A week later. My heart is in upheaval and aches. I have been to the rose garden in Kennington Park just now. Sitting on a bench, I opened some envelopes with condolences cards I had found in the letter box on my way out and read them. I very much appreciate all the loving thoughts being sent my and our way. I needed some time alone today. Yesterday I registered Kamalashila’s death at our local town hall. I had felt anxious about this. I do not like forms and formalities at the best of times. As the time for the appointment came and went, I became more irritated. I could not bear the jokes the warden made. I could not bear the informality of the staff there, looking at our records and whispering to each other. I felt outraged by the appointment not being on time, but going 15 mins over. I also could not bear the vicinity of my friend who is still kindly staying with me to support me. In the office of the registrar I was irritated with the seating arrangements, the registrar’s hairline and later also about the misspelling of the cause of death as lymphonia. That was one of the mistakes. I can see in retrospect this is quite funny. At last the correct certificate was printed.
More things about the afternoon seem funny now. I made sure my friend knew how to get back to my place. I knew she had a key. But I could not help myself: I fled. I just needed to be on my own with my excessive irritation. As I was roaming around in the Brixton Orchard, which is built over a nuclear bunker, I spotted my friend passing on the other side of the street. I hid among the trees. I can see how funny this is, in retrospect. I am certainly not proud of myself. After a while I walked into the opposite direction and it was then that I spotted the library. I spent an hour or so in the library, on the first floor, looking out over that wretched place where I had registered Kamalashila’s death earlier. It was real. It was official. He is no longer here. I started walking home and met a friend on the street. This was lovely and it was good to briefly chat about what had happened. I then went home. My friend came back after a while. I hid in my bedroom and then in the bathroom. I cried. My glasses collected my tears. I then cried all the way through eating the food my friend had prepared. It was not a good day. It was final. I am alone, in a way.
I cannot bear anyone too near now.
