Wednesday 6 November 2013

Catherine's mountain bike

The last years of Catherine's life were fraught with difficult due to her mental health condition. There were a lot of bad moments, bad days, bad months. Of course it wasn't all like that, but when she first passed on, it was difficult for me to remember anything good or happy; it seems to be a natural part of the reaction to a sudden death.

But gradually, I have been able to enjoy the better memories of her life.

One of the good things she enjoyed was her bike.
Specialized Hardrock Comp 17in mountain bike Stoke-on-Trent Picture 1
I can't remember if she bought it herself or split the cost with her boyfriend of the time, Leigh. It's a good bike, a mountain bike with lots of gears and stuff.

She used to ride here and there. Her concentration wasn't very good, partly because of her medication, and she never had a very good sense of direction, but she seems to have found places to ride.

Then there are the funny stories of her cycling off far away and Leigh needing to pick her up, or her leaving her bike outside a shop or something and it needing to be picked up. She also cycled at the gym -"spin classes" - but the bike was hers. She kept it in her front room to preserve it from the rain and elements. Guess it shows how she valued it.

Here's Catherine's bike, as she had it in her front room.

We gave away a lot of Catherine's furniture, but kept her favourites. Her dining table, sofa and rug are in our living room. Her treasured bike went into our garage, still kept safe from rain, sun and snow.

However, we know that neither Simon and I will ever be able to use it. We've both got short legs. Simon had his knees replaced and loves to cycle, but we had to get a lower framed bike for him. I have arthritis and my knees have never been able to manage cycling, and even if they could, I also couldn't get up on this bike.

Realising this, I decided the time had come to sell it. It's never going to do us any good; let someone else enjoy it, and we can use the funds we get from the sale to get something we can use that will be a lasting happy memory of Catherine's happy memories of the bike. Maybe a car radio or something like that which we'll use for a long time.

So Simon took pictures and posted an advertisement on "Gumtree." We put a decent price on the ad, and didn't go to a lot of effort. Then, oh no! two days ago someone responded to the advert and wants to come and see the bike with a view to buying it.

It was at that moment that I realised just how difficult it was going to be for me to part with the bike. Even though I can rationalise the sale completely, it makes me upset to even think of parting with it. We'll have pictures, we'll have the memories, maybe Simon could take a picture of me next to it to add to our photo-memory, and Catherine herself wasn't one for hoarding things and regularly got rid of things she didn't need or like any more. So, from the rational point of view, this is the right decision.

But emotions and feelings aren't rational, are they.

The idea that Catherine was happy on the bike, that she sat on it and smiled, that her hands were on the handlebars and at those moments she was happy, make the bike much more than a bike. It's like a depository of good memories.

But... the memories won't go when the bike goes. So logic says, it's time to sell.

Simon hasn't contacted the prospective buyer yet. He says he'll get around to it. So we'll see. For now, the bike is still safely in our garage. I kind of hope he doesn't make the call and the bike doesn't sell, not yet...maybe I'm just not ready.

It'll be another goodbye, and however you look at it, goodbyes are sad.

1 comment:

  1. I can totally relate, Abi. I also have been holding on to Natie's things. I have kept (and used) her unbrella since she passed away (she always bought "quality" stuff). Even though I knew it wouldn't last forever, when it broke a couple months ago during a storm, I was devastated. I love wearing her earrings, and some of her clothes. Although I know her spirit is still alive, somehow being able to "touch" these objects she loved keeps her alive.

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