It has been a few weeks since I posted here last. I do not feel I have much to say. It has not been easy. It took me quite some time to recover from some sort of bug. And I think the bug also drew my mood down. I miss Kamalashila. He was just my favourite person to be with, to talk to. It was not always straightforward. We would argue at times. But he would light up my heart. I miss his support. I miss being able to ask him things. Like: did you ever go to Ireland? So I am just sitting here on the yellow couch right now. Feeling sad. Or I am walking in the streets and notice my thoughts are dwelling on the dark times before his death. The journey in the ambulance to the hospice. How I held his hand. How I didn’t know at that point how aware he was of what was going on. Sighs and sadness. I am searching for an optimistic phrase. But it doesn’t come. Perhaps it is better to leave all of this unsaid. I just don’t know. And I sigh again. Even the bath has lost its appeal at the moment. The optimistic phrase still doesn’t come. I cannot reassure. Yes, I am doing fine, actually, but also, actually, it is very hard. More and more traces of our life together fade away. I threw out some jars of jam we made when we were living in the West Hampstead flat. His devices have become mine. I put all our stationery together. Now also exclusively mine: pens, pencils, markers, glue, erasers. He did have a thing for stationery. And for tape. He must have had ten varieties of tape. Earlier in the week I removed the masking tape from the doorknob in his old room. This was to improve the grip at the time. I removed the tape from a number of jars he had taped together for reasons that are unknown to me. All these adjustments that are being undone. I filed his taxes last week. And then my own yesterday. I do stuff. Get on with things.
But I also celebrated my birthday. It seemed important to celebrate life. And it seemed important to have some people there who hadn’t known him. People who hadn’t been to the memorial or his birthday last year. It was a small gathering. I called it tea party. And I was glad I had organised it. So I am finally hitting the more optimistic notes here. At last. It is past midnight. All is quiet. A new day has begun.
