Apparently there is no set pattern for grief and mourning.
That's good. Because I can't see any pattern to mine either.
Either I'm totally matter of fact, stating the BALDLY that W is DEAD. Or well, the strangest things set me off.
When Edinburgh's finest Care Equipment Services came to collect the equipment yesterday for some reason they were un-informed as to why they were collecting the bed etc. One of them cheerfully asked me "Wull he be wantin' his walking stick?"
"No" I said deadpan, "he's dead".
The look on their faces was good.
Stopped for a street survey, and asked how many adults were resident chez Macy, I was quite calm replying "Well, one as of last Wednesday. My partner died on Tuesday night".
And I was sorry for the researcher immediately I remembered my manners.
But asked today, at Scotmid's newsagent counter of all places, "How are we today?" I lost it.
"Well.. one of us is ....sob....DEAD...." Tears, oceans of tears. In SCOTMID.
Going to take a long time before they stop looking embarassed around me in Scotmid. That's for sure.