When Patrick died, I was expected to fall apart. We had been married thirty three years. We had two children and five grand children.
We had lived in enviable circumstances. There was never a hint of scandal, never an argument, we were polite and kind to each other.
We were considered a perfect couple.
At Patrick’s death, I remained strong and was thought to be putting up a’brave front’. I accepted that designation. When our children tried to bring up Patrick related topics, I would softly say, “I can’t speak of these things now…” and leave the room, assumed to cry.
I went on ‘bravely’ through the planning and execution of the funeral,the dividing up of his possessions.
He had left everything to me in the Will. Our children didn’t think of disputing it. After all, Mommy and Daddy were virtually one person.
Or so they thought.