´óÏó´«Ã½

It was just over three weeks ago that Henry passed. His death hit me hard. The doctors informed me that he had died of heart failure. They assured me that he died painlessly, but you can imagine the shock I was in when I woke up to find his lifeless body lying next to me.

I'm sure he died a happy man. His face seemed content, his eyebrows slightly raised, his lips curled into a slight smile. I must have lain there for hours, holding him tightly to my chest, my fingers locked around his. I could taste my salty tears on my lips, as they dribbled down my face. I swore to myself I would never let him go, but eventually I was forced to. It was my daughter that found me, lying there, clutching the lifeless body of my husband. Her screams and whimpers were of fear and anguish, but also of disgust.

The reality of Henry's death came to me several days after he had passed. Being eighty-three years old, I am not the most capable person, but Henry had always helped when I was in need. Now he was gone, the prospect of living alone seemed quite a frightening one. My daughter came and visited regularly at first, but as the days dragged, her visits became less and less frequent. My carer, Eleanor, visited me once a week to make sure I was comfortable. On her last visit I asked her to move my bed as I could not bear to wake up each day looking up at the same pattern of beams on the ceiling as I did when lying next to Henry. She also helped to start off my knitting as my arthritis makes it difficult for me.

The house seems very empty. It is just me and the 'clack clack clack' of my knitting needles echoing through these desolate rooms. I have dreams of Henry every night, of our youth as high school sweethearts. We are sitting in the grassy fields opposite my mother's house. We hold hands and talk and laugh together as the daisies sway in the breeze. But those days are long gone. I imagine I see Henry. He is sitting in the chair by the fire and waving to me, a big grin on his face. But then he is gone, and I turn out the lights and sit alone in the dark with my thoughts.

These past few days I have not left my bed. My wrists are hurting from the knitting, so I just sit and stare at the wrinkles on my hands. It is fair to say I've had a decent life. I have my share of happy memories. I married at twenty-three, and never looked back. I still have my wedding dress tucked away somewhere beneath the piles of dust. Henry always said just how beautiful he thought I looked in that dress. For our honeymoon we didn't go abroad, but stayed in a little cottage by the broads. Every day we would take long lazy boat rides and run through the barley fields. We would sit and eat the picnics we had packed and we would tell each other just how much we loved each other.

It was just nine short months later that our only daughter was born. The years that followed would be some of the best of our lives. We would sit around the fire and tell our beautiful child stories from her favourite books, and when I was tired, Henry would always carry her to bed and kiss her good night. What wonderful stories these wrinkles tell. But I have had a good life, better than many. I have the loveliest daughter a mother could ask for. She has made me proud on more occasions than I can count, and she has turned into a capable, successful woman. I know her job is very demanding, and understand why she would have such little time for visiting me, however I do feel that her husband does hold some aversion towards me.

I have also shared my life with the kindest, most forgiving, handsome, loving man I have ever met and it is now, with no regrets, that I follow him into the heavens. I trust the house and money will see my daughter has a bright future. This is not her fault. I have asked to be buried beside Henry, for I never wish to be separated from him again. Lucy Whittaker.

Lucy Whittaker was found on the floor of the bedroom in her house in Bournemouth, at the foot of her bed. In an attempt to hang herself, the beam from which she had tied her woollen noose snapped. Both of her legs were broken from the impact and she later died of shock. Her memorial service was held on 14th January 2007.