Musing about life and death

Twenty seven months after Ray died, how do I feel and how is my grief level?

I still  think of Ray every day. We fell into a vey comfortable relationship in our older years, unlike our passionate and adventurous younger years. We did our own things, and joint things. He cooked meals, I washed clothes. Each of us would do our own thing at home, Ray watching tv and playing on his tablet, while I composed brilliant blog posts. You might say the perfect older couple, a well oiled machine. We knew our roles and what to expect from each other.

Along with buying a new car, our apartment which became my apartment is somewhat different inside, with many things updated, and more to do. I didn't try to erase memories at home, but it seems I have done so quite a bit.

After being together for forty five years, Ray's sudden death was a terrible shock, not just to me, but to everyone who knew him and loved him.

For some time after he died, I wondered if I was grieving in the correct way. Is there a correct way? There were plenty of teary moments in the first few months, and one could not foresee what would trigger them.

Ray died in April, at the time of the year where I had just changed to wearing winter long sleeved shirts. I decided after washing my shirts, I would not iron them, but just hang them carefully on hangers to dry. Ray used to iron my shirts. I became used to unironed shirts.

Come the warmer months, it was time to change to short sleeved summer shirts. Phyllis wasn't home. "Kosov, come and look". I proudly displayed my row of summer shirts to Kosov, ironed by Ray a week before he died, and then burst into a sobbing mess on Kosov's shoulder. What an interesting but unwanted experience for a young man. I apologised the next day, and the reply was, "No problem Onnndrew".

There has only been one moment since when I almost became teary, but I am living a new life, on my own now. I have full control over my life, more confidence because I'm doing on my what both of us used to do, and doing it well enough. Decisions I have made on my own have been good. 

There are so many things I want to tell Ray, but he has gone, and I guess I have adjusted to my life without him. 

Ray's sister is a nice looking woman, with medium length straight 'blonde' hair, slim and a stylish dresser in that northern English way. Her doctor has never prescribed her medication aside from an asthma inhaler. She smokes and drinks a lot, really a lot, and I've just realised she is about to turn 75. A month after Ray's 75th birthday he died.

Who of my current readers met Ray? Obviously occasional blog commenter, our friend Bunyip who we've known for decades, and of course the lovely Fun60 in London, who we met with three times.

As is said, time is a healer.