I had intended to write about the crappiness of turning 40 over the weekend as a widow. How much I wish Ian was here to mark this milestone, and because he's not, I had no real desire to celebrate or really mark the occasion. But have friends insisting that I do so (so compromised with a very expensive dinner for a small group of friends).
But then I could have burnt the house down on Thursday.
Thanks to widow brain.
Thinking ahead to my evening class and my stomach since class crosses my usual dinner time, I put a pot of soup to heat on the stove; something to tide me over.
And promptly forgot about it and headed off to my 3 hour class.
5 hours later, mid-lecture, I remember. The image of putting the pot on the stove, lighting the flame flashed through my mind, over-riding all attempts of my lecturer to impart knowledge on financial ratios on me.
And had that horrific, sinking feeling hit. The adrenalin. The sick to the stomach feeling. Very similar to the reality of Ian's illness hitting, in all honesty.
I had the regret of saying to my step-mother some 18 months ago, that at times I wished the house would burn down so I didn't have to make decisions about what to keep and what to toss.
Ian always said be careful what you wish for.
I'm so glad my Dad lives relatively close to my place, so he got a panicked phone call. He headed over to my place to check it out. I also called my security company as I have a monitored heat sensor in the kitchen, and was told that no alarms had gone off. Whew - that news lessened the stress levels a very little.
Sitting in the taxi back to my dads, where my car was parked, I quickly progress through "this is a disaster, how will I cope", to "both John and I are ok. Even if I've lost all Ian's things, we're both ok" to "well, if it's burnt down, what design will I re-build, or at the very least, insurance will pay for the interior re-paint I've been wanting to get done if there's just smoke damage".
When my dad finally called (because of course not only did he get every red light, but a freight train at the rail crossing between his and my place), I got the news that the house was very smoky, the soup had converted to carbon, and the saucepan was only good for the bin. But thankfully no flames or smoke damage; the house just needs a bit of an airing.
And I still need to paint the place myself.