time I believe I sold about £300 of furniture for them. And I was very glad to see the last item go. After all I was conscious of already housing much of my own mother’s belongings... and we were running out of space. All but two cupboards sold. And we have those items in our sitting room.

In February our ensuite bathroom needed work. And when it was finished and looked bright,clean, well lit and modern we thought we’d try a spot on Airbnb. While our master bedroom was in the throes of being decorated I chanced upon a local cleaning lady. But to reach the stage of ‘mere cleaning’ we had to make space for our Airbnb guests. I emptied two wardrobes, a chest of drawers, cleared under our bed, had locks put on everything else and created mayhem. The ensuite kitchen was completely cleared too. In so doing I created 16 bags of rubbish which Richard took to the council tip.

Then it was March. After working hard in our house we went to mum’s and, with a friend, decorated all the walls, ceilings, skirting boards, picture rails, doors, window ledges and radiators in every room. Thank goodness auctioneers had removed mum’s furniture the morning we arrived. Two weekends later we were knackered but pleased with the results. 

Afterwards it was back to our house and the advertising of our master bedroom with ensuite, cooked breakfast and garage or parking space on Airbnb.  That  was April. But inbetween all these household tasks we had taken on the running of our local art trail. And that had to be organised, publicity had to be promoted and a brochure designed and printed ready for mid-April.We made it but it was a push.

After the May Day weekend event, when I sold cards and framed prints, Richard felt his time was up. Having sold about £2Ks worth of art at the same art trail in 2018 he was thoroughly disappointed with his £50 profit in May 2019.

Then the guests started arriving. They were all bright, friendly, tidy and quiet. But, my, was it hard work. We spent four hours on change over day getting the premises spotless.  And then Richard passed some blood. That was the start of a very difficult second half of 2019.

He had one surgical procedure in June. No cancer cells were found but he needed more surgery in July.

Our final Airbnb guests left three days before Richard’s second surgical procedure. On waking from anaesthetic he was horrified to find he had been fitted with a catheter. For three nights he sat bolt upright in bed in a state of shock. I didn’t know it then but that was a form of PTSD. Richard was suffering from post-surgery trauma.

On the morning of our short break to Devon - for a party with good friends of ours - Richard was told by a GP that he had a hernia. He was beginning to get stressed about ongoing health issues. He drove to Devon but in a panic took himself to a doctor’s surgery as soon as we reached our b&b. 

However by the end of August he was still driving and managed to help me dress the rooms in mum’s house, to put plants, rugs and wicker furniture in her conservatory and to tackle a nasty bramble in her garden. On one of the hottest days of the year I weeded mum’s rose garden, trimmed her shrubs, cleared a path or two and generally swept ready for prospective buyers.

But by September the strain of  Richard’s health issues led him to suffer a psychotic episode and our GP put him in the care of the mental health team. 

From September 20th until December 20th I have been chief cook, carer, cleaning lady and pill dispenser. Tonight friends came round for a drink and chat and Richard was entering the conversation like someone who has just enjoyed Christmas rather than as a sufferer from nervous collapse. Is his mental health improving ? Our friends thought so. 

At this tail end of the year we have some of the proceeds from the sale of mum’s house plus another small legacy. But without peace of mind, good mental health and a sense of joy, it’s impossible to plan a holiday or home improvements. Our car is stored in the otherwise empty garage while Richard can’t drive it. The world has become much smaller. 

He liked company over Christmas but his medication takes a long time to have a full effect. I will be very glad to say goodbye to 2019. It’s been almost as hard as the year my father died. But not quite.