The empty full house

I have just written a post, but it has vanished. So lets start again....

I am back in the family home. I am alone. This is because I am the last of the family.

The TV is relaying the commentary of the Leicester game. I have just finished dinner; I made a ragu, and it came out well.

There is little evidence of the drama that played out here on Wednesday, been tidied up I guess.

The house is clean. Kinda.

Every shelf has some kind of kitsch stuff, but not in a good way. The only thing I want is the stein I bought Dad for what turned out to be his last Christmas.

All is dusty, and beyond that there is the smell of stale wee.

All the carpets need ripping up. Elsewhere, the soft furnishings are tainted brown by nicotine. That smells too.

There was bisuits, Pringles, shortbread, humbugs piled up on the tables, the sideboard and everywhere. All will probably end up in the skip en route to the landfill.

Tomorrow, I go to the hospital to get the medical form so that on Tuesday I can go to the register office to register her death. That means many other things can now happen.

But for now, I call people, tell them the news, and remark on their lack of surprise. Her friends and neighbours liked her, but saw these last two years as a waste.

Which there were.