Hello keyboard my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.
You’re so cool. (Except perhaps in those wellies)
And tonight I just want to riff about my husband. Thoughts of Him occupy me so completely, but I am unable to express them to anyone but this multi-buttoned musketeer. The words form on my tongue but come out stutteringly, meanderingly, without flow or point.
Besides, why would anyone want to know about how I was always so proud that it was HIM I was going home with at the end of a night?
Or how when I first met Him we used to sit smoking roll-ups til morning, stubbing them out in a Lambrini bottle, which became a brown-silted graveyard for fag ends?
Or how He played ‘Romanza’ on the guitar with the devotion of a father nurturing a child? And how we used to sing together, to our daughter, ‘Dream A Little Dream of You?
How He introduced me to JJ Cale, War of the Worlds, Robertson Davies?
Or how He spoke in a low, deep voice – slowly and without pauses?
How He drank Black Sheep bitter and would always order beef curry at the Chinese?
How our last words before bed were always: I love you pet.
How He was without doubt the most courageous and beautiful human being I have ever met, and I still can’t believe He’s gone?
“…I look back and am amazed that my thoughts were so clear and true, that three words went through my mind endlessly, repeating themselves like a broken record: you’re so cool, you’re so cool, you’re so cool.”
Wife After Death 