Melancholy.

Today has been a day of memories.

It is exactly one month ago today that the Fat Controller left us. I have thought about him often, (not just today), but I suppose today has raised my conscious thoughts of him. Sadly the memories I have at the moment are still those of our final hours spent together. My desperate need to protect him from what was sadly inevitable. I knew that each precious moment slipping by was lost to him, Mrs Beeton, his children, and myself.

You see I have been living with a dilema. I could have given all of his children, including my husband, the chance to say their farewells to their Father. I knew the choice that I made that night could prevent this. He could have been admitted to hospital, they may have been able to prolong his life just long enough for all of his family to say their goodbyes. I chose to keep him at home. My reasons for this? I did not want him to die in a side room in the A&E department with strangers and noise, with people no matter how caring, who had not loved him as we did. I wanted him to be at home with Mrs Beeton by his side, in his own bed with what dignity she and I could still afford him.

And so the options for the Doctor that night were limited, he could only administer drugs that would ease his 'transition'. I knew this. I made that choice without consultation with his wife or children. And so that is how I stole the chance for my husband and his brother to say goodbye to their Father. But I suppose there must always be payment. I too was not present when he went, I never got to say my goodbye, and so I suppose in the scheme of things that is the price I was asked to pay. A small price for something so dear.

Today is also my wedding anniversary. It was 25 years ago today that I married the man I loved, and still love very much. We had intended to celebrate our Silver Wedding, however events over the last weeks have prevented this, and now it seems that even his Lordship's work is conspiring to keep us apart. We are spending our anniversary at opposite ends of the country. But as I sit her alone tonight, feeling pathetically sorry for myself, I know that he will be walking back through the door on Thursday... unlike Mrs Beeton, also sitting at home tonight, alone.