So that's that

A whole year has passed.
When it started, I couldn't imagine how I would make it to the next hour, let alone survive an entire year.
Yet here I am, at the start of a new year without R. I am now allowed to transition to half-mourning and start edging my black dresses with grey or mauve.

Marking the passing of time affected me much more than I imagined it would, so I am lucky in that I was able to take the last week off and be entirely self-indulgent.

Yes, there were many, many tears. My own mixed with those of his sister who came to share these few days with me.
But even the tears are starting to take on a healing quality. A safe means of relieving pressure or a way of resetting my mood when it sets off on a downward spiral. They are no longer an end in themselves or simply a way to block out the pain.

Yes, there was that gut-wrenching moment when I realised that, however well I may have survived and for all I may have achieved over the past year, I really wasn't going to get the prize I wanted.
He wasn't going to come back.
Not ever.

Yes, we talked and talked about the past, what we have lost and how much we miss him. But we also spent a lot of time with our eyes to the future - that place in which he is a memory, rather than a tangible part.

S now finds herself on the cusp of a new life as well; her daughter is about to start her second year at university, while her son has just done his GCSEs and will shortly be learning to drive. The children no longer need her detailed attention, and Mum's taxi will soon be in less constant demand. So she also is able to see the new broader horizon, full of possibilities for taking up new interests, changing job or moving house. We agreed that the thought of this open-ended future is scary and exhilarating at the same time, but we are both interested to see where it will take us.

And we worked off some of our emotions.
S is very much a city girl. She is normally immaculately dressed and beautifully made-up. After four days of weeding, digging, planting, chopping down trees, taking things to the tip and miles of walking, she was delighted one afternoon to look in the mirror and see her unbrushed hair, dirty face and muddy jeans and to feel those slightly aching and hitherto largely unused muscles. There is also something very satisfying about a celebratory meal at the end of a good day working outside.

With all this, in our own quiet way, we marked the passing of a life worth celebrating. I smiled as I opened the bottle of champagne. R always delighted in teaching young friends and family members how to do this, as he felt it was one of those life skills that everyone needs, like how to change a tyre or eat an oyster without pulling a face.
Or indeed how to fall asleep elegantly!