I know that Burt is guiding me through this part of the journey. I say this despite my averred non-[even, perhaps anti] spiritual stance.

As a new acquaintance told me yesterday, we don’t approach death in a direct way. We don’t for many reasons, one of which is a natural fear of our mortality. We can’t face death as we should, both honestly and as a part of life.

Witnessing the death of a loved one is, actually, a profound moment. The experience of Burt’s passing bound me to his life and memory. Now and going forward.

There are so many ways in which I am missing Burt. This is not unusual when mourning.

I believe that we face our loss uniquely, not just as individuals but at different points during any given day.

I awoke thinking about the Burt of many months past who was still communicative and sociable. I miss that Burt, as I mutter to myself on this dawning day. I miss his grip although I had often grimaced at his strength.

I miss him. I wish I had more time with him although I had often run out to take my time without him. My respite. I know I needed that time in order to make our time together easier, better. Now I wish I had more time with Burt.

Somehow Burt always crops up in my conversations.

I sat with some strangers at the senior center chatting about the play [Humpty Dumpty] I had seen while one of them was in the Hands Off! March and the gym classes we attended.

One of the strangers, now my new friends, mentioned the ping pong program he enjoyed. My husband, I said, won a city-wide ping pong competition. As a teen, I added, perhaps unnecessarily.

We played only once, I said, and I beat him. One of my table mates suggested, he let you win.

No, he was too competitive, I said not mentioning how competitive I am.

Burt got us out of the market. He had been a stocks and options broker and had happily traded for many years.

As the LBD wracked him, he became leery of trading in the markets. I think he recognized, on some level, how complicated it all was. And under his new circumstances, that he was having a difficult time dealing with complexities.

He always liked bonds, and had invested in government paper at some point. Bonds offered a fixed income. I think that was part of the attraction. It was pretty easy work, too. Fixed income for a fixed amount for a fixed time.

With the recent turmoil on Wall Street, I can only be thankful to Burt for leaving me with some financial stability in chaotic times.

Just one more way in which Burt looked out for me. Today, a friend and neighbor said you kept him going. As she saw my eyes wellup, she added she knew He kept you going, too.

On Friday night I dreamt that Burt came to chat with me. He sat on the edge of the tub, cigarette in hand. You don’t smoke I said. I thought I’d try it. No harm now. He was casual. We don’t have a tub. He looked well, was lively and he said I got my smarts back.

I had never heard him speak like that but the cadences were very welcome to me. It was nice to see him, even in my dreams.

I awake, listing all the possible times of night [or early morning] it could be. I get up, walking with that strange rolling gate that age has gifted me.

I have become an old woman in the years that Burt suffered his dementia. I stayed perky-ish while he needed me but since he left, I feel my years more deeply.

Some of my newly prominent issues can be mitigated. I expect that a set of hearing aids and cataract surgery will help. Some exercises to address pain and stiffness in my knees can’t hurt either. A long overdue attempt at weight reduction might smooth some of the lugubrious slog of my movements as well.

At least that’s the plan, darling, I tell him and now you [dear reader] as well.