Apparently, anniversaries are hard. Birthdays, weddings, Christmas, they all play havoc with the grieving widow’s heart. Except, for me – they don’t. M’s birthday came and went. We lit a candle on a Tesco cupcake, sang Happy Birthday and watched Lion King. I barely noticed the wedding anniversary passing by. Christmas was a drunken blur – I have a vague memory of a game of Articulate somewhere between the salmon blinis and a vat of Prosecco.
The problem is, I miss Him EVERY FUCKING DAY. No day is special by virtue of its relation to a date in the diary. All this earnest chinking to ‘absent friends’ – in my life, M is absent all the time, not just on significant dates.
I have just returned from a joint birthday party for my daughter and her best friend, V. My girl turns 5 on the 2nd of May and her best friend was 5 ten days earlier. Today couldn’t have been better – early rain clouds cleared for blue skies, bouncy castle was in place.
I tried so hard not to acknowledge you, Grief, but sadly you got the better of me didn’t you? On the way home from this joint party I could barely see the pavement through my tears.
I’m pissed. And I miss Him so fucking much.
Sleep well with your partners tonight. Imagine what it would be to never cuddle up to them again.