I’ve been a bit out of sorts for several days now. I can’t put my finger on what it is. I just feel a bit ... er ... not right.
I keep thinking of Al and his last moments. I caught myself saying to someone, “At least he can’t have felt any pain as it was all so quick.” But the thing is that that’s just something I’ve been telling myself for almost two years. Yesterday, just as I said it, it hit me that I can’t know that he didn’t suffer. I’ve kept saying that I hoped he didn’t suffer but until yesterday, I’d never really acknowledged that actually, he might have.
Last night and today, I‘ve repeatedly wondered whether he knew, even for a split second, that he was dying. It tortures me to think that he knew, even briefly. I wonder whether he was frightened or in pain. The reality is that I will never know but it goes round and round my mind. Did he suffer? Was he scared? What were his last thoughts?
Today I visited his grave. This is only about the fourth or fifth visit I have ever made there since he died almost two years ago. I find it so difficult to look at that patch of grass knowing that his body is decomposing just a few feet below. When I got there, a few of the crocuses I planted 18 months ago were in bloom. It looked nicer than just a patch of grass. I laid some pretty Fairtrade roses knowing that Al would say it was daft to put them there and I’d be better off taking them home to enjoy them. I didn’t of course. I was there less than ten minutes before I walked back up to the car, sat and cried, and drove away. I think I dislike going so much because I hate leaving him there all alone.
Today I also read on a forum about a medium who had given some very accurate info. This was relayed by a cynic who was shocked at the accuracy. I almost leapt in to get the medium’s contact details. It’s coming to something when a cynic like me is desperate to believe a load of claptrap. I need to get a grip and lose the desperation.