He was a presence in my life for nearly sixty years – first as young boyfriend, then as husband, then as ex-husband. But always, always, a central figure. And how he is gone.

He had some health problems, to be sure. But not fatal ones, or ones that were supposed to be fatal. But he got aspiration pneumonia after a relatively routine surgery and just couldn’t shake it. Yesterday he died.

The chain of events lasted about a month from start to finish. It felt like something unstoppable, although I continue to think something could have been done to stop it. Perhaps that’s unrealistic of me, but that’s how I feel. It was only a few days ago that I realized this train to death would not stop, and by then there wasn’t time to talk and plan.

He was the person who knew what we had gone through, the only person except me. He was the most intense relationship of my life. We had a child together – now a grown man with a family of his own, giving us grandchildren. My ex-husband was a wonderful father and grandfather, able to entertain any child for hours. He entertained me, too. One of his favorite ploys was, in the middle of an argument between us, to make a joke that stopped me in my tracks and cracked me up.

He was the person who could look at me now and remember me when I was a young woman. And I could look at him and remember him when he was a young man.

Now there are many sad tasks to perform – in particular the dismantling of all the carefully-assembled memorabilia and bric-a-brac and voluminous paperwork that are amassed in a long life by someone who very much liked to save things.

It is a tremendous loss for me.