When Rosemary and our two daughters went to London we made sure we went to Westminster Abbey. I had a mission.
I found the spot on the floor and I beckoned Rosemary to come over. I then said, stomping my foot on the tile, “Hi, HG how are you?”
Perhaps I am old fashioned in wanting to go to places were dead bodies lie. I went to the funerals of my father, mother and grandmother. I never returned. I was comforted by the fact that I knew where they were.
When Rosemary died on 9 December, 2020 I watched her body, under a shroud, being carried out of the house. Her remains were turned into ashes and our eldest daughter Alexandra spread them in her Lillooet garden.
I am at a loss at not knowing where she (her remains) is. Both of us did not believe we would ever see each other again. We believed in oblivion.
There is that vacuum in my life of that empty presence that is the Rosemary that I knew for 52 years.