And bewildered, muddled, sad, angry, sad and confused again.
There’s a reason why I’ve been away for a month.
My dear husband passed away suddenly. A heart attack while he was out on a walk. For several hours I’d worried myself silly trying to find him, phoning hospitals, getting people to drive around the neighbourhood to see if he’d broken his ankle, and finally phoning the police.
Two police officers arrived. They told me. I think I screamed. Thank goodness my DD was in bed.
I had what could be seen as a day of grace before all the relatives and phone calls started. My two dear girlfriends took me to their heart and protected me from having to phone so many people. As one left, the other arrived and we companionably cleared out the fridge and freezer. A mundane task that had waited until a moment of stillness to be completed. No conversation necessary. Just hard work of sifting through yet another packet of rissoles with freezer burn.
Then there was the trip to the morgue. Apparently it isn’t called a morgue anymore, but that doesn’t make it any prettier. I have officially listed it as Canberra’s second least attractive building.
I don’t know what happened at the funeral. I sat as though in a dream or maybe a waking nightmare.
Now I am dealing with the bits and pieces and huge decisions and unwanted and useless advice that come with such tragedies. When I get myself together, I’m going to write a post about dumb things that people say too often and that are insulting or unhelpful or patronising. That can wait until another time.
In the meantime, I am working out what I am as a widow. I liked being a wife to my DH.