The 17th.

It is the 17th of June, exactly one calender month since Arthur passed away in my arms. I still cannot write of it or the service on the 24th of May, before his cremation.

Today, I sent the invoice from the Funeral Director to the Arthur's funeral fund.

Arthur is at the Funeral Director's Chapel. They said he could be there until I am ready to pick him up. I cannot deal with that yet. I will leave this be for a time. I am talking about Arthur's ashes and speaking as if that is him. I do not feel it is him.  How can a person come to just this? A life, a complex system of physiology, a mind, feelings, touch, hearing, sight, taste, smell, enjoyment, pain, longing, anticipation, love and it comes down to ashes?

I cannot comprehend it, I cannot understand it. There must be a soul to tie it all together, a soul that exists beyond the physical body. We must be more than the sum of our parts.

Arthur cannot be gone; he may be beyond my reach and beyond this life but I cannot accept he is just gone.

The 17th of the Month, it is my wedding day, and the day I became Arthur's Widow.