Every day of my life since my Rosemary died on 8 December 2020 is one of constant remembrance.

There is a word that I think is a lovely one that applies to my daily remembrances. It is the word posthumous. I first heard the word from my mother who told me that after her father died a few days later she received a doll house from him on her birthday. They had gone together and she had chosen it. She was a very young girl so she told her mother that her father was not dead. The doll house was the evidence. My mother wrote a most lovely poem of the event. See below.

Because my mother married my father, who was a divorced man, and divorce was not recognized in Argentina, she went by her unmarried name. The initials F.I.G. stand for Filomena de Irureta Goyena. 

A month before Rosemary died she told me that I needed to buy three large terracotta pots and some dirt. She said we would need them. She did not elaborate. Two months after her death in the beginning of February 2021 the doorbell rang. Outside was a box containing 3 roses. One of them was our much loved the single tea rose Rosa ‘Mrs. Oakley Fisher’. The other two were lookalike single teas. One was Rosa ‘Oliver Roellinger’ and the other Rosa ‘Escimo’.

Rebecca & Rosa 'Mrs.Oakley Fisher'

 

These were posthumous gifts from Rosemary. She knew she was going to die when she ordered them.

Her garden, now mine, her cats, now mine, our neat Kitsilano house, ours, now mine are all posthumous gifts. Every day, every minute I notice something that reminds me of her. Our moments together, which we shared for 52 years, are now posthumous remembrances that keep coming.

She will not stop giving me these gifts until my oblivion beckons.