Even as my beloved husband, Rundle, slipped out of this world last Wednesday, 27th December, he was discreetly setting an example of how the art of dying can be inspiring – a true “artist’s husband”.
He fought a determined battle with lung infections for three weeks in hospital, but after his being on the point of going home, the infection returned tenaciously. Analytical as always, he quietly asked about all the parameters of the situation, and then fell silent.
Soon afterwards, he began refusing all food and shortly afterwards, all liquids, gently, firmly, lucidly. We had time to talk, of the past, of the present, of the future, of the art of celebrating a long span of life together. I reminded him that thanks to his unwavering support, he had given me the tools to shape a new life without him, a life that could – I hope – do him honour and allow me to function on my own, following his example of elegance and courage.
A week later, serene and discreet to the last, Rundle died at the hospital near his home in Mallorca. Requiescat in Pace, my “Artist’s Husband”.