Not speaking ill of the dead?

Saturday evening, walking in the grounds at Killerton House.

Today my lovely cousin and his lovely wife come to visit  from Bristol - take me out to lunch at Jamie Oliver's restaurant. I am appalled by how long we have to wait to be served after we order - nearly 45 minutes. Luckily we have lots to talk about.

Afterwards I give them a tour of the house. I say things like,

We've been here for 13 years....and this is our bedroom ......and  yes we have a lot of space now....

all in the present tense...as if there is still an us.

I think about Robin all the time.....about our life...not just the last horrible years, not just the last awful weeks...all stained with my regrets...but before all that.....all those years we had - painting  our own messy happy marriage portrait. 

 And I try not tot think about the bad times and the sad times and how we didn't always get on and how we drifted from each other and strained against each other and wanted different things. Is that what happens when someone dies....we make them too good, idealised?

 Like not speaking ill of the dead?

If I am doing that about Robin I think I'm just protecting myself so I don't let the guilt destroy me now...that I could have been kinder....well of course I could .....but we aren't supposed to be saints I tell myself.

So I just have to hang on to the truth that he was a good man. And I loved him even when I didn't....and he always loved me ....even when he didn't.