He's Home

He's Home.

My handsome Husband, my lovely Man, the Love of My Life, my Best Friend, has come home.

John is here.

Apparently.

How do I KNOW it's him? How can I be absolutely sure that the rather unattractive container that I have just collected IS him? How? 

I can't.

I must one day accept that he is in there, that it is him.

Can't.

Shan't.

Won't.

When I sat down with the Clerk who gave me John, I started crying and she said (without even looking at me) "He's gone to a better place". I sat there for a second and I thought "Really, you think Death is a better place than being alive, healthy, happy, do you?" It was all I could do not to scream in her automaton little face "NO, HE'S NOT IN A FUCKING BETTER PLACE YOU STUPID INDIVIDUAL, HE'S DEAD, HOW IS THAT BETTER?!?!?!?!"

Instead, I thanked her for my Husband, signed the necessary forms, grabbed the carrier bag with him in and stormed out.

Eventually, John will go to a special place, a place that The Boys and I have already agreed upon. Until then, he will stay here with me until I am ready to either accept that he is dead or ready to let him go, whichever comes first.

I opened it, the container.
I wanted to smell him, to get something familiar from it.
Nothing.
I got nothing.
It smells of nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Which, coincidentally, is how I feel inside now John has gone.....nothing.

Following his collection I had to make a stop at the Funeral Director's to collect his Passport which had come back with him from Germany. Liz, the administrator lady was lovely, she has been since Day 1. We had a chat, I cried, she nodded knowingly, I cried, she gave me John's passport, I cried.
We parted and as I left I said "I hope I never see you again".
She smiled, rubbed my shoulder and shut the door behind me.

The funeral process is over.
Finished.
The End.