Eleanor nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek.
‘At first it didn’t seem right to me to change things.
Then it started to feel wrong to go in there at all.
So I just…closed the door.’
‘And the birthday cards?’ – I asked softly.
‘I couldn’t help myself.’
Eleanor wiped her eyes with her free hand.
‘For three years I bought Michael a birthday card.
I wrote him a message that I wanted him to read.
I thought I was just going through grief, but it just got more painful.
It was stupid.’
‘No,’ Margaret said firmly, sitting down next to Eleanor.
‘It’s not stupid.
It’s love.’
Eleanor finally broke down, her shoulders shaking from years of held back grief.
Margaret moved closer, wrapping her arms around her.
‘It wasn’t just Michael and James,’ Eleanor muttered through sobs.
‘It was about me, too.
Part of me died with them.
And I couldn’t cope with everything.
The house, the yard… it all seemed so pointless, so tedious.’
‘Grief can swallow you whole,’ I said quietly.
‘My mum went through something similar when Dad left.
Not the same thing, but… it all piled up.
Literally.’
Eleanor looked at me with red eyes.
‘How did she cope?’
‘She didn’t cope, not really.
Not on her own.’
I squeezed her hand.
‘She started seeing a counsellor, made friends in a support group.
It wasn’t a straight path to better things.’
Margaret gently stroked Eleanor’s back.
‘You don’t need to be alone in this anymore.’
Eleanor wiped her eyes again.
‘Home…is it awful?’
‘Nothing that can’t be fixed,’ I reassured her.
‘We’ve done a good job.
Do you want to see it?’
Eleanor nodded, and a few moments later she was standing in the doorway of her house, hesitating.
Ryan stood at the side, a nervous half-smile on his face.
‘We’re not done yet,’ he explained, ’but almost.’
Eleanor entered, moving slowly through the transformed living room, touching the cleaned surfaces as if she couldn’t believe it.
When she reached the door to the second bedroom, she froze.
‘We haven’t touched this room,’ I said quickly.
‘I wanted to ask you first.’
Eleanor nodded, but didn’t open the door.
‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to us.
‘Thank you both.’
Her eyes filled with tears again, but these were different-maybe relief or the first glimmer of peace.
‘We’ll be back tomorrow to finish up,’ I said.
‘The bathroom needs more work, and the yard…’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, and for the first time I saw the shadow of a smile.
‘That would be…yes.’
The next morning Eleanor was ready when we arrived.
She was wearing a clean blouse, her hair neatly brushed.
‘Margaret invited me to breakfast,’ she said.
‘And then we might look at plants for the garden.
If that’s okay?’
‘It’s perfect,’ I replied.
By mid-afternoon, the house was transformed.
Not perfect, but livable.
Clean.
Fresh.
When Eleanor returned, Margaret was with her, carrying a small tray of potted herbs.
‘For the kitchen window,’ Margaret explained.
Eleanor looked round her house, her yard, her life – everything now visible, everything available again.
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to,’ I replied.
While Ryan and I gathered our things, I watched Eleanor and Margaret at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
Something changed in Eleanor, as if a door had opened, letting in light.
Ryan caught my gaze and smiled.
‘Another successful clean slate?’
I nodded, watching the two women through the window as we walked to our van.
‘The cleanest one yet.’