grief

The chair is empty of course. The big chair in the corner, directly opposite the vent of the air conditioning unit. I never sit there. I drop my purse in it on my way through the sitting room, grab it hurriedly back, then slowly let it go again. You will not be needing the chair and perhaps leaving my purse in it would hide that, for a minute or two...

I survived the drive to church today, entirely on my own. I always had company before today- friends and in- laws, some family members, like shadows at dusk. They were everywhere then, at the endless wakes and the lying- in state ceremony where they handed out little  bean and wheat cakes and sang beautiful songs so mournfully they set me off on another round of tears. I wept for the songs, the careless murder of such beautiful words. I wept for you, lying so still in a wooden box, all dressed in a fancy suit you hated (I never understood why, they always looked so good on you). I wept for the scars beneath the suit, where they tore up your body looking in your belly for more answers during your brief illness. I wept for your pain, at seeing my pain.

I still hate the condolence register with it's pages of platitudes, and explanations, and words of comfort.

I went mute as stone at the interment, and had to be helped to lift the tea- spoon of sand I sprinkled on your grave. I hid behind the dark shades and watched people cry . I thought only how you would lie alone in the cold, soft loamy earth, that night. And i would lie in your bed, alone, without you.

I went through your tidy desk- that was easy, thank you. I went through your will with the lawyers, that bit was easy too- we had been sharing everything all our lives. But I have been circling the wardrobe for weeks- what will I do with your books? Today, illumination comes- I will do with them what you did with your life- give them out  in ones and twos to the young people you taught to love with a little note in each- on the beauty of life, of pain, of hope...signed in my name.