Tomorrow will be Mr Trifectagirl's Funeral and today I did something I never thought I'd be able to do - see my dead husband's body, lying in his coffin. I couldn't look enough to do a formal ID, his mother did that duty. But I am glad I saw him. I couldn't ID my mother or my step-father. I never saw any of my grandparents. I have bad memories of looking at my mother in the hospital after she passed, so I didn't think I could see Mr Trifectagirl at all.
He looked so unlike him - a grim-set mouth, rather than the beaming smile that lit up a room, especially if J was in it. I really could only stand at the edge of the room and look at the top of his head. For some reason, that still looked like him.
I've spent much of the last week preparing the memorial slide show for him. I was lucky that he happened to have a collection of his baby photos stashed in a trunk in our house, rather than burried in the storage locker where so many of his belongings still are. I even found his birth notice.
But with all these distractions closing, the reality of the situation is starting to sink in. I felt like, and let myself jump up and down stamping my feet at the injustice of it all outside the church today after checking that my hard work on the slide-show would actually work on the system. Apart from a few crying sessions, it's the first time I've let it out physically. And if felt right.