On the anniversary of my mum’s death, I go to Winchester cathedral to light a candle.

The cathedral is the only church open in the period twixt Christmas and New Year.

I say “death”, not some sanitised euphemism such as “we lost her” or “she passed away”.

We did not “lose” her. You can lose somebody in Tesco’s. Losing suggests that they might be found again.

No, she was cruelly taken by cancer.

Her kind face contorted, by a year of slow starvation and pain and dehydration of the disease, into a parchment dried onto the dessicated bones.

She was almost unrecognisable at the end.

And what the bloody hell does “passed away” mean anyway?

What’s wrong with naming the hideous process of having a life end?

Hmm. I’m still a bit upset about this, aren’t I?

I paid full price to come into the cathedral. I’m grateful that somewhere was open for my little ritual. They offered to let me in for free because I was here for spiritual reasons, but I don’t mind making a little contribution for the privilege of access to the peace of a  space sacred for a thousand years. The sense of timelessness feels important for some reason.

And I lit two candles. One from me and one from my husband.

I can hear my thoughts saying “I’m sorry mum, I just couldn’t do it anymore”. She loved my husband and I know that she’d be devastated that we have separated.

So good was my covering of the difficulties we faced than she didn’t really know just how painful our marriage could be. She just saw it as the pinnacle of love.

Of course I do still love him.

But the visit to Winchester today is like others before it. Except that today, having separated, I wouldn’t have hoped it expected him to come.

Previous enactments of my rituals of grief? No, he didn’t join me for them either.

Our marriage died long before it ended.

Another difference is that I know for certain that I am alone in this world. There is no pretence of support.

Hmm. Yep. Feeling a tad sad and sorry for myself!

That’s also what these little rituals are for: letting in the emotions that I’m too busy masking to feel usually.

This year is different in that respect. I am feeling them so much more deeply this time. Maybe it’s because I no longer feel that I have to hold things together for anyone else.

Now that I’m no longer fighting to contain and manage the unpredictable emotions of another, I finally have space for my own.