The circle of life

Over the past couple of days I've been very aware of the process of 'unpersonning' that follows a death, the  bureaucratic steps that cancel out someone's official existence. It's quite separate from feelings, more about changing the social status from living to 'deceased', but the formalities have a sense of ritual as much as any other sort of transitional ceremony.

So, I've been to the hospital to collect the death certificate, to the town hall to register the death and to the undertaker's office to arrange the funeral. Each destination has involved a journey (by foot, bus or tube train), a period of waiting, a condolence, an interview, a form to sign and a piece of paper to take away. Each step confirms what has occurred and contributes to the change of status - just as the dismantling of The Old Man's living space confirms the finality of his absence. 

Several people have made comments suggesting that I take care of myself too. I'm grateful for those thoughts and I have been doing just that today. I went for a stroll on nearby Hampstead Heath, one of London's great green lungs, where I saw squirrels and ducks and coots, like this one, all busy with the usual springtime activities of feeding, courting and nesting. Later I went to the tiny Pentameters Theatre close by to see an Irish play, Belfast Famine. I've long wanted to go there but my evenings here have always been set aside to make a meal for The Old Man. This time I don't have to do that.
Oh said the theatre manager (it's a one-woman band) we're very quiet mid-week, you'll be the sole audience - do you mind? No I said, if you don't mind putting on the play  just for me. They didn't and I enjoyed the show, seated comfortably in one of the old armchairs that form the front row.