Due to the power cut I had to cook everything in my freezer and fridge (not that there's a lot in there these days).
This meant that I had to cook the last joint of pork that Cliff had bought. He was good at selecting meat, and always managed to choose really nice pieces.
It felt strange cooking it ... usually I would have made apple sauce and a roast dinner out of it. I tried to keep myself busy, but the smell permeated the whole house and in the end I was sobbing - because I could visualize him going through all the meat, taking his time (with me tapping my foot impatiently) at the supermarket.
I felt bad that I was always so damn impatient when we went shopping.
I felt sad that he would never go shopping with me again.
And when I got the pork out of the oven, I couldn't stomach trying a slice ... although the dogs did ... having forced themselves to sleep under the oven for 2 hours almost.
Last night, I carved myself two slices. Carving the meat feels alien to me. I just can't cut it as thinly as he did. He took care of me so well, and was so thoughtful, always ensuring there wasn't even a slither of fat on it. I loved watching his hands at work, carving meat, whatever they were doing, just loved his hands. Man's hands. Beautiful hands.
Well, I ate two slices and it was yummy. Fred and Barney thought so too.
Part of me wants to eat it. Part of me wants to preserve it. Part of me wants to chop it in half and give it to the dogs. Part of me wants to sling it in the bin.
But I'll try and eat a little more this evening. He'd want me to.
After all, it's the last chance to have a taste ... of life with him.