When the doctor said how long you had to live, you took the news better. I’m sorry I ruined so many breakfasts, dissolving into tears. Looking back, I feel you were very patient with me.

You distracted me with busywork, like addressing envelopes. Many would consider it unorthodox, posting out funeral invitations, but I did not want to tell you how to die.

“Save the Date – Summer-ish” you wrote, in your wry way. “Bury me with one precious thing you cannot live without.” Whether this was a riddle or an instruction you never made clear so everyone erred towards the literal.

It started uncertainly, with a dog-eared photo fluttering after your descending coffin and then it began in earnest. I saw wrist-watches, notes, a hat, a baby’s dummy – a disorderly, beautiful clamour of things. I lost my mettle and kept the ring. I hope you can forgive me.