The last cut

Today I mowed the lawn for the last time.

I don’t know if this year has been unusual in the West Country but the grass has grown relentlessly since Spring. My previous experience in the east of the country has always been of a frantic few months of mowing in April and May followed by an occasional whizz round the lawn in the summer months as the ground dried out, the grass turned a shade of beige and gave up on growing for another year. A quick cut in late October/ early November was usually sufficient to set you up perfectly for an easy start the following Spring.

Because of the amount of grass we inherited (it didn’t seem that big when we looked around last autumn before we bought the house 🙄) I bought a lawnmower that was self-propelled so it could take me for a walk without me having to push it.

That worked pretty well, as I was able to guide it without too much effort: an ideal arrangement in retrospect as the strength ebbed from my limbs over the Summer. Being able to mow the lawn became a bit of a touchstone as to the progress of my muscular dystrophy and I felt that, as long as I was able to keep the grass under control, I was keeping the dystrophy ‘beast’ at bay.

Today as I mowed the lawn I accepted that I was doing so for the last time, not just for this year but for ever. The ‘beast’ was no longer containable.

At one point during the session I lost my footing, landed on my back on the wet grass, and needed Sally to help me stand again. I realised the lawnmower was no longer my friend and worse, was potentially out to do me harm! It needs a stronger pair of arms and steadier legs to control it than I am now able to provide.

Today was a bad day: for me, who has to accept that physically, my life is going pear-shaped, and for Sally too, who now has to learn how to use the lawnmower!