Ashes

What to do with my husband's Ashes? Not a question one ever wants to deal with.

It was relatively easy with Noel. He was Carlisle through and through, he had owned one home and lived practically next door to the crematorium. I remember walking around the cemetery with his mum and sister and we knew right away the area of woodland that was perfect for him.

With just family and close friends in attendance we scattered his ashes (and sprinkled some whisky) a few weeks after his death. 

Forgetting

I admit it, sometimes I forget that José is dead. I know there are those that will say "I never forget, every minute of every day is tainted with knowing he is dead". I don't mean that some times I leave it all behind and don't think about the loss, that's something that will never leave, but sometimes I forget that José is dead.

I will see, hear or do something and without thinking pick up my phone to text José; or I will hear a car pull up outside the house and I listen instinctively for a key in the lock; or half awake I wriggle across the bed for a cuddle. Some times I forget that José is dead.

But each time I'm left starring at the phone in my hand, that door remains closed, and the bed is cold; then I remember that José is dead.