One year on

One year ago on the 25th of April my love and life companion died. I am a little grateful that is was quick, even though it was such a shock. Everything I knew about how to live day to day had gone out the window. 

I cried for my loss, and for what he was missing out on in life. His absence hung over family gatherings.

My sister and my Hair Dresser Friend Al were so helpful to me in the two weeks after, whereby we had to organise his cremation. In a state of shock, I just got on with everything.

Family crowded around me initially but not many asked me later how I was doing. I don't blame them. I give the appearance that I am fine and getting on with things. Apart from a few crack ups, I was mostly ok. Kosov with the victim of the last one, when I changed from winter shirts to summer shirts, the summer shirts all beautifully ironed by Ray in the autumn before he died. That must have been when Philip had returned to Chennai. Poor Kosov, as he held me while I sobbed away. 

I miss Ray everyday. I miss his company. I miss his voluble speech. I come across as reserved. Ray was much more out there and talkative, even if he was talking rubbish, full of inaccuracies such as dates, people and places. 

I learnt not to correct him unless it was important, but he knew I was always listening to what he was saying with a critical ear. I would say nothing, but he knew I was listening.

Ray died intestate, so that made the wrap up of his life less complicated and I did not need solicitor help. But gosh there was a lot to do, and it is still not over yet. The hardest was his superannuation company. It wanted so much information, and then asked for the same information again. As I was named as a direct beneficiary, it was not part of his estate. It was less money than I thought, but very helpful. Around the same time my inheritance from my mother who died the year before at 89, came through.

I have stayed away from home, once for two nights in Geelong, five days at Sister's to look after her cats, and two nights with my friend in eastern Victoria. I keep thinking of local holidays and things I could do but I feel so impotent about making travel plans on my own. 

I am not sure if guilt is the right word, and let me explain about my relationship with Ray. He said I would always get my way. That is not true. I would put forward my thoughts and opinions and it was an agreed decision. Yet, take the kitchen tap. It was wrong. I should have researched more. It is ugly. Always looking at price, we chose the wrong one. That was my fault, even though it was a joint decision.  

Now I live without anyone standing over my shoulder, looking at how my hands might be ready to spill something, waiting for me to make a mistake without constant supervision as if I was disabled client, his field of work. 

Ray was a cupboard door slammer, to the point where a drawer once fell apart. It drove me crazy, yet WWIII would have broken out if I said anything. He would have said, "Fine. I'll stay out of the kitchen then. Cook your own food". Phyllis was doing the same, but I felt free to say, 'Phyllis, can you stop slamming cupboard doors', and he obediently did stop.

I've come to realise that I repressed myself to not have arguments, yet still we did have arguments. In spite of what I've said, we loved each other deeply, with a most amazing history of life together. 

I've said before, but not so precisely. It was like almost Ray had a premonition. On Anzac Day, a war commemorative day here, we sat at Port Melbourne bakery having brunch. Ray opined that he didn't think he was doing badly for his age, still driving, cooking meals, cleaning our home and keeping connected socially and with family. Of course I agreed, and he was doing well for his age. Yet by around 11pm that day, he was dead.

We both made the mistake of not really speaking about how much we meant to each other, or loved each other. It was understood but unsaid, I really wish I had said it much more. Partners are rarely perfect, but don't you make the same mistake. Don't be precious. Don't point score. Love and forgive the forgivable.

There is a link about what happened that night on my blog, but to remind you, https://fromthehighrise.blogspot.com/2024/04/anzac-night-life-changing.html 

Your comments on the post and all posts of the time when I felt so lost were so helpful to me, and I thank you all so much.

But cry not for me. As happens, the grief reduces over time and I've made somewhat of a new life. As some of you pointed out, the poignant photo of Ray's shadow tells me he still walks beside me.