What Am I Supposed To Do Now?

This candle has been burning on the kitchen table since Robin died.

In the daylight hours my dear sister guides me through the mountain of stuff to do...the more we do the more the list grows.

We meet Charlie, the man in charge at the cemetery.... beautiful big trees, shedding their autumn leaves...we choose a plot in the Edwardian Section where they are re-cycling the space between the graves...look inside the chapel...count the seats....not enough....will need to hire more chairs.

We drive to the home and start packing up Robin's room, the carers keep coming in and telling the stories of how much they loved looking after him, how much they loved him and we hug and cry and carry all the katundu to the cars.

We pick up the death certificate from the surgery down the road.

At home, after scrambled egg lunch, we start making the phone calls and crossing things off the list. Beautiful flowers arrive form my big sister's family....beautiful cards and messages and emails start arriving.....I tell the neighbours about Robin and they are shocked and tearful.

We start making an order of Service.....and all the time I think we must be doing this for someone else. It can't be Robin...he can't not be here. He's always been here. He's my husband.

Much later in the hours of darkness I start to look for photos of Robin and find his files of writings, all typed on fading paper...TV scripts, plays, skits and sketches, political satire, film reviews, magazine articles, crosswords, pantomimes, short stories, children's stories, a novel... and letters to me. A whole big life - bright and full of expectation for the future.

And I can only weep for my lost man....and howl at the walls....and  find myself in a balled heap on the carpet in  his office....the only words I can find are no no no no no no no.......you can't leave me you just can't....you have to come back.....what am I supposed to do now?